'cause I'm a free bitch, baby

part 2

Saturday afternoon comes around and Kyle is fucking losing it. He sits in his idle car and drums his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. Kenny's riding shotgun, Stan's in the backseat, and Cartman is still in his house doing God-knows-what and making them late for the thing he signed himself up for, which they all agreed to see for insurance purposes. Kyle doesn't trust Cartman not to just run off with their cash. Plus he's the only one of them with a car right now so he's stuck being chauffeur.

"If he doesn't come out in the next two minutes, I'm out of here," Kyle says.

"He said he had to find the last part of his costume," Stan says, reading a recent text from their group chat.

"Ugh, whatever."

A minute and forty seconds pass (Kyle's been counting) and the man of the hour finally comes traipsing out of his front door and gets into the car.

"You're not even dressed?!" Kyle yells once he's inside. He's wearing a hoodie and jeans, which is definitely not a drag outfit. "What the hell took you so long?"

Cartman throws his duffel bag onto the backseat, landing mostly on top of Stan's lap, which earns Cartman an annoyed glare. Cartman clicks his tongue. "Beauty and art take time, Kyle. Uncultured swine like you wouldn't get it."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Kyle mutters under his breath. He puts the car in drive and starts heading in the direction out of their neighborhood. "Put your seatbelt on, fatass."

Cartman tsks his tongue. "Wow, that sand in your vagina's really doing a number on you today, isn't it?"

"Just put it on!" Kyle snaps. Cartman grumbles but complies. He glares at Kyle through the rear-view mirror.

"And, eff why eye, the queens all get ready together in the dressing room before drag shows. Everybody knows that Kahl," Cartman says, exaggerating his name in that annoying faux-southern drawl.

Kyle seethes. Why the hell did he agree to this shit? Oh yeah. Kenny and his goddamn puppy-dog eyes. Kyle looks over at Kenny, who shrugs.

"It'll be fine, dude, relax," Stan says, reaching over to pat his shoulder reassuringly. "Cartman knows what he's doing."

"Damn straight!" Cartman says.

"Whatever," Kyle says. He tries to focus on the road so he doesn't crash into something.

It's quiet for a few moments, then Kenny speaks up.

"So are you gonna tell us what your show's gonna be?" he asks. Kenny sounds genuinely curious, and Kyle can't deny he's been wondering about it too. His ears perk up against his will.

"Pffft, and ruin the surprise? Not a chance. You'll just have to see it for yourself."

"Aw man, c'mon," Kenny says. "Not even, like, a hint?"

"Nope."

Jeez, Cartman's being really stubborn with this, isn't he?

"Weak, dude," Kenny says.

"Patience, my dear Kenneth," Cartman says sagely, resting a hand on Kenny's shoulder. "Your mind will be blown soon enough."

"I hope you don't mean that literally," Kenny says.

"What?"

"Nevermind."

"You're sure they're not gonna check IDs in there, Cartman?" Stan asks.

Cartman blows a raspberry. "Uh, no. They're a tiny-ass bar in a tiny-ass town. They're lucky to have people spending money on drinks in the first place."