The right thing (South Park Fanfic.)

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Just because I wanna write something that seems like I know what I am doing... trust me, I have no fucking idea, what I'm doing and I'm seven stories in (over if you include deleted) and I still don't know shit about writing. Also, I'm away for three days at the cottage (with NO wi-fi) so I'm doing as much as I can today. So nobody will even notice these three days! Also, sorry British people, but I can't help dissing your country a little bit. Also, caffeinetea I'm really sorry for what I'm about to say about Scotland, Scots are okay in my book, I just went a little bit overboard while roasting Britain... I'm so sorry. But I can't deny that I enjoyed saying what I did. And all you who got Triggered, what are you gonna do about it you insane bastard. From: The dick of Europe, Scandinavia. (So you know where to look for me, even if I can't roast...)
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"Hi," I say.

I push the door closed, looking at him.

"We are pretty caught up on the plan to get you out now, meaning that we have a clear plan," I say.

"Really?" He asks, looking up at me from the floor.

"Yeah. And lets just say, Kyle is going to have hell for about a week until he gets to kill Cartman," I say.

"Is there no other options?" He asks.

"You can't feel bad for the asshole," I say.

"I don't. I mean. That would put Kyle as a criminal and while we could blame it on self defence, that still has a long prison sentence," he says.

"What would you do?" I ask.

"Lock him up and make sure he can't scream. Then open the cages and leave, maybe leave the first gate open to make it so nobody gets in trouble," he says.

"Look, Stan, as much as that is, morally, a really good plan, there are some flaws there," I say.

"I could put the government to court, it's been an option for a couple of years now. If we get out, with evidence that this was given money to by the government, we could put this up on human rights violations," Stan says.

"They would find a way to not call you a human," I say.

"Well, yeah, no passport. I'm basically an immigrant, illegal one," Stan says.

"Don't worry about that, they don't treat people that come here illegally a lot better than you, trust me," I say.

"And I thought Britain was shit," Stan says, with a slight laugh.

"Britain? Shit? How come?" I ask.

"Ever since Brexit, Europe has hated Britain. It's kind of like the most awkward family meals ever when they have to talk about something to an European country. Did you ever have that cousin that all of you hated but sort of just always came over? Yeah, Britain is that cousin," Stan says.

"Oooh. That must be so weird," I say.

"Nothing was weirder than still being in the Eurovision. Nothing. Most of the countries just teamed up against us and went out of their way to make fun of us whenever. I remember one time Sweden won the thing and the whole start for the next year was just sort of like they were raising their middle fingers at every person that voted for Brexit. But we didn't mind, most of them are too dead to even notice. But you know you've done fucked up when Sweden has the guts to make fun of you and Ireland does the same next year, and even Estonia shows up to making fun," Stan says.

"Why did you even vote out?" I ask.

"I didn't vote anything, I was fucking 6. But the old hags went and did their normal 'It was better when I was a child' and voted together and Britain... was mostly populated by those old hags. Scotland had sense, unlike England. But apparently England is the fucking mainland and nobody else seems to fucking matter," Stan says.

"So you hate England?" I ask.

"I don't hate anybody. Scottish, English, French, American, Korean or fucking... from Burkina Faso. I don't really like any country more than the other, because every country has many types of people," Stan says.

"Scottish? I wanna see your rant on Scottish people," I say.

"Oh those kilt wearing fuckers? Honestly, half of the people i know think Scotland means Ireland, their country is that irrelevant in the worlds opinion. Plus, they look like bloody ballerinas with their knee length socks and shit. Only like something shallowed a paint bucket and a ballerina, gave the ballerina foot injury and then puked both out. They are just cheaper British people, with an accent that sounds like someone just came from the dentist and decided to speak, honestly, they talk the same amount of shit as well. 'Ooh. Such bad weather'. Haven't even seen snow or cold. Water is bloody beautiful in comparison," Stan says.

"Wow," I say.

"Oh I'm not done. Those bastards are too pretty for their own good, I love them. Oh shit this is not talking shit. Um... oh look, they're so irrelevant that I don't know shit about them, other than the fact Scotland is Englands side hoe, too clingy for it's own good. They pretend that they are all happy while standing on the blood of hundreds of murdered good men that had to go to war," Stan says.

I smile at him.

"Can't even make their own alcohol, just had to make lamer Whiskey. Oh wait, they don't even spell Whiskey fucking correctly. They're not even a country, might as well be England and nobody would miss it and it's nonexistent culture. It's just a lame mix of Ireland and England, with no originality," Stan says.

"This is funny to listen to," I say.

"Unlike Scottish people, who have basically the guts of Americans and the jokes of the Irish," Stan says.

He rolls his eyes.

"But no, Scotland might be one of the better countries around," Stan says.