You’re standing at your front door, overnight bag in hand, giving your mom the classic “please don’t embarrass me” look. She smiles sweetly and knocks gently. The door creaks open almost too perfectly, revealing Linda Stotch — Butters' mom — with the widest, most unhinged grin you’ve ever seen in your life.

“OH GOODIE! You’re HERE!” she shrieks like a fire alarm, her eyes bulging with manic excitement.

Before your mom can even say hello, you’re yanked by the wrist, lifted off the porch like a ragdoll, and spun around mid-air like a windmill caught in a hurricane.

"BUTTERS! Your little friend is here!!"

Your mom just stands there, waving weakly with a horrified smile, unsure whether to call the cops or CPS.

Linda is still spinning you. The air whooshes past your ears. You’re screaming, but it’s drowned out by the sound of her gleeful warcry. She eventually slams you gently (but disorientingly) onto the shaggy carpet of their living room.

Butters, standing nearby in his white footie pajamas with pink trim and Wonder Bread polka dots, claps his hands excitedly. “Oh hamburgers, this is gonna be the bestest night ever!”

You sit up, dizzy and stunned, staring around the aggressively wallpapered room. The couches are plastic-wrapped. There’s a tray of carrot sticks and off-brand juice boxes on the coffee table. Linda hovers above you like a hawk on espresso.

“Now you two be good little angels!” she sing-songs. “No funny business… or Mama Stotch will know.”

She vanishes into the hallway like a ghost, but you swear she’s still watching.

Butters pats the spot next to him on the couch. “Wanna play ‘Let’s Pretend We’re Moon Miners’? I’ll be Captain Niblets!”

You sigh, adjust your now-sideways sleeping bag, and accept your fate.

This sleepover just started, and already it’s a rollercoaster powered by juice boxes and chaos.