[Kyle is wandering through the corridors.] Hello? Is anyone here? Cartman, if this is another of your sick jokes, I'm going to kick your ass so hard it'll swell up three sizes!
[Kyle bites back the question 'Is he looking after you?' because the thought of him, Kyle, asking Ike if he, Kyle (albeit an older version) was looking after him just made his brain hurt.] That's...nice. So how's your life going?
No, thank Abraham. She fucking ruined your life, though, dude. She called all of the parents around South Park and told them you were fuckin' Eric. You ran away for like, a week.
It looks like my future will involve fucking someone who, in my time, does all he can to make my life miserable, causing my mom to hate me and humiliate me in front of the whole town. I think I'm entitled to a crappy poem or two!
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Maybe I'll go find Goth Stan and join him in writing terrible poetry.
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Let me tell you something.
Cartman gets his. And he gets it in the worst way possible.
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