(no subject)
It was like, way after three and Eric Cartman was starving. He hadn't eaten since eleven-thirty and after two hours of kicking ass on Wii Rock Band, he was totally wasting away like some kind of Auschwitz prisoner.
The kitchen shifts were totally bogus. He was hungry right now and nobody was around to make him anything. And he'd totally make something for himself. He wasn't, like, a baby or anything, but the stove dials were really high, and last time he'd used the oven he'd burnt his hand real bad and his mom hadn't been around to kiss the boo-boo better.
He totally wasn't a baby, okay?
And okay, so what if he'd woken up crying the night before? That wasn't because he missed his mommy, and it sure as hell wasn't because he missed that dick-licking asshole, whose name Cartman had already forgotten because he'd never given a shit about him anyway.
Asshole.
The point was, Eric was fucking hungry, and even though the Winchester admittedly had way better junkfood, it was miles away, and he wasn't going to walk that far just to have that skinny little queer laugh at him again. He wasn't.
So, he'd ridden the elevator up from the basement to the main level, slipped into the kitchen and walked up to the first person he saw who didn't look like some kind of retard who couldn't use the microwave or whatever. Putting on his best, wide-eyed innocent face, he gave the person's shirt a polite tug and said, "Excuse me? Um, excuse me? I don't mean to bother you, but I am just a hungry little boy and my mommy says I'm not allowed to use the stove. Would you help me?"
[[Whether he already knows you or not, he's going to pretend like he's a precious little angel just to get you to cook for him. Timed to mid-afternoon, before the dinner rush. ST/LT more than welcome!]]
The kitchen shifts were totally bogus. He was hungry right now and nobody was around to make him anything. And he'd totally make something for himself. He wasn't, like, a baby or anything, but the stove dials were really high, and last time he'd used the oven he'd burnt his hand real bad and his mom hadn't been around to kiss the boo-boo better.
He totally wasn't a baby, okay?
And okay, so what if he'd woken up crying the night before? That wasn't because he missed his mommy, and it sure as hell wasn't because he missed that dick-licking asshole, whose name Cartman had already forgotten because he'd never given a shit about him anyway.
Asshole.
The point was, Eric was fucking hungry, and even though the Winchester admittedly had way better junkfood, it was miles away, and he wasn't going to walk that far just to have that skinny little queer laugh at him again. He wasn't.
So, he'd ridden the elevator up from the basement to the main level, slipped into the kitchen and walked up to the first person he saw who didn't look like some kind of retard who couldn't use the microwave or whatever. Putting on his best, wide-eyed innocent face, he gave the person's shirt a polite tug and said, "Excuse me? Um, excuse me? I don't mean to bother you, but I am just a hungry little boy and my mommy says I'm not allowed to use the stove. Would you help me?"
[[Whether he already knows you or not, he's going to pretend like he's a precious little angel just to get you to cook for him. Timed to mid-afternoon, before the dinner rush. ST/LT more than welcome!]]