I've just been informed of the fact that I NEVER do the disclaimer! Dearie me, I do so hope I haven't offended the omnipotent (no, that's omni-present) Jhonen Vasquez. Or the all-powerful Viacom, heaven forbid!
Yeah, I know I'm in a sarcastic mood, but I just read this book about atheism and it really sucked the joy out of me. Sorry ya'll have to pay for it. Anyway, here's my mild zadr or possibly zadf (Zim/dib friendship) doesn't matter really.
Enjoy!
A middle school classroom, unnaturally silent.Desks sped apart,fear emanates from every pore of every child. It can only mean one thing:
STANDARDIZED TESTING! …Of DOOM!
Zim, in all his green graced glory, sat one row back from the front and one row left from the wall. The wall, which protected the traumatized hallways from the inane shouts of those students who daily visited its doors.
The Irken looked at the next question in his book, terribly bored but holding out surprisingly well considering… well, he's Zim.
The paper contained a graph, pie-style, listing the of shampoo bought by the consumers of shampoo (not that they consumed shampoo) which's caption read: what would cause Silky brand shampoo to sell better than it's competitors?
That was the last straw for poor Zim. "Well that's STUPID! Surely they would make more monies if the name were changed! I mean, what kind of murfludc would buy a shampoo called 'Silky'? (A/n: not that he'd know…) you have to be some sort of-" WHISHPM
He was interrupted, mid-rant, by an irate teacher, who slapped a muzzle around his head. The invader bravely endeavored to free himself, but in the end he sat back down, defeated.
He finished the last fifteen problems in his booklet, social science thankfully. He found that he had a vast amount of trouble with math because his people didn't even have numbers therefore, no mathematic calculations.
He had to learn what takes humans about four or five year to master, in the course of only the last two that he'd been on earth. It was sheer hell, but not as bad as the grammar problem. Even EARTHINOID aliens had issues mastering English, let alone an outerSPACE alien.
But the booklet was finished in the end, as he had a knack for histories and culture, and the seventh period bell rang. The children jumped up and ran for the door at the speed of sound, if not light. (A/n: ludicrous speed, lol).
And Zim was left behind, still trying to remove his metal mask. So engrossed in this issue of sanity was he, that the creeping Dib behind him went fully unnoticed. The paranormalist tapped the alien's shoulder lightly, causing Zim to spin around, release a muffled cry and nock the books on his desk to the ground. Dib gave him an amused smile as he picked up the ancient and battered copy of Artimis Fowl.
"y'know Zim, normally I'd have to disagree with anything and everything you said, but this time, I have to agree: Silky is about the lamest brand name EVER. I would know" he grimaced "mine's Hot Girl"
Zim let out a barely audible snort. (a/n: the muzzle, remember?)
"It's Gaz's okay?" he said with a pained expression. "But I gotta go now, so later, I'll see you on the way home… probably" and made a beeline for the door, leaving a bemused and confused Zim in his wake.
Did the Dib-scum just… agree with me?
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For any that might be interested: that afternoon they didn't meet on the way home- Dib was taken off to the psychiatrist, as per usual- but there was an interesting follow up regardless.
The next day, Zim sat down at the table where dib was waxing eloquent about the new camera with night vision he'd bought (Zim broke his old one, wouldn't you know it?) cutting off the latest statement with a WHOP of the lunch tray.
"… I think your boyfriend wants to sit with us" monotoned Gaz in a point-out-the-obvious-sort-of-way.
And that's how it was from then on, no more no less. Any and all other happenings are stories for a different page.
my sister says i need to write a sequel but... i don't know. you tell me: is it good enough on it's own or does it need more?
Okay, i know this is sorta random but, this is a quote that makes so much sense that I fully accept it as true. You should read it too.
"The birthing machine may create Irkens by randomly combining all past genes (and eliminating reproductive organ genes to ensure that no natural unmonitored Irken births occur), courtesy of the Control Brains which would contain this kind of information about the Irken ancestors. If the machines tried to use the same genetic information for all Irkens, then there would be no Tallest or social class system. By not manipulating the Irken genes, the Empire is kept in order"