The 401278th Intergalactic Supremacy Pie Competition of Doom

"Hand me the tweezers."

"A 'please' would be nice."

"Please hand me the tweezers!"

"I don't appreciate your tone."

"Purple! Do you have any idea how important this is!?"

"Fine, take the stupid things..." Purple muttered. "It's too hot in here!" he complained, gesturing to the brightly lit, cramped room the two occupied, which was designated in the last minutes of the Massive's construction next to its huge, blisteringly hot engine room. It looked rather similar to the typical Earth kitchen, but this should hardly be surprising, seeing as that wasn't the only glaring similarity between humans and Irkens. Both used tweezers, for instance, although for very different purposes.

Red twitched at the complaint, his concentration broken. "Would you kindly shut up."

"Hmph. I guess I just won't speak to you then," Purple proclaimed, turning melodramatically on the co-leader of the Irken Empire. He realized he was uncomfortably close to the refrigerator, and sidled awkwardly to a more spacious area.

"That's perfect! That's exactly what I've been asking you to do since we began this; I said, "if you're not going to help assimilate the most important thing ever, then shut up and hand me things!"

Silence. Red set aside the tweezers momentarily. He had to make sure he'd mixed every piece in just the right quantity, with everything exactly where he wanted it. The Empire all but depended on it.

"Is it done?"

"Almost," Red replied, a slight gasp of awe barely tucked in his throat. His frustration evaporated as he carefully laid the bread across his work's- nay, his masterpiece's- sugary insides. "There. Purple? Fetch me the oven..."

"It's right in front you. Right there, see? It's right-" Purple repeated, pointing ineffectively.

"I see it! I see it I see it!" Red hissed, pounding the flimsy card table his creation rested on. His attention instantly turned back however as the force caused the pie to wobble; a meager amount of the sugary goodness spilled out of the holes in the crust. "No. No. NO!" Red was on the verge of tears; his opus tainted evermore.

His sadness quickly shifted to anger, which quickly shifted the pie face-down onto the floor.

"Get a damn intern in here to clean this up."

Red continued to stew in the hours that followed, resting comfortably in his office on his Vort-imported couch. This would have been a difficult task if Purple was not detained on the bridge, for, like most things, the two shared an office, or rather divided one. The room was almost spherical, and split down the middle into a purple and red section. For fun once, the two had decided to sit on the opposite-colored part of the room before realizing that it wasn't really any fun at all. Another time, an Irken drone decided to sit in the room for fun. He was let out of the airlock. The Massive, being large enough to retain its own orbit, soon picked the body up. For fun once, the Tallests threw cans at him before realizing that they were just throwing them at the window, and quickly decided that wasn't much fun either.

The two sides of the room had two different chairs and two different desks, both purchased at Conventia's annual furniture convention. They had two huge TV's overhanging the door on opposite sides; they once split one large one in half with disastrous results. The door, on the other hand, was only to let in the Tallests, anyone with any news who tried to enter was put to work in the Infinite Chamber of Screaming Air Conditioners Unit, an inescapable pit buried deep within the Massive which Zim had escaped from twice.

In fact, much of the office (or offices) was a tribute to the twosome's might, from the ice statues which melted hundreds of times a year (the workers in the Infinite Chamber of Screaming Air Conditioners Unit were, in a word, grumpy) to the huge snack larders of pirated goodies; entire planets were destroyed for their snacks (while others were eaten as snacks). While one of the two Tallests would occasionally commission the odd bigger ice statue to provoke petty arguments, they were generally united in starving the Irken economy for their own personal gain. Yet one of the Tallests, in all his greed, desired even more.

Which was why Red was so intent on baking pies.

4 Irken years he'd been Tallest, with one unsuccessful invasion and another one pending. In the 13 prior to that he'd been raised as a soldier, and had conquered at least twenty planets for his Empire. His Empire spat upon him for his height time and again for years, of course, but his current living situation more than compensated for that. In fact, he would have been a happy Irken if not for one thing: his Empire was second.

The Valusians were to be blamed for that. Valus Prime Figgins could be blamed for that. But deep down, Red knew it was the pies. And Red's pies were always second. 50 long Valusian years he'd been runner up to that ass in the Intergalactic Supremacy Pie Competition, and for 50 years Valus kept control of the best ports, the best planets, and the largest agricultural and economic centers in the known universe, as were wagered each year.

No more. Red wasn't going to live in his self-proclaimed squalor any longer. He was no longer content with his one unsuccessful invasion and another one pending.

Purple was rather content with his one unsuccessful invasion and another one pending. So far during his reign, he'd eaten a lot of planets, and a lot of other snacks besides. Plus he got to torture the smaller Irkens under his command. Besides, he thought, the Irken Empire was the second best Empire in the galaxy. In its early days, even before the Intergalactic Supremacy Pie Competition began, the planet Irk, facing severe overpopulation and pollution problems, sent an army to Lark, its neighboring planet in the tiny galaxy the two inhabited. And from those two planets the Irken Empire spawned. An Empire, Purple reflected, that had done nothing but grow in the years to come. An Empire that had lived and thrived for over 200 Irken years. So what if the Valusian Empire was bigger, or if the Vortians continued to clamor for independence? So what if Red got second place in the stupid pie competition?

"Incoming transmission from Invader Zim," a drone informed the Tallest. Every empire did have flaws, after all.

Purple rubbed the Irken equivalent of a forehead (known as the Ixlasnu, which translates literally as "thing above the eyes"). "Red, quit sulking and get out here!" Then to the drone: "Put him through."

Zim was not interested in the machinations of the Irken Empire. In fact, he knew nothing about them. He, along with the rest of the invaders, were kept blind to the rather obvious shortcomings of their leaders, and as a result Zim was very interested in them. In fact, he knew almost everything about them. It was very creepy.

"My Tallests!" he greeted his leaders with a ceremonious bow. Red had entered the frame of Zim's giant communications monitor. "Why, Tallest Red, you look... different."

Zim was not used to change.

"What do you mean?" Red asked.

"Well usually around this time your head is inclined at a level degree, and your eyelids bear further down on your eyes. Also, your skin looks paler. Is something wrong?"

"Shut up you freak," Red demanded. The Tallests were not very interested in Zim and were especially put off by his encyclopedic knowledge of their mannerisms. Zim smiled at the compliment.

"He's just frustrated because his p-"

"Shut up Purple! He's not supposed to know!"

"Know what?" Zim asked innocently. "Are you calling to promote me?!"

"You called us Zim. Why did you have to do that?" Red asked, irritated.

"Ah yes, the matter at hand," Zim snapped to attention, his tone business-like. From the corner of his comically over-sized communication hall he produced a 4'*5' tri-fold poster board and, unfolding it, held it up in front of the screen. It was, in what looked like chalk, titled 'Zim's Awsum Plan of dum.'

"Amazing, is it not?!"

"What is it?" Purple asked, not paying attention.

"It is the most amazing plan my gorgeous Zim-brain has ever Zim-thought of. ZIM!" he concluded.

"What does it do."

"I have told you of the Dib. For this plan to work, I need a giant tank to blow his filthy fat head up!"

"Uh-huh. How will this help you conquer Earth again?"

"Dib is the leader of the investigation against me!" Zim proclaimed, paranoid.

"He's got spies in the TREES!" GIR responded from somewhere offscreen.

"Sorry Zim, no tanks. You remember what happened last time..." Red intoned.

Zim had what he would've called a sudden Zim flashback of Zim. He saw himself driving through the city with his fleet of tanks, newly won from his Hobo-13 excursion after he avoided that unfortunate accident with the autopilot and the sun. He remembered the looks of fear and disbelief as he led his programmed fleet like a conductor in a parade. Then something happened which couldn't have been avoided, and all of the tanks blew up. A small murmur arose amongst those watching the nightmarish parade, then they resumed whatever it was they were doing before it had begun.

"That cost us hundreds of moneys on shipping alone."

"But that was my plan all along!"

"Towards what goal?"

"Eh..." Zim looked off, embarrassed. "To disrupt the peace!"

"Whatever Zim. We're hanging up now."

"WAIT! I have so much more to show you!" Zim pleaded, pointing fervently at his posterboard to no avail. The screen went black, and Zim's further requests for communication weren't approved. It was not dissimilar to the numerous messages a disgruntled man or woman makes to their ex. Two days later, he gave up trying to contact his leaders.

Zim was potentially the most dangerous anomaly the Irken Empire had ever dealt with: a stupid, destructive, pompous, maniacal beast of a creature whose tenacity was the only thing keeping him in the company of the elite. He'd singlehandedly ended Impending Doom, escaped Foodcourtia twice, caused two blackouts on Irk and the death of Tallest Miyuki. If he was at all self-aware of his actions, he might actually be considered a highly effective tool against Irk by its many enemies.

At the moment, the anomaly was depressed. He kicked his posterboard pathetically before lying on the ground, tired. He'd spent so many hours coming up with that, his greatest plan. Though less than 1 Earth year had passed, Zim felt drained of ideas. Even brains greater than his- if any existed- would be creatively spent, he decided.

The Dib was to be blamed of course. Every attempt, every effort of his was spoiled by that miserable flesh stink monkey. Yet part of Zim blamed the Tallests. His leaders were mighty and blessed by Tall-y, the un-creatively named god of size, whom the Irken priests of old spoke of before all religion was dismissed, but at the same time they always denied him the proper resources to quash the Dib, and the Earth with him. He remembered denying on of these requests as if it had happened only two days ago.

The more Zim dwelled on this thought, the angrier he became. How dare they question the intelligence, the very greatness of Zim! Obviously they had not been listening to how foolproof his plan was.

"If they won't answer my calls, I'll just have to demand my tank to their faces!" Zim stood up, a manic, reckless smile lining his face. "GIR!" GIR snapped to attention. "Prepare the Voot Cruiser. We leave for the Massive immediately. Minimoose!" the moose thing meeped in recognition. "Watch the base."

"Ointment!" GIR replied lackadaisically, then set off down the hall to the Voot hangar. Minimoose meeped.

Zim sighed, then quietly followed GIR down the hallway. This was going to be a long trip.