El día había empezado como cualquier otro en South Park: una nevada absurda en abril, una discusión sin sentido entre Stan y Kyle, y Kenny muriendo tras resbalarse con una barra de granola congelada. Hasta ahí, todo normal.
"I'm telling you, Jews can't jump!" Cartman said.
-"What the hell does that have to do with volleyball, idiot?!" Kyle said angrily. The fact that Cartman won't let go of his Jewish origins had already tired him out years ago.
Stan covered his face with both hands. "Oh my God, here we go again..."
Butters, shivering with a cup of hot chocolate, muttered, "I think Mr. Cartman says some very... intense things sometimes..."
After several minutes of insults and snowballs thrown at him, Kyle threw his backpack to the ground in frustration and yelled, "You're an asshole! You couldn't beat me at anything, not even making me laugh!"
Cartman froze. Literally. A snowball hit him right in the ear. But his mind... oh, his mind was already racing. That last sentence was swirling around in his head like a giant, glittering cloud. Make Kyle laugh? Make him admit that something I did was funny, even if it was a reflex? That would be... glorious.
A malicious smile—one of those that usually leads to legal trouble—spread across his face. “Heh… heh… THAT’S ALL.” He muttered just before running off toward his house like a lunatic.
Stan watched him run. “God… whatever he’s planning, it can’t be good.
In his basement, Cartman had proclaimed himself the “Supreme Scientist,” wearing a stolen hospital gown, oversized safety goggles, and standing beneath a banner that read, “Project: Jewish Laughter.” Spread out on the table were tools, feathers, paintbrushes of varying sizes, a tape recorder, and a strapped-down wooden chair, clearly recycled from a failed school project once involving Butters and a carnivorous plant. “Welcome to the Lab of Progress… Kyle.” He gently stroked a feather as if it were a cat, his eyes glittering with madness.
The next day, he convinced Stan and Kenny to take Kyle to the basement under the guise of an "ecojustice discussion."
"Why the hell would we talk about that at your house?" Stan said, puzzled.
—"BECAUSE YES! It's for a school presentation on how minorities, like red-haired Jews, can help stop climate change... or whatever!"
Kenny muttered something that sounded like "this is going to go wrong" but agreed anyway.
Once Kyle made it down to the dark basement, the lights came on. Suddenly, he was tied to the wooden chair, confused and furious, and he didn't even notice when he'd walked past. Cartman stood in front of him, holding a pen, grinning like a psychopath.
—"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS, CARTMAN?!" —said Kyle alarmed, with Cartman this never went well
-"Shhh... calm down, test subject. You're about to take part in a groundbreaking scientific experiment. I'm going to prove that even a bitter troll like you can laugh with the right stimulation!"
— "NO! No way are you going to... HAHAHAHA! YOU BASTARD! THAT DOESN'T COUNT!" Cartman had started with a precise touch to the ribs.
—"Heh... Fascinating reaction! Noted: Highly sensitive chest area."
Stan and Kenny were watching from the doorway. Stan was about to say something, but Kenny stopped him. "Wait... if Kyle laughs... it's like the end of the world. I need to see this," he said, his voice muffled.
Kyle writhed furiously in the chair, the leather straps tightened around each limb and his hat half askew from all the struggling. "CARTMAN, LET ME GO RIGHT NOW OR I SWEAR I'LL BREAK YOUR TEETH IN THIS CHAIR THE SECOND I'M FREE!"
" Cartman adjusted his lab goggles with exaggerated flair. "Tsk tsk, patient 24601... that hostile attitude doesn't help the progress of science. Now, prepare for Phase One: Light Tactile Stimulation." He took out a small, thin quill, like something from a medieval scribe's kit, and gently ran it down the side of Kyle's neck.
Kyle frowned. “Really? A feather? What are you, a 1930s cartoon? This isn’t…” But then Cartman changed direction: He dropped the feather into Kyle’s ribs, sliding it in with surgical precision. “PFFF… HAHAHA! DAMN IT! NO! DON’T TOUCH ME THERE!”
Cartman jumped back, jotting down notes in a school notebook covered in Cheesy Poofs stickers. "Interesting! Rib area: 7.8 inches tenderness. Immediate reaction. Hypothesis confirmed: the Jew can laugh."
Stan stood in the doorway, arms crossed, disapproving. "Dude, this is starting to look more like a weird revenge plot than an experiment."
"Shut up, Stan! You can't stop the march of knowledge. Besides, didn't you say yesterday that you wished Kyle would laugh for once?
Stan fell silent. Kenny chuckled. "It's like watching the Discovery Channel, but way more messed up."
" Butters stepped forward, shaking, holding the notebook Cartman had assigned him as an "assistant." "W-do you want me to write that down, Mr. Cartman?"
""Yeah, Butters, check it out, Kyle sounds like an asthmatic goat when he laughs. It could be genetic." Cartman pulled out a second quill. "Two at once?! Who the hell do you think you are, a Batman villain?" Kyle yelled.
"¡I think I'm a hero of human knowledge, Kyle! And you're the perfect test subject!" Cartman declared, lowering both feathers to Kyle's sides and moving them in time, up and down, as if he were playing a human xylophone.
""HAHAHAHA! STOP! YOU FAT PSYCHOPATH! I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!"
""Oh, wow! Verbal backlash. But... you're laughing, aren't you, Kyle?" Cartman paused and turned to the others. "See? This is art. This is science and justice, combined in a dance of tickling and hate."
Stan leaned closer, a little uncomfortable. "Cartman... you had your moment. Can we untie him before he starts hyperventilating?"
Kenny watched intently. "(He hasn't even touched his feet yet...)" Cartman's eyes widened in a eureka moment. "Kenny, you're a genius! Activating Phase Three!" Cartman knelt at the foot of the chair and began removing Kyle's boots.
"NO! DON'T DO IT!" You dare, Cartman! I swear to God I'll kill you!
—Heh... that's the reaction I was hoping for. He pulled off his boots with difficulty (and the awful sound of accumulating winter sweat). Kyle turned as red as a tomato.
—Don't do it! CARTMAN! NOT MY FEET! IT'S NOT FUNNY! Cartman was already in, using both feathers and even his tongue like it was a good tasting session. "HAHAHAHAHA! SON OF A... AHHHHH! YOU'LL PAY FOR THIS IN BLOOD!"
Stan covered his face. Kenny was crying with laughter. Butters had already collapsed in a chair from the stress. Finally, Kyle managed to break one of the restraints. His arm was free.
"Oh, no..." Cartman whispered.
"You're. Dead." Cartman ran for his life. Kenny threw Kyle his boots. Stan was long gone, muttering something about therapy. And while Kyle chased Cartman down the stairs with a pen in his hand, Butters stayed in the lab, still taking notes:
"Final note: Subject one hates tickling. And Subject Cartman is totally screwed. End of experiment."
I finally finished it. Sorry for the delay, and I hope you like it. If there are any weird things in the writing, it's because I'm a Spanish speaker, I'm Mexican, and I got this after I put it into Google Translate. Anyway, I hope you like it. And feel free to make more requests. Maybe later I'll make a list of fandoms I could write for. Thanks.
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