Popping bottles in the ice, like a blizzard.

When we drink we do it right, gettin slizzard.

Sippin' sizzurp in my ride, like three 6.

Now I'm feeling so fly like a G6!

Zim was well past gone as he downed what had to have been the twentieth cup of the day for him. He had no idea what the contents within the cup were, all he knew was that it tasted delicious and that his body was burning with nutrients and a positive vibe he had not fealt in some time.

The bass was booming across the small room as the party raged on; people were crowding the television and watching cartoons and laughing wildly; others were surging out on the balcony, relishing the fresh air and the moonlight; a crowd had gathered in the kitchen where Marco was displaying his skill at shot pouring; and finally a group had gathered around the penthouse's large dining table for a drinking game.

Gimme that Mo-Moet,

Gimme that Cry-Crystal.

It was at this table that Zim was currently chasing what he believed had been a vodka and whiskey mixture with what he was guessing to be patron and smirnoff. Even for the alien, the game was taking its toll.

He downed another cup and sputtered briefly as he tried to figure out where it had even come from. Before he had a chance to dwell on that, another cup was there. He grabbed it and with a roar he slammed it back. The crowd cheered and Zim grinned triumphantly as he watched his opponent spew all over the table.

There were both boo's and a couple cheers as Zim stumbled off.

Drink it up, drink-drink it up,

When sober girls around me, they be acting like they drunk!

They be acting like they drunk, acting-acting like they drunk!

When sober girls around me, they be acting like they drunk!

Gaz was waiting for him at the edge of the crowd watching the drink off, in her hands a bottle of cherry flavored vodka. The goth was smiling softly at him, sharing his victory with him.

The sight made him want to take her right there, but he withheld. There would be plenty of that this week as it was.

"May Zim have this dance?" Zim asked as he gently nudged her towards the lounge room across the suite. There was a large open space that had been set aside for dancing and a pole had been set up in one corner for any girl who fealt so daring.

Quite a few had actually taken up the challenge.

Sippin on, sippin on sizz, Ima ma-make it fizz.

Girl I keep it gangsta, Popping bottles at the crib!

Gaz smirked as she was led into the center of the room and Zim took her around the waist. He gently swayed her side to side before twirling her and then—completely disregarding basic physics for someone who had consumed his own weight in alcohol—dropped her to the floor before flinging her into another spin. They sashayed a couple times before spining again before moving in close and just being there.

She laughed as they danced and the smile shifted from the corners of her mouth to her eyes as Gaz allowed the alcohol in her system to propel her into her lover's arms.

This is how we live, every single night

Take that bottle to the head, and let me see you fly

Across the room, seated at the kitchen bar was Dib. The scythe haired man was nursing a cup full of tequila and orange juice; he had been draining it liberally ever since he had arrived earlier that night. The group Gaz and Zim had come down with had shown up around noon and had been partying since.

Beside him, Tak was sipping straight vodka—the cheap, burning kind, not the smooth stuff—and was eyeing a new drinking game that was forming with interest.

"They're disgusting." Dib grumbled as he drank from his solo cup, grimacing at the taste and cursing whoever had made it as he did so. Mixing was an art form and whoever had been making the drinks was obviously new at it. That, or he just hated Dib. Both were entirely possible at this point.

Tak sighed and grabbed Dib by the sleeve of his shirt and led him away from the sight of his sister and Zim dancing.

It was time to get her friend very fucked up.

Hell Yeah!

Drink it up, drink-drink it up,

When sober girls around me, they be acting like they drunk!

"Alright! If your partner can't handle their drink you lose!" The man—Tak had heard him called Derrick-shouted drunkenly as he held up a handle of whiskey as if it were some sort of king's spear.

"DRINK ON!"

Its that 808 bump, make you put yo hands up!

Make you put yo hands up, put yo, put yo hands up!

Dib took a cup and with his hand tied to Tak's they both downed its contents. Tak was an experienced drinker and handled it well enough—her Irken genes helped here—and Dib was already a little sloshed, so he didn't feel the burning sensation that some of the others were feeling.

Its that 808 bump, make you put yo hands up!

Make you put yo hands up, put yo, put yo hands up!

The next cup came and they downed it. Then another and the same thing happened. By the fourth cup they had already had one team drop. By the sixth another two pairs had dropped. Dib actually fealt a grin spread across his face as they finished their eighth cup.

Its that 808 bump, make you put yo hands up!

Make you put yo hands up, put yo, put yo hands up!

Hell yeah, make you put yo hands up!

Make you put yo hands up, put yo put yo hands up!

Dib and Tak pushed through to their tenth cup before Dib fealt light-headed. By the eleventh he was starting to have trouble bringing the cup to his lips. Tak noticed his hesitation and hit him in the stomach out of drunken anger, causing Dib to nearly puke.

Shaking it off, they drained their twelfth cup. And then their thirteenth. They were only one couple away from winning the game and everyone was cheering like crazy. It was an insane amount of alcohol to consume, but then again, it was spring break.

Then Dib did puke.

Now I'm feeling so fly like a G6,

Like a G6, Like a G6!

Now I'm feeling so fly like a G6.


Zim and Gaz had ended up wandering off from the party and the resort itself. They found themselves laying on the sand by the ocean, semi-coherent as they giggled and traded light kisses. The moon hung low over the water, illuminating the beach in a romantic way.

"We're so dumb," Gaz snickered drunkenly as she flung sand at Zim. She hated romance, romancing, and couples in their entirety. Yet here she was, on spring break—something she had sworn to never stoop too—with a boy on a romantic beach escapee.

What a twist of fate.

"I'll gladly be dumb for the rest of my life if its with you," Zim said happily as he smirked at her before pinning her to the sand. Gaz fealt her breath hitch as she looked up into his black eyes, the red barely escaping through the semi-permanent disguise.

One of her hands broke free from his and grabbed him around the back of the neck. Without a word said between them, she brought him down to meet her lips with his own in a passionate lip lock. The two stayed like that for a long moment; not breathing; not twisting; nothing. They just kissed and enjoyed every minute of it.

Then Zim's hand graced over a sensitive part of Gaz's anatomy and the purple haired girl moaned. What followed was a flurry of clothes and animistic urges being satisfied until the two were nothing more than a heap of sweaty flesh on a deserted beach at three in the morning.

"Zim..." Gaz whispered as he held her.

"Mmm?"

"I'll be dumb with you for the rest of my life too."