The next morning at the bus stop, Cartman was different. Every time he opened his mouth to insult Kyle, his voice came out as a series of rhythmic, electronic chirps. "Hey, fatass," Stan said tentatively. "You okay?"
"I am fine, you guys," Cartman replied, but as he spoke, a thirty-foot satellite dish slowly unfurled from his rectum, tearing through his red jacket and green pants. It swiveled toward the sky, clicking and whirring with lethal precision. Cartman Gets an Anal Probe
Kyle, Stan, and Kenny watched in frozen horror. A metallic, saucer-shaped craft descended, silent as a grave. A hatch spiraled open, and a mechanical arm—topped with a glistening, oversized chrome nozzle—extended toward Cartman’s backside. Fire it up, the machine seemed to pulse. The next morning at the bus stop, Cartman was different
"No I don't, Kyle! You're just being a dildo!" Cartman barked, oblivious to the massive piece of hardware broadcasting deep-space signals from his trousers. "You okay