#little guy (whose really 16 and usually much taller) just heard his crush likes him

[privateeye-cj]

People who have never read my comic, El Goonish Shive:

Please try to explain what a "pressure release chopstick" is.

(I mean, even if you have read it, no one's stopping you, but wrong answers only, please)

[thesamepictureofkyleeveryday]

Change is a funny thing.

Like when I was younger, I really hated my hair. My stupid big frizzy red Jew hair. I hated it so much that I'd constantly hide it under my hat, only taking it off when absolutely necessary. After my bar mitzvah at thirteen, I decided now that I had 'come of age' I could do whatever the hell I wanted with my hair. So I got it cut, and even though my mom didn't speak to me for a week over it, I'm glad to say that three years later, I still have a short neat crop of gorgeous two inch long vibrant red curls. Or 'ginger head-pubes', as Kenny calls them. Regardless of that dumbass's opinion, I never wear my hat anymore. It's stashed away somewhere, under my bed I think.

Sometimes change is a good thing.

Other times, not so much.

The most significant change in my life has been that of my thoughts concerning Eric Cartman. To be clear, my actual opinion of Cartman is essentially the same as it's always been. He's an overweight, egotistical Nazi prick whose sole purpose in this world seems to be making my life as unbearable as possible. I hate him and he hates me – we remind each other of this fact at least a dozen times every day. That's the way it's always been. But in recent years, I've been feeling something other than the usual outrage and disgust when it comes to Cartman and his fucked up behaviour.

It started in fourth grade when Cartman and I made that retarded bet about the leprechaun. That stupid asshole was determined to make me suck his balls, no matter what the cost. Of course, I never actually went ahead with it, and Cartman settled for just conjuring up an imaginary image of me doing it for everyone to see, which he appeared to deem as embarrassing enough for me. But that was just it – even though I stood there watching as the imaginary version of myself 'orally imbibed' the balls of the imaginary Cartman, I didn't feel embarrassed. I certainly looked it – eyes cast downwards, face flushed, teeth grinding together. On the inside though, a tingle ran down my spine and my stomach fluttered in the most usual way. It almost felt good, like I was enjoying the humiliation.

Over the past seven years, I've had many sleepless nights trying to figure out just what in the fuck went through my head that day. I'm sure it wouldn't have bothered me so much, had it just been a one-time thing. But it seemed to continue to happen whenever one of Cartman's plans to humiliate me actually worked. Whenever that asshole got the better of me he'd get right in my face, stare into my eyes and mock me with that gloating condescending annoying-as-fuck tone of his. But there was something about the low dangerous purr of his voice and the self-satisfied gleam in his dark eyes that caused my insides to writhe pleasurably. It freaked me out to the point that I wanted to run away, but I'd never give him the satisfaction. He's always told me that he loves nothing more than to see me angry, so that's exactly what I gave him.

When I got to the age of fourteen, I figured that it was quite likely that I was gay. This didn't surprise me in the slightest, though I didn't see the point in 'coming out' until I was sure. (As things stand now, I'm pretty certain that I am, but I'm still not coming out until I'm good and ready. I've told Stan though – that's good enough for now.) As appropriate as this revelation was at the time, it didn't really bring me any closer to working out what the fuck was going on with Cartman. I dismissed the thought that I could be attracted to him, despite the fact that he did tick all the boxes of what I considered to be 'my type' - taller than me, dark hair and eyes, strong broad shoulders. After all, this was Cartman that I was talking about – the guy who still maintains to this day that Hitler was 'the most awesome person in history ever'. As a Jew, I really don't feel that I will ever be able to overlook this particular difference of opinion.

After grossing myself out over the idea that I could have a crush on that fat fuck, I made a conscious effort to stop thinking about Cartman and the way he made me feel. I've heard it be said that once you stop looking for the answers, the answers will come and find you. This seems to ring true, as an incident last week brought me closer to an answer than I've ever been. A few of the old South Park Elementary gang had met up to shoot some hoops after school. This included myself, Stan, Kenny and unfortunately, Cartman. The fucking Nazi got so pissed off that I kept blocking his shots that he snatched the ball and threw it full force into my face.

I fell to the ground and as blood ran down my chin, I could hear Cartman laughing about doing me a favour by 'breaking that fucking ugly Jew nose'. I vaguely recall Stan yelling at him, but I was more focused on Cartman's voice and the throbbing in my face. My nose felt like a wilted flower and had swollen up instantly. It should have hurt like hell, but for some reason my body just wasn't identifying the pain. The usual tingling and fluttering sensations returned, intensified by the fact that Cartman's mocking tone rang in my ears. I licked the blood from where it had poured out over my lips and nearly moaned at the taste. It was at that point that I realised, much to my horror, that I was aroused. Not a full blown boner, but I was definitely at least half-mast.

I'm not sure how the hell I go out of that situation without anyone noticing my little problem, but let's just say that when I got home I spent a good half an hour in the bathroom 'solving it'. It was without question the most screwed up experience in my life and believe me, I've had a lot of screwed up experiences living in this town. What kind of person needs to jack off after nearly having their nose broken by their archenemy, for crying out loud?

So, how have my feelings for Cartman changed over the years? Having considered this most recent experience along with the others from the past seven years, I have now come to the following conclusion – My name is Kyle Broflovski, I'm 16 years old and I'm a masochistic gay Jew who gets off on being hurt and humiliated by a fat neo-Nazi fucking asshole who hates my guts. And I like the taste of blood.

In short, I'm completely fucked up