Let there be damage ensued and tabloid news and that kind of love

Scene 1: Honey, I laugh when it sinks in

Disclaimer: The author of this work does not condone/endorse the messages, themes, and concepts presented by South Park. Considering how said work is melodramatic gay fanfiction written in theatrical script format of all things, I'm sure this seems reasonable to assume. However, it's astonishing how many times I've stumbled upon people in this fandom who are wholehearted believers of almost everything the show says, and, quite frankly, I would rather evaporate from this plane of existence than potentially be presumed as a bigot or, god forbid, a centrist.

Also, apologies for the wonky formating. Translating theatre script format into Wattpad is a little difficult to maneuver. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!

SETTING: An upper-middle-class kitchen in the dark. Blood is everywhere. Two corpses, dressed fairly plainly and modestly while appearing as somewhere in their mid-40s, are spread across the room. The man is bleeding out via gunshot wound while the knife, covered in blood, peanut butter, and jelly, is still sticking out of the woman's throat. Two PB&J's rest next to a children's lunchbox. The crusts on one are only partially cut off. A part of the floor has sticky white stuff splattered here and there. The kitchen window shines a ray of blue/white light into the room that lands right between the window and the woman's body. The audience can see the stove. The soft sound of its humming is optional, but preferred.

BUTTERS is standing opposite of the man's body on the other side of the room, holding an overly large shotgun in hand. A beat passes. He's still frozen as he drops it, only fliching as it hits the ground. A beat passes. He shakily stumbles over to the window, completely out of it as he awkwardly steps over her body before sinking to his knees in front of the window. He folds his hands on the windowsill before a beat passes. He suddenly remembers himself, shutting his eyes, bowing his head, and bringing one of his hands to his throat. He makes a cross with his hands while reciting the beginning of a Hail Mary prayer like someone who's memorized it perfectly but is clearly in shock. He speaks with a heavy southern drawl and accent.

BUTTERS

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Now trembling, he laces his fingers together again.

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with Thee. Blessed art Thou amongst women, and blessed is the Fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now...and at the hour of our death. Amen.

A beat passes. He begins, sounding unsure of himself, almost like he's perpetually asking a question.

...Dear lord...Hi...I know we haven't exactly spoken in a while, and- and I do apologize for that!...I'm sure it must be frustrating, waiting on one of your most devoted followers to check in. Lord knows- Oh, whoops! My bad. I know it drives me up the wall when I text my friends about hanging out over the weekend and then ERIC don't even say nothing about it until third period. O-or when KENNY calls me back, but it takes him a sec, and then when ya pick up the phone, his throat's all deep and scratchy and you know he's not really calling to talk. He's just calling to show off, 'cause he knows I can tell he just got some good pussy, I can smell it on his breath through the damn phone line. So then- then he starts going on about how he'd loooove to make plans, and "How was your day, Leo?", and "Hey, Bun bun, I aced that test you tutored me on, ain't ya just so proud of me?" Fucker. All while that poor girl's probably just sitting there, waiting for him to just quit his yammering, so she can finally get some fucking beauty sleep!