zim

Invader ZIM:  Public Access

Zim's gaze flicked from left to right, his bulbous head sweating under the Earth's filthy, disgusting sunlight.  He had to admit, amongst the vile, dirt-encrusted… things which seemed to infest this planet, the half-developed, filthy, filth-children his stature had forced him to surround himself with had to be one of the most…filthy.

"And that…" hissed Miss Bitters, positioning herself directly between Zim and the sanity-sustaining view of the clock, "…is why, in no more than ten years, all of you will be stuck in SOUL-destroying relationships, forced to work MEANINGLESS jobs to fill the ravenous mouths of the offspring you, no doubt, will have spawned, thanks to your disgusting, carnal urges…"

With that, eliciting a heartfelt sigh of relief from Zim, the bell cut Bitters off mid-sentence, her acidic ravings drowned out by the sudden clamour of escaping kids.  Zim, letting as many of the germ-ridden bodies get out of his way before bothering to move, breathed a long sigh of relief, swung his legs around the side of his seat, and wandered out of the door.

"And now…" whispered Zim to himself, remembering his vital mission on Earth with a sinister grin, "…the invasion CONTINUES!"

Dib, having packed up this week's issue of 'Paranoid Media Worm', was just in front of the diminutive Irken as he left, laughing as evilly as he could.

"What'd you say?  Something about… invasions?  Awfully suspicious, Zim…" snapped the human child, turning and waving a skinny finger under where Zim's nose, had he possessed such a vile, ugly protuberance, would have been.

"Did you HEAR that?" yelled Dib suddenly, turning back to his classmates, most of whom were preoccupied with the coming weekend.  "He just SAID he's planning an invasion!  Proof!  PROOF, I TELL YOU!"
"Yeah, Dib.  Whatever."  Muttered The Letter M, rolling his eyes.  The other kids either completely ignored Dib's paranoid ravings or whispered insulting comments about the state of Professor Membrane's son's sanity.  Zim, breathing yet another sigh of relief, sidled over to Dib, leaning as close to the boy's ear as he could.  Dib, slightly concerned, backed off.

"Your pathetic planet will never know what hit it…" whispered Zim, fully aware that he was fuelling his arch-enemy's paranoid rants, but unable to stop himself.  The very idea that a… a… 'human', could foil the intricate plans of a brave Irken soldier, chosen by the Tallest to invade a secret planet, no less, simply made Zim laugh uncontrollably.

This he did, for the entire fifteen-minute walk home.  People, for some reason, looked at him funny.

"MASTER!" screamed an incredibly high-pitched voice, sounding to Zim something like a comic artist and colourist being repeatedly battered in the crotch by another, skinnier, artist.  Zim shook his head derisively.  What a truly ridiculous concept.  This planet was beginning to have an adverse effect on him.

"Hello, GIR…" said Zim, cautiously opening the door and waving aside the ever-present robotic parent units.  The tiny information retrieval robot had been known to break things in his absence.  Things which then exploded…

Thankfully, this was not one of those occasions, and Zim was simply greeted with a huge hug.  After a few minutes of indulging his assistant's idiocy, Zim began to try to struggle free of the malfunctioning SIR unit's grip, only to discover that he was attached to nothing more than GIR's dog disguise, and that the robot had snuck away some time ago.

"I have a good feeling about tonight, GIR…" said Zim cheerily, letting his backpack lift him onto the sofa.
"Ooh!  Why's that?" asked the high-pitched invasion assistance tool, looking up from his beloved rubber piggy.

"I don't really know…" replied Zim, tapping at controls on his pack's computer panel.  "I just have a feeling that my next plan, whatever it may be, will really break the resistance of these pathetic, doomed Earth-things…"
"Ooh!  Ooh!" yelled GIR, hopping from one leg to the other in his excitement.  "I've got a plan!  A plan!  A plaaaaaaan!"
Zim raised an eyebrow.  "Well, it's nice to see you're finally making an effort, GIR.  Is it suitably fiendish?"
GIR nodded emphatically, his antenna waggling around as his head moved.

"Yeah!  Yeahyeahyeah!  First, we round up ALL the fish…"
Zim's eyebrow rose even further.

"Fish?  Why would we want this… fish?"
GIR simply grinned.

"That's the clever part.  When we've got all the fish, we HAND THEM OUT TO THE PEOPLE!  And then they'll all sing, and dance, and WEAR HATS…"
Zim sighed, as his sidekick rambled on.  It looked like he was going to have to come up with something on this own, then.  For all his enthusiasm, Zim couldn't help but feel a little disenchanted with the whole situation on Earth.  The weak, pathetic specimen of humanity known as Dib somehow seemed to foil every plan, every scheme he ever had.  And the Tallest always seemed so… bored… when he reported to them.  An inferior, less patriotic Invader might have thought that Red and Purple, exalted leaders of the mighty Irken Empire, didn't care about their most prized soldier.  Zim, however, knew that they must simply have important matters on their minds.  Why else would they keep redirecting his calls to Foodcourtia Pizza Express?

"Okay, GIR…" hissed Zim, finally, a vein on his head throbbing slightly.  "We'll just put that one on the back-burner, okay?"

GIR nodded, then inexplicably leapt sideways, sliding into the kitchen.  Amidst the crashes of broken pottery, Zim could hear the phrase 'back-burner!' repeated at quite incredible volume and speed.  The Irken shook his head.

"GIR, if you've quite finished, we HAVE A MISSION HERE!" yelled Zim, his temper thankfully coinciding with one of GIR's occasional moments of obedience.  Red eyes glowing, the information retrieval unit sprung to attention at his master's side.

"Yes, master!  Awaiting orders…" said the machine, his voice having dropped in pitch somewhat.  Zim picked his way over broken plates and scattered cutlery in the kitchen, finally reaching the dustbin and hopping in.

"What do these drooling stink-beasts rely on for their entertainment, GIR?" asked Zim, as the tube-lift shot through layer after layer of the Earth's crust, heading for the subterranean centre of operations of Zim's one-Irken invasion force.

"Fish?" ventured a squeaky voice from behind Zim.  Turning, the diminutive Invader sighed, seeing that his robot's eyes, shoulders and chest were green again.  In this case, green seemed to denote 'idiot'.

"Exactly." Answered Zim, without thinking.  "Wait… no, why would they… the answer is 'television', GIR.  They practically worship those primitive, flickering boxes.  The FOOLS!"
GIR squealed in excitement.  "Wheeeheehoo!  TV!  Can we watch the scary monkey?"
Zim held a gloved hand to his forehead.

"I thought they cancelled that…  Anyway, imagine what would happen if every 'television' show, across the entire PLANET, were to display subliminal messages of submission to the Irken army?"
"Total, global domination, SIR!" answered a deeper voice, as the faint reflection in the lift-tube changed from green to red.  Without even bothering to turn, Zim nodded happily.  "Exactly, GIR.  Tonight… WE INFLITRATE THE BROADCASTING STATION!"

Dib gasped, holding his binoculars even closer to his eyes in amazement, as the roof of Zim's house split in two, revealing a squat, roundish craft, which rose on purplish plumes and shot away into the night sky.  Shifting position in the prickly bush providing tonight's observation post, Dib's face broke into a malicious grin.

"Leaving your house unprotected, are you, Zim?  When they write the story of your capture, that'll be your FIRST MISTAKE!"
With that, the human hopped out of the laceration-inducing undergrowth, snagging his trenchcoat on a branch and hitting his face hard on the concrete pavement.  After a few moments, Dib clambered to his feet, brushed himself off and sighed, looking carefully at the empty house, trying to figure out a way to gain entry.

"Well, we're both allowed one mistake…" muttered Dib.  "And at least I have EARS."