Something had gotten through in Gir's head.
Another failed attempt at destruction. Another eventful fun-filled evening of Zim blaming everything but himself, including Gir. Another event which should have followed with Gir screaming something about pigs and going to watch the Scary Monkey Show.
But something had gotten through.
In the jumble of gum and paper clips and scraps of lint and aluminum and spare change floating around in Gir's empty space of a head, something had gotten through, reached his insane little core. And it made an impact.
A frown growing on his face, Gir looked down at the squeaky moose plushie in his claw-like hands with sadness apparent in his illuminant eyes.
"Master...
...Don't say... that I'm useless."
"What!" Zim barked, whirling around. He shifted his glare to Gir.
"Don't say that I'm useless, master."