the asmodai ↣ style

Chapter Seven

Chapter 7: The Asmodai

"God damn it," Kyle said. "First Stan, now Kenny?"

It was Thursday afternoon, and the paper was due in less than twenty-four hours, and they didn't even have the courtesy to show up. Well, he relented (a little), Stan had stayed home sick today. Kyle hadn't really expected him to appear. But Kenny had no good excuse - Kyle had seen him less than an hour ago, at which point he'd threatened him with bodily harm if he snuck off to dry-hump Rebecca again and didn't help.

Kyle growled a little and rubbed his eyes, which were starting to get blurry from staring at so much small text. This entire project - no this whole week had been one big headache. He didn't want to write a paper about how wonderful Hitler had been. He wanted to go yell at Stan for avoiding him, and maybe after Kyle'd yelled himself hoarse he'd explain everything to Stan.

"God," he grumbled, "I'd sell my soul for some aspirin."

"Well then you're shit out of luck. Jews don't have souls."

Kyle turned around and scowled at Cartman, who was flipping absently through Hitler's autobiography.

Cartman. Cartman. Stan abandoned him, Kenny blew him off, but Cartman still showed up at the library. Kyle honestly couldn't figure that one out.

"I figured you'd be the first one to ditch this project," he muttered, propping up his book on the table and glaring at him over the top of it.

"Kyle, I am more mature than those douches, and as such, recognize the importance of schoolwork."

Kyle snorted. "Bullshit. Why are you really here?"

"Maybe I just found a subject worth studying. Ever think of that, Jew boy?"

They glared at each for a while, then Kyle broke it off and looked down at his book. For the next several minutes he tried to focus on the tiny text, but ultimately found it to be impossible. Kyle let his book slip out of his hands so that it fell flat against the table with a clatter, and scowled at it.

"Do you have to bang everything?" Cartman demanded irritably. "Some of us are trying to work."

"I hate Mr. Dorcas and I hate this fucking assignment," Kyle declared. "I'm not even supposed to still be here. I'm supposed to be studying with Wendy."

"So why don't you quit bitching and just go?" Cartman asked rudely.

"Yeah, right," Kyle said. "And not write the paper, and get an F, and give that sadist the perverse pleasure of failing me."

"I could write it."

Kyle stared at him for a while. Then he started to laugh. Hysterically.

"Ey! What's so funny, you fucking Jew?"

"You, voluntarily doing schoolwork?" He chortled. "Even if you did, you'd just write a hate-paper."

"You really think I'd do something like that?" Cartman said, trying to sound insulted.

Kyle gave him a look.

"Oh yeah? Well fuck you too!"

"You think genocide is funny," Kyle sneered. "You can't tell me the paper wouldn't be one big excuse for you to spread your anti-Semitism."

"Christ, you people's egos are nearly as big as your noses. He killed cripples, retards, and fags, too."

He seethed. "You're a complete idiot if you think that's convincing me."

"Look, dumbass," Cartman snapped, "if you haven't noticed, that's the sort of paper Mr. Dorcas wants. It makes a fucking lot more sense for me to write it than you."