That asshole won't get away with this.
I, and I alone, am cool.
A child of about 10 years of age walked through his small mountain town. For once, this town seemed to be peaceful and free of its trademark violence and repeated destruction. In fact, the town seemed to be quite empty at the moment, everyone seeming to be organizing in one place on this special night. Poor fucks.
One of my friends is Kenny McCormick.
Or should I say "was" Kenny McCormick.
"Was" until he decided to go and get famous all of a sudden. That black-asshole!
The child carried a large bag with him, containing all he needed to complete his mission.
To get revenge.
That asshole thought his superhero was so cool and original that he could outdo The Coon! And he got a fucking movie deal out of it! Da fuck?!
But I'll show him.
I'll show this whole fucking town.
It was 12:20 AM. The movie had already started at the Bijou and everyone in town was there. Well, the adults at least. And the fifth graders probably.
Kenny and the guys didn't go because they had already gotten a special screening, due to Kenny's starring role in the movie. I was offered to go too, but I said I was sick and couldn't make it
And I was sick that day
sick of seeing all that I worked for being taken from me. And seeing Kenny enjoying it all. That asshole!
But Kenny wouldn't be good enough to frame for a crime.
Luckily, there was someone else I hated more that I could take down.
The child went to the back of the theatre and set his bag down. He opened the bag and began the transformation he needed to bring his plan to fruition. First he took off his light blue, yellow-trimmed cap and put it aside. He took a can of orangish-red spray-paint and began re-colouring his hair. After his once-brown locks had been transformed into those of a red-head's, the child turned his attention to his clothes.
He removed his red coat and donned an orange coat with a green collar.
He removed his brown pants and donned dark green ones.
He removed his yellow mittens and donned lime-green ones.
And for the pièce de résistance, he donned an ushanka. Lime-green, of course.
The child, now wearing a new set of clothing, reached into his bag for the final things he needed.
An AR-15 assault rifle.
A couple of .40 handguns.
And a gas mask.
The child was ready to set his plan into motion.
With all his weapons loaded, and the theatre's alarm and telephone wires cut an hour before, it was time.
At 39 past midnight, the child opened the emergency exit into the theatre's screening room and tossed his tear gas canisters into the theatre.
There was a flash. And deafening sounds of screaming.
Screaming that was only to get louder.
The child opened fire on the crowd of familiar faces.
Oh look! There are Stan's parents, and Token's, and Wendy's, and Bebe's.
Craig's, and Butters', and Jimmy's, and Tweek's.
There was Clyde's dad and even Timmy's crippled parents were here!
to be victims of a massacre.
And who was that in the corner? Why it looks like Kyle's and Kenny's parents! What luck! Talk about two-in-one!
Kenny's parents were an easy kill, not too special. Kyle's on the other hand were a kill to saver, to enjoy. And everything was complete when those Jewish snakes looked at me and shouted a name, allowing a smile to rise on my face.
Boom. Two, clean headshots followed as the Jews fell to the floor, dead.
The thought of Kyle's tears and pain gave me all the purpose I needed.
With every inch of the theatre sprayed in blood and bodies laid out across the aisles, all was done. Police would surely be there shortly, but they were all too late. The mission was accomplished.
Revenge was mine.
And so the child left the same way he came in. But he made sure to leave a trace.
For there, lying on the floor, sat a bloodstained, lime-green ushanka.
And in the ushanka lay a label:
"Property of Kyle Broflovski"
As quick as he entered, he was gone.
Everything was set into place and everyone fell for it. One-by-one, the police came door-to-door informing the children of the town that their parents were shot and killed at the midnight screening of Mysterion Rises. One-by-one they were informed that the police had camera and physical evidence to name a suspect. All as the child from before simply sat in his room, watching the plan come to its desired conclusion.
Kyle Broflovski was arrested for numerous counts of murder and was to be tried as an adult in court. They found him in his home, which had been booby-trapped with explosives, which seemed to make him look even guiltier. And as quickly as the bullets had killed their parents, the children of the town cut off all friendship with Kyle
even his best-friend, Stan Marsh.
When the court date came, and all the children came up to give venomous statements, Kyle simply sat there, destroyed and lost for words, seemly betrayed by those he once called his friends. His pleas of innocence fell on the depth ears of now orphaned children. He received no mercy.
I took everything from him with just a couple of bullets and his own clothes. I took his family. I took his friends. I took his pride and his dignity. And now, I was going to watch those who once cared about him, those he once considered friends, tear him apart.
As for Kenny? Tainted by the shooting's location and by the death of his parents, Mysterion never did rise again and Kenny became just as weak a child as the rest of them.
But although Kenny seemed like the original target, he was never really the focus. One must never turn their back on the Jew, or know a greater evil.
It's a funny thing really. How easily your closest friends could turn against you if their emotions or those even closer to them are attacked or killed, and the blood appears on your hands. How even your best friend could wish death upon you if the strings are pulled the right way.
Fuck you Kyle; stupid, Jew-rat.