Chapter Text
“Okay, so tell me why you’re here,” Dr. Quinn Pidd said as she sat down in her giant chair. Across from her, sitting on the couch and looking confused and annoyed at the same time was Eric Cartman, who was rolling his eyes.
“Why the fuck do I have to tell you?” he growled. “You’re the psychic, you tell me!”
Dr. Pidd laughed and pat Cartman on the head. “Oh, silly Eric,” she replied as he muttered “Don’t touch me” under his breath. “I’m not a psychic! I’m a psychiatrist! I do know why you’re here, but I’d like to hear you say it yourself so that you know why you’re here.”
“Because Mr. Mackey took a year off to find spiritual enlightenment so they sent me to you,” Cartman replied, still sounding annoyed. He didn’t like how this lady was using a high-pitched voice as if she was talking to a cute pet or baby.
“So, what did you do to get yourself sent here?” she asked him, never losing the creepy smile.
“Well, apparently, according to my teachers, I’m ‘psychotic’ and ‘anti-social’ with a ‘total lack of empathy for other people’s feelings’ or some bullshit like that,” Cartman told her, putting air quotes in his words. “I have no idea what they’re talking about.”
“And what exactly did you do to make them say that?” she wondered.
“Well, I tried to crucify Kyle yesterday with the tetherball pole, yesterday,” he replied. Only a shift of her eyes brows showed that Dr. Pidd was shocked by what he said. “I think he deserves it, really. Being all Jewish and shit. And he kept contradicting me during history class when I was telling the class about the greatness of Hitler.”
“That’s a pretty cruel thing to do to someone out of nowhere, don’t you think?” Pidd asked him seriously (or as seriously as she could while still using the condescending pet tone). Cartman blinked at her.
“No, I pick on him all the time,” he replied. “It’s our thing.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, sounding slightly shocked. Rolling his eyes again, Cartman recounted every single episode of the series in which he and Kyle had a “spat,” talking in great detail so the author wouldn’t have to, while the new psychiatrist whose name the author made up at the top of her head listened in what might have been horror if she would just stop with the creepy smile.
“And then I said, ‘Back off you fucking Jew!’ and um, he totally did,” Cartman finished, sitting back with a self-satisfied grin on his face. “Yup, good times.”
The therapist didn’t speak for a moment as she paused to write a few things down on the notepad she had seemingly gotten from nowhere. Cartman sat there, feeling awkward at the silence, so eventually he decided to speak.
“So, obviously you can see that there is absolutely nothing wrong with me and I don’t need to be here,” he said, standing and slowly inching towards the door. Dr. Pidd looked up and Cartman froze. Her creepy smile had become wider.
“Why of course there’s nothing wrong with you,” she said in a more sing song voice. Cartman blinked in confusion, having no idea how to react. “Something wonderful is in you!”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” he muttered, inching a little closer to the door. But her next words made him stop dead in his tracks.
“Why, obviously you’re in love with your friend, Kyle!”