"Your bastard dad had been drinking again, didn't he?" Cartman inquired tranquility, patted wet wash rug on Stan's cut upper lip, motoring his every movement closely. The raven scorns disgustedly of remembering the massive slap across his face and plodded on the bathroom floor as blood effuses from his nose and upper lip. It was one of those times when his dad comes home from work being inebriated with varied in strong alcohol, eyes being half shut and pants almost raze down by the ankles. Stan recall feeling the force grip on his wrist by his dad's moist hand wrapping it forcibly against the bathroom sink, scowling at him like he was some kind of punching bag. Looking at the purple fleece carpet, Stan lifts up leisurely and looks at his brunette friend with sadness imbue his eyes.
He leans over on the edge of the tub and grabs his friend's soft pudgy hand around his warm one, gently. "Eric
it wasn't my real dad who beat me. It was my step dad, Roy."
Cartman raised, til