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Literature
clyde rando birthday forever
It was just Clyde's luck to end up in detention on his birthday. It would have been ironic, maybe, if Clyde had been having the best day ever, only to find himself detained after school. Likewise, if Clyde had been waiting to get home for some birthday celebration, that would have been annoying. But the sad fact was that not a single person had remembered his birthday, and if they had, they hadn't mentioned it. He had only been 20 minutes late to English because he'd slipped on an empty tampon wrapper in the hallway, hit his face against an open locker, and ended up visiting the nurse. Even with awkward bandages plastered against his cheek and a split lip, Clyde ended up in detention, because he'd forgotten to get a note from the nurse. While his teacher had been writing him a slip he grappled with bursting out, "It's my birthday!" but he restrained himself. Why would this woman care if it was Clyde's birthday? No one else did.
Clyde had enjoyed detention in the past. His single previo
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Literature
For RandomGhostie: CraigxKenny
At 7:15 the alarm went off, blasting its flavorless noise into Craig's ear from where it lay on the nightstand. Nightstand, not really — more like an old army trunk Kenny had found in some abject street, taken home and stuck next to the bed. On it sat a pile of yellowing papers, the gaudy papier-mâché sphere-like thing that Craig hesitated to call a lamp (although it did light up), and Craig's cell phone, his de facto alarm.
Kenny himself didn't believe in alarm clocks.
So Craig rolled over, grasping for his phone, just one more makeshift thing in his life that was supposed to fulfill one purpose and was slowly proving itself an unacceptable stand-in for the other. Craig hated frivolity and didn't like the found army-trunk-patchwork-lighting aesthetic, either. But Kenny's sheets were simple, beige organic cotton, and from this side of the bed, he looked to Craig to be rather alluring — his crooked shoulder blade sticking up in the air, hair frightful, sheets barely
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Literature
Stan Marsh's Love Plants
It started in college, when the mold growing under the window ledge in Stan's dorm room kept making him sneeze. "I've never had allergies before," he sniffled one afternoon, right after sneezing all over Kyle's anthro notes. "Do you want a Kleenex? I can wipe that off for you."
"You know what, no thanks." Kyle made a disgusted face, balling up his snotty sheet of lined paper. "I'll just Xerox from that guy who looks like he's in the Trenchcoat Mafia. No big deal." Kyle said this in a particular way that ensured there was no doubt in Stan's mind that it was a pretty huge deal.
"I don't want you talking to him," Stan replied, wiping his nose with his sleeve. "He threatened to put a Glock up your ass."
Kyle rolled his eyes, recalling the incident. "Look," he said. "Dress up like Joan from Mad Men for one Halloween, and everyone thinks you're a crazy bitch. Do you know what I liked best about that night?" Kyle lowered his eyes, and his voice. "You looked amazingly sexy in that gray flannel
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Literature
nine scraps
I.
When her daughter was in seventh grade, Sharon decided to go back to work as a receptionist for a plastic surgeon whose office was on Main Street. Her young son, Stanley, was 8 by then. Randy felt that was too young for Stan to have his mother out all day.
"But he's in school full-time now!" Sharon protested. "Do you know what it's like to sit here alone all day?"
"I don't know," Randy grunted. "But I'd sure like to have every single day off."
This was not a new argument; they'd had it before. "I never have days off!" she yelled. "I cook, I clean, I shop. I do the laundry. I drop the kids off at school. I pick the kids up from school!"
"So make them take the bus," Randy suggested. "God, it's so easy, Sharon. Just make them take the bus."
"I thought Stan was too young to take the bus."
"Well, he is. Sort of. But I guess if it makes your day of unemployment a little easier, sure. Let the kid take the bus. All his little friends take the bus. Shelly's definitely old enough, and Stan wi
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Literature
For nhaingen: Clyde X Halfie
They made fun of him at school, and he wept. Now, Clyde was of the opinion that a 17-year-old boy shouldn't cry, not ever, but he did and he couldn't help it.
Not even Stan and Kyle, with their longing glances and lunchtime handholding under the cafeteria tables, understood. Everyone thought they were so adorable, their love so quaint and misunderstood in just the right way. Clyde didn't know what was wrong with them, and he didn't care. He knew what he wanted but he couldn't talk about it. So he cried in the telephone booth where you could make a call for a nickel, but because they all had cell phones no one did. Then one time he excused himself from class to cry in the phone booth and Stan and Kyle were already in there, making a private little scene with handprints on the glass and moaning and Stan apparently wasn't circumcised. After this Clyde had to vomit.
He tried with girls, but when he felt up their thighs, leaving fingernail markings in their mottled flesh, he became queasy a
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a new id by SekritOMG a new id :iconsekritomg:SekritOMG 1 7
Literature
For Fletset: SxK
Stan was not a dreamer, not in the literal sense. His dreams were all ethereal. They happened during the daytime, during boring meetings, while he was supposed to be updating the company clientele databases. He let his eyes gloss over the letters and numbers and looked into the future: little two-story house, picket fence, dog. This number-crunching stuff was toxic to him. In his fantasies, it was always springtime in South Park: snow on the ground, birds building nests in the rafters under the roof ledge at his childhood home. He liked to think about snowmen in the yard, and a fire in the fireplace. It wasn’t that he disliked the city – he liked it fine. There was a surfeit of gay bars, grocery stores where you could buy pate, more than three places to get dinner. But something about it felt soulless to him, just like this stupid job.
The only reason he was here was for Kyle, who liked to remind him of the pay. “No one makes that much out of college, Stan,” he woul
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Literature
For Eishi: SxK
How could Stan ever forget Kyle’s high school summer job? As assistant librarian, Kyle spent June, July, and August from ages 13 to 17 hauling around the returns cart, reorganizing the card catalogue, and reading to howling children during storytime. It paid $6 an hour, and at the end of every summer, Kyle bought one video game and put the rest into the savings account his parents had opened for him after his bar mitzvah. The South Park Public Library had three computers — all of which were running Windows 98 — a hamster, the complete Vampire Chronicles, and minimal funding. The place was usually deserted, and often during these languid summers, Stan would drop by to find Kyle sitting at the check-out desk, repeatedly stamping his hand or doodling things, strange little monsters with large teeth and bows tied to their ears.
Once Kenny had come with Stan to borrow the second season of Knight Rider for his family. And once Stan had run into Ned while he was there registeri
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desktop by SekritOMG desktop :iconsekritomg:SekritOMG 0 5
Literature
Antiquing IV: Final
It was somewhat satisfying to have Tweek sitting on the couch by himself while Kyle paced back and forth, interrogating him. Stan just stood against the wall, arms crossed, seemingly fairly upset, but Kyle didn’t have time to worry about him right now. “All this time,” Kyle said slowly, thoughtfully. “We were getting angry at Craig.” He stopped. “And it’s really you, isn’t it?”
“What? Me?” Tweek put his hands on his head, obviously meaning to grasp his hair, of which he now had very little to pull at. “No way, man! I don’t do anything with your store! I just own it!”
“But you could overrule him, couldn’t you, since it’s your property?”
“I don’t know!” Tweek cried honestly. “I don’t do that stuff! It’s way too much pressure! I don’t even touch money!” He held up his hands. “I don’t have a single dime, honest! It freaks me out, man! I hate it!”
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Literature
Antiquing III
In the morning — which really didn’t feel like morning considering Craig had been out there slamming himself against the door until a couple of hours before they got up — Stan did what he usually did and came downstairs to make coffee. He found Tweek sitting at the kitchen table with a mug, and for a second he made the not-invalid assumption that Tweek had gotten up and made coffee. “How’s the coffee?” Stan asked, rubbing his eyes and going into the fridge for the cream cheese.
“I don’t know,” Tweek admitted.
“Okay.” Stan grabbed a bagel from the pantry.
“I didn’t make any.”
“Oh.” Stan stuck his bagel in the bagel-slicer.
“I don’t know how.” This caught Stan’s attention.
“You don’t know how to make coffee?” he asked.
“No.”
“Do you drink coffee?” Stan asked, not realizing what a stupid question it was. Tweek nodded vigorously, enthusiastically even.
Fina
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Literature
Antiquing II
Stan and Kyle had a single employee. On Saturday and Sunday mornings, Butters Stotch got up at 7 a.m. and had a bowl of raisin bran before hopping on his Schwinn Orange Krate and pedaling into town to open up the shop. Butters made a paltry 7 dollars an hour, and even though this was really stretching Kyle’s meticulous budget, he felt that really, having the weekend off was worth $98. Stan was bothered by the idea that a 40-year-old man would want to hang around an antiques store on the weekends, especially when said man was actually a rather respectable elementary school teacher, who made a fine living supporting himself and his pet rabbit. “Oh, whatever,” Kyle would say dismissively. “It’s Butters. Who cares.”
“We should at least be paying him more money,” Stan would suggest.
“Tell me one thing, Stan. Do you want to want to make a profit, or do you just want to throw all of our money away and live on the street like matchgirls?”
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Literature
Antiquing I, SP fic, SxK CxT
South Park tourism was anchored on the downtown strip, a block of 1930s storefronts with chintzy boutique businesses and coffee shops. There was a post office, a toy store, and, for some reason, an outpatient rhinoplasty clinic. Less suspect were a pair of antiques stores — a regular staple of the rural American town. Despite the similar premise, however, stores A and B were about as different as they were overpriced. One was only accessible by buzzer, and a sign on the door bore the following: Opening Hours Tues.-Thurs., noon-4 p.m. or by appointment. Cosmopolitan travelers through town would press their noses against the window to get a glimpse of startling 90-degree angles and overblown glass forms in tangerine and aquamarine, curling around themselves on stark marble coffee tables. Unfortunately, a nose pressed up to the glass would usually leave an unsightly smudge, which had the effect of sending the shop owner into something approaching a blind rage.
And if scaring a
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:iconnhaingen:
nhaingen Featured By Owner Sep 10, 2012
sekrit oh em gee
ur the one for me
lets hang out together
underneath a tree

we will have such fun
til the day is done
eating lots of plums
writing about bums

bums as in asses not homeless people
Reply
:iconsekritomg:
SekritOMG Featured By Owner Sep 11, 2012
Is it weird how accurate this poem is overall? Thank you for sharing.
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:iconnhaingen:
nhaingen Featured By Owner Sep 11, 2012
i like how the plums part came true in the form of a creepy john elway press photo, yeah
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:iconsekritomg:
SekritOMG Featured By Owner Sep 12, 2012
I know, right? He is just the king of applicability.
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(2 Replies)
:iconplsandty:
plsandty Featured By Owner Jul 15, 2012  Professional General Artist
happy birthday!! (:
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:iconceirrin:
Ceirrin Featured By Owner Jun 22, 2012
Hey Sekrit. You ever notice that you're the one of the only ones nhaingen occasionally tries to use proper grammar for? It's beautiful and somewhat terrifying.
Reply
:iconsekritomg:
SekritOMG Featured By Owner Jun 24, 2012
Well, no, because I'm not part of her conversations with other people! You must be super observant.
Reply
:iconceirrin:
Ceirrin Featured By Owner Jun 26, 2012
Oh, not so much. It's just that nhaingen draws wonderfully, so I spend a lot of time creepily staring at the pretty pictures, and then the comments people leave tend to be amusing so I spend a lot of time reading them. She must attract humor...
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:iconthehumankite:
TheHumanKite Featured By Owner Apr 26, 2012
also I just realized I wasn't watching you
what was I thinking
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:iconsekritomg:
SekritOMG Featured By Owner Apr 27, 2012
Mmm, probably that this account isn't worth following because I don't do a lot with it?
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