Chapter 10: We're All a Little Gay
Stan was flicking through infomercials and Saturday morning cartoons when Kyle called.
"Hey," he said brightly. "Want to go out?"
Stan developed a horrible, hacking cough. The line was silent until he finished, and then Kyle said, "Damn, man. You still sick from Thursday?"
"No," Stan said quickly. "I mean. Why do you want to hang out?" he asked, careful with his wording.
"Since when do I need a reason?"
"You don't... I was just..."
"Well, if you want specifics, I have absolutely nothing to do and my mom isn't leaving the house until this afternoon. If I don't go out and do something she'll start bitching at me for wasting my free time and sign me up for Hebrew class or some shit like that. So you want to save me from the harpy?"
"So it'd... just be us two then? Why aren't Cartman and Kenny coming?"
"Because Cartman's off on his not-date with Heidi, and Kenny always tries to drag me to Raisins."
"And you... don't like Raisins?" Stan asked.
"No, dude. They fry all their food in pig fat. The place reeks like bacon."
"... Oh."
"So, want to come over?"
"Actually," he said, biting his lip, "I've got some... stuff I can't get out of."
"... That's cool," Kyle said. "I'll catch up with you later."
Stan got off the phone feeling vaguely cheated. Kyle hadn't sounded disappointed at being turned down. Where was the possessiveness? If Kyle had a thing for him, wouldn't he care more about spending time together?
Stan decided he must have been wrong. Kyle didn't like him, and it really was just another case of the town being stupid. But he'd just turned him down less than two minutes ago; he couldn't very well call him back and ask if he wanted to hang out.
He wasn't about to sit around his house and squander his Saturday, though. And Cartman was out, so that just left Kenny.
No one picked up at first, and Stan was just beginning to wonder if the McCormick's owned an answering machine when he heard a click and an unfamiliar voice say "Hello?"
"Um," Stan said. "Is Kenny there?"
"Kenny who?"
Stan gave the receiver a confused look. "What do you mean, Kenny who?"
"Meaning there're more than one Kenny at this residence."
"Since when?"
"Since yesterday. Family reunion."
"Oh."
"So which one do you want?"
"Um... the one that dies all the time?"
"Oh," the voice said. They dropped the phone and stomped off, shouting; a moment later Kenny's familiar, muffled voice greeted him.
"Hey man. What's up?"
"Dude, you're having a family reunion?"
"Nah, not really."
"Huh?"
"That's just what Uncle Ken says whenever he loses his job and moves in for a while to 'get back on his feet.'"
"Oh. That sucks, man."
"It's not so bad. I get to share my bed with my hot older cousin."
"Kenny, God dammit."
"So why're you calling?"
"I haven't got anything to do. You want to go set something on fire or something?"
"No way, dude, fuck that. Let's go to Raisins!"
Man, Kyle was dead-on. Still. Taking a trip to Raisins with Kenny. That sounded nice and heterosexual. But...
"Isn't the Nation Against Gluttony protesting that restaurant today? Dude, I don't want to try and sneak past a picket line."
"No, man, that makes it even better. The place will be empty and we'll get the hottest waitresses all to ourselves."
Stan hesitated, then relented. "Okay, sure."
"Great," Kenny said. "You're paying."
"What! Why don't you pay?"
"Dude, do we seriously have to go over that?"
Stan blew out irritably. "Fine. I'll meet you there."
Raisins had sort of grown up with the rest of the town. The waitresses had just never left, and the customers had just never changed. Kenny proclaimed, with great relish, that the girls even still wore the same outfits they had when they were in elementary school. It was the perfect sort of place for a group of guys to hang out at.
When he arrived, however, he saw Kenny had dragged some chick along with him.
"Dude, what are you doing bringing a girl here?" he asked, frowning.
Kenny shrugged. "She practically begged to come."
"She... why? What sort of date wants to come to a place like this?"
"Ugh, man, don't be gross." Stan gave him a confused look, and Kenny elaborated: "She's my baby sister. I do a lot of stuff but I don't do that. As for why she wanted to come along..." he shrugged again. "I admit, I had my suspicions when I caught her looking through my Playboys."
Stan stared at him a moment, then he glanced back at his little sister. She was ignoring them, however, and staring shamelessly at the waitresses.
"Hi!" a bubbly voice said, walking up and grabbing a few menus. "Three? This way," she sing-songed, leading them to a table. Stan looked around at the waitresses, making sure to note their varying levels of attractiveness and mentally reassured himself like he liked girls. Because he did. Even if the entire town thought he didn't. It wasn't like this was the first time he was the only one in town thinking rationally. Actually, that happened a lot.
"Hi boys." A waitress appeared, a smile plastered to her face. "I'm Ferrari and I'll be your waitress. How are you all today?" she trilled. Stan winced a little. Her voice was amazingly grating.
"A lot better now," Kenny grinned back, and she gave this high-pitched giggle.
"What can I get you guys?"
"A large fun fries, three chili dogs, a hamburger, onion rings, and a pitcher of cola," Kenny rattled off. Stan gaped at him.
"Dude. Just because I'm paying..."
"Oh come on. I didn't get any breakfast and I'm probably not going to get any dinner. If I die of starvation, do you really want that hanging over your head?"
"I've been either directly or indirectly responsible for a least a hundredth of your deaths," Stan shot back. "You can't guilt trip me."
"Maybe not," Kenny relented. "But I can make you pay. What do you want?" he asked his little sister, who finally tore her gaze away from Ferrari's chest.
"Taco," she said shortly, and then gave her brother a shit-eating grin.
Kenny shook his head a little and told Ferrari, "Just get her more of the same. Stan?"
"Um," Stan said. "Pizza and a soda, I guess."
"All right!" Ferrari said brightly, jotting down the rest of it. "I'll get it right away," she purred, stroking Stan's arm before waltzing in. Stan shifted uncomfortably.
The food actually did come right away, though Kenny's meal took several trips. Stan had to give Raisins credit, they had the best customer service. He sat there, thinking about how obviously and irreversibly heterosexual he was, and how the town's water supply was obviously contaminated if everyone thought otherwise. He started telling Kenny (who was devouring his food like some sort of starved dog) this, feeling the need to have somebody - anybody - agree with him.
"Mppph Mff?"
Stan frowned at Kenny. "Don't talk with your mouth full. I have no idea what you just said."
Kenny swallowed and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "I said, 'You ever heard of Alfred Kinsey?'"
Stan blinked. "Um, no?"
"He's been hailed as the father of sexology-"
"Figures you've heard of him, then," Stan mumbled. Kenny ignored him.
"-and he was one of the people who got homosexuality taken off the list of mental diseases."
"Oh," Stan said.
Kenny nodded and took a swig of soda. "Anyway, my point is, Kinsey did this study where he rated people from 0 to 6, with 0 being completely straight and 6 being completely gay. And the results of the study showed that only about 6 percent of the population fell at either end of the scale. So basically, we're all a little gay."
"That's stupid," Stan said.
"Is not," Kenny said. "Take me, for example. We can all agree I am of the heterosexual persuasion, right?"
Stan snorted. "Anyone who's spent more than two minutes with you knows you like women."
"Right. I have a very healthy appreciation for the female form."
"That's one way of putting it." Kenny ignored the comment.
"But even though I don't go for men, I'd still blow a guy for ten dollars."
"Kenny... God."
"What? Everyone has a price. Mine just happens to be very low."
"You're such a whore, Kenny."
"Oh, come on. Let's say there's this really good restaurant. You go in, eat a sirloin steak, and then at the end of the meal the waitress pays you for it instead of bringing you a bill."
"That is completely different from prostitution for reasons that will come to me." He picked at his food for a moment, then he said, "You know, someone said something similar to me earlier this week..."
Kenny lifted an eyebrow. "Oh? Who?"
"Bebe."
"I always liked that girl," Kenny said fondly. "Always liked her rack, anyway. What'd she say?"
"That she'd do Jessica Rabbit."
"Well, shit. So would I."
"Me too!" Kenny sister spoke up. Stan jumped a little; he'd forgotten she was there. Then he gave her an incredulous look. She grinned cheekily at him, then slid out of her seat and headed in the general direction of the bathroom. Kenny took the opportunity to steal some of her fries and drained his glass, completely unfazed by her unabashed lesbianism.
"What if you were drunk?"
"What?" Stan said, taken off guard by the apparent non sequitur.
"Let's say you fucked a guy while you were drunk."
"That would never happen!"
"You're right," Kenny relented. "You'd probably be to drunk to get it up." He flagged down one of the waitresses.
"Hiii guys," she said in the stereotypical valley girl fashion. "I'm Porsche. Can I get you boys anything?"
"'Nother pitcher of cola."
"What about you, sweetie?" she asked, turning her attention to Stan.
"I'm fine."
"Are you sure?" she asked, leaning forward and giving him a nice cleavage shot. "I can get you anything."
"No thanks."
She looked a little disappointed when she left to get Kenny's drink.
"So how'd you like her?" Kenny asked.
"I didn't."
"Heh," Kenny half-snickered. "Fag."
Stan glared. "I like smart girls."
"No, you like smart guys. With Jewfros. And anger management issues."
Stan crossed his arms and sat back in his seat, determined not to dignify that with a response.
"What if you had a disease, and the only way to cure it was gay sex?"
"Yeah, right."
"Okay," Kenny said. "Let's say your mother has cancer."
"Dude!"
"And there's only one doctor in the world that can save her, but he'll only do it if you go down on Kyle."
"What kind of doctor makes conditions like that?"
"German. No one know why the fuck they do what they do. Look, the doctor's motives don't matter."
Stan gave Kenny a look. "What sort of cancer?"
"I dunno. Prostate."
"She'd never get prostate cancer!"
"Fine, testicular, then."
"She'd never get that either!"
"Look man, this is a hypothetical situation. Mellow out." Stan glared at him. "Suppose... there were terrorists."
"Oh, for the love of God-"
"And they're going to kill Fiona Apple if you and Kyle don't beat each other off. Would you do it then?"
"No!"
"Dude," Kenny said solemnly. "A woman's life hangs in the balance, and all you can think about is yourself? All you have to do to save the world is get laid. No beating Godzilla, no disarming the nuclear reactor in time. I bet Batman wished he could have solved all his problems by engaging in a little man love with Joker."
"No," Stan repeated stubbornly. "These hypothetical situations of yours are stupid."
"No?" Kenny repeated. "You'd seriously never consider having sex with Kyle?"
"No!"
"Man, that's a real bummer for Jew boy. Someone should tell him his boyfriend is never going to put out."
Stan nearly choked to death out a french fry. "Kenny!" he snapped, pounding his chest while he coughed.
"Don't die, there," Kenny said with a certain amount of dark humor as he offered Stan his soda. "Look man, we're friends, right? Obviously not 'super best friends,' but at least we aren't at each other's throats like Kyle and Cartman."
"Sure..." Stan said. Admittedly, he didn't really think about Kenny that often. He was just sort of there. Every once and a while he did something, but usually he just told off-color jokes and propositioned every girl that came near him.
"Right," Kenny was saying, nodding. "So, you know, I only have your best interests in heart."
"Where are you going with this?"
"You've got to stop living in denial, man. It's not healthy. You and Kyle have been going out for - Christ, I don't even know how long. Don't you think it's time you acknowledged it?"
"There's nothing to acknowledge! I'm not living in denial and I'm not gay!"
Kenny sighed and rolled his eyes skyward as if appealing to God. "Well, I tried."
Stan glared at him. Kenny stood up, grinned, and stuffed the rest of the dinner rolls in his parka. "Let's go."
"Those are free, you know," Stan said. "You don't have to stuff them down your pants."
"Force of habit." Kenny started for the door.
"Hold on," Stan said. He'd only just noticed that Kenny's sister had never reemerged. "Your sister's still in the bathroom."
Kenny shrugged. "Leave her."
"But-"
"She's not gonna come out for a while, man."
It took Stan until after he'd paid and left the restaurant to get it.
"Oh, sick dude! And the management just lets that happen? Doesn't that violate some sort of health code?"
"I know. My baby sister is nailing more chicks than I am. It's so depressing."
"Is your entire family womanizing perverts?"
"My mom isn't," Kenny said defensively.
"Are you sure?"
"Ey, don't insult an Irishman's mother, fucker. They'll kick your ass and do a jig afterward."
"A terrifying prospect."
Kenny laughed and punched the crosswalk button. "Thanks for the food and stimulating conversation. See you later, dude."
He had scarcely stepped off the curb when a produce truck came tearing down the street and turned Kenny into a bloody smear.
"Yeah," Stan said absently. "See you tomorrow."
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