"Welcome back from the commercial break!" said Joan Sobe. "Breaking news! We are about to witness Professor Membrane's solution to the alien menace!"
The image shifted from the anchorwoman to the scene of the plaza, where Membrane stood on a platform in front of a huge red button. Beside the button was a digital map of the world, with dormant lights stationed at major cities. "Citizens of the world! Behold! With the simple push of this button, all this alien nonsense will be dealt with in a lethally scientific manner!"
Motioning to the map in a grand gesture, Membrane continued to explain, "When I push the button, every carefully stationed missile defense system on the map, as indicated by these miniature lights, will light up and be activated. They are programmed to shoot down all unauthorized aircrafts. Once they are taken down, the ships will be recovered, and the occupants interrogated in the most humane prison camp..."
The audience booed and hissed.
"... that North Korea has to offer."
Raucous cheers exploded. Roses, panties, small children, and other tokens of affection were thrown onto the stage. Membrane caught one of the toddlers in mid-flight, kissed it, and set it down in front of the button. The little boy happily whacked it with his sippy cup.
Behind the stage, the center floorboards separated and out of the ground rose an enormous steel turret sporting an even larger rotary canon Gatling gun. It towered high above the streetlights and treetops, looming large and impressive above the crowd.
"The Membrane Gadget 3246A is a rapid-firing weapon that utilizes multiple barrels in a rotating cluster to provide a sustained rate of fire," the Professor explained. "The loading and firing functions are performed simultaneously in different barrels as they rotate, also allowing them to cool. The rotating barrel cluster is powered by the latest in toast-powered motor technology!"
The audience ooo'd and ahh'd appreciatively.
"HEY!" Someone in the crowd shouted. "The lights on the map aren't lighting!"
Every head spun towards the digital display to confirm that, in fact, not a single light was on.
Membrane also turned to inspect it, raising a puzzled but untroubled eyebrow. "Hmm... maybe they forgot to plug it in?"
Behind the scenes, Gir giggled as he and his new squirrel friend took turns gnawing and electrocuting themselves on the map's main power chord.
Nervous murmurs were spreading throughout the crowd. "What's going on?", "Why isn't it working?", "The aliens sabotaged it!", "The kid broke it!", "Who took my popcorn?!"
Just as the Professor was about to send someone to check the connections, Zim's voot cruiser appeared above the tree line, in plain view of the onlookers, shocking all the murmuring into silence. The quiet was then shattered amidst an outburst of gasping and shouting, fainting and fleeing, gaping and pointing. Membrane remained unfazed. He smiled and faced the camera.
"Behold, world! You're in for a treat! The first terrorist aircraft will be brought down right before your eyes!"
As if on cue, the turret hummed and came to life. It swung rapidly towards the spaceship and took aim, the rumble of the launching mechanism firing up causing nearby shop windows to explode. The alien piloting the aircraft frowned, but made no move to escape. He hovered in place and waited patiently for his demise.
The roar of the launcher was reaching a deafening pitch, but still nothing happened. Membrane turned to see what was delaying his 33rd Nobel Prize Award nomination and was alarmed to see the steel barrels turning red hot... it was going to blow!
He dove for cover just as the explosion shot pieces of overheated metal shards in all directions. Trees were chopped down, frame tents were cut in half, and power lines toppled while vicious exposed wires angrily spat electricity. Small fires began to crop up everywhere.
"This… this is impossible!" Membrane cried, peering out at the mayhem from his hiding place beneath the stage. "My calculations were perfect! Mistakes like this have never happened to me before! How could this be?!"
The answer began to rain down upon him, in the form of burnt polyester fibers and pieces of gold and teal fabric. It was all that remained of the J Queen Venetian pillow that had been jammed into it's gears prior to the unveiling.
The alien projected his laughter clear across the destruction. "Pathetic! Humans are sooo pathetic! You really thought you could stop me with these toys?!"
He maneuvered his ship around to where the Professor crouched, facing the man directly and raising the canons on either side of his vessel. "Think again," he smirked, and fired his weapons.
"NOOOOO!" Membrane wailed, bringing up his hands in a futile effort to protect himself.
He was rocketed backwards against the stage's support beams, getting hit with volley after volley of chic, round, taffeta filled cushion pillows. The air all around burst with cotton batting, mixing with the descending ash, and creating an effect like fluffy burning snowflakes. The alien cackled maniacally and turned his ship around, hunting down those too slow or too stupid to evacuate the area.
"AAAH!" "MY TACO!" "EEEK!" "I LEFT MY STOVE ON!" "A;DKJF!"
The television image returned to Joan Sobe, and she hurriedly stashed away her make-up kit that she had been applying. "OH, THE HUMANITY!" she squalled. "Further reports keep coming in of similar disasters across the country! And this just in, the Toast-Powered Flying Car(c) factory in China has also exploded! Witnesses say they saw an alien spacecraft leaving the scene. The Professor's lawyers say he is too unconscious to comment at this time. Instead, we have as our guest tonight, a mister Agent Darkbootie of the Swollen Eyeball Network. He is a professed expert in all things paranormal, including global alien take-overs!"
A miniature screen popped up beside Joan, displaying the dark outline of what appeared to be an elderly man with a bald head and spiked goatee.
"Agent Darkbootie, welcome to the program! Please tell us, what can be done to stop this devastating devastation?!"
The shadowy figure nodded to her briskly, eager for this chance to finally share the fruits of his life's work with the public at large and be taken seriously. "Indeed, things are looking grim," he answered gravely. "These public menaces infiltrate us secretly, replacing us with doppelgangers! They impregnate our women with creepy telepathic children! They practice terrifying experimentation on their captured human slaves, transplanting human heads onto the bodies of a poor, innocent chihuahuas... But all is not lost! We can still beat them! We here at the Swollen Eyeball Network have been preparing against a possible alien invasion for a long time! It's surprisingly simple, really..."
Darkbootie brought his face closer to the screen, shielding the side of his mouth with a hand in the universal sign that he was about to whisper a secret. "We SNEEZE on them!"
After a moment of incredulous silence, Joan coughed awkwardly.
"No, no!" Darkbootie chided. "We SNEEZE, not COUGH! Granted, both are good for emitting germs, but a sneeze has better projectile capacity! As we humans know, nothing is more devastating to a multicellular life form than being exposed to a foreign virus! You'll remember something as simple as a few smallpox-ridden blankets nearly wiped out all the Indians in early American history. Being foreigners to our planet, aliens would have no natural immunity to human diseases! A single sneeze could spread throughout their evil empire within a year! An antidote would take them at least 8 months to develop! During those 8 months, at least 60 percent of their population would die!"
He grinned and sat back in his chair, tapping his fingers together conspiratorially. "Think about it... if a single sneeze could do all that, how much faster and how much more damage could be done with one hundred sneezes? One thousand? One million? There are currently over seven billion humans in the world. We are now accepting volunteers to come and sneeze into sterilized cups at your local clinic or hospital and have those samples sent to our headquarters. The more variety of contagious diseases we can use against the enemy, the better our chances of survival! I also encourage everyone at this time to get updated on your vaccinations in the highly unlikely event that something goes awry and the samples get into the wrong hands. Anyone with questions feel free to call our network at: 1-555-"
"WAIT!"
Another miniature screen appeared alongside Darkbootie's, completely covering the anchorwoman from view. Dib's uncensored face turned and pleaded desperately at his paranormal compatriot.
"You're making a big mistake, Darkbootie! You're assuming these aliens are physiologically similar to humans, but that's false! In fact, they don't even have human organs! They have this thing called a squeedly spooch and -"
"Agent Mothman!" the older gentleman interrupted. "If you are referring to that queer neighbor of yours, I believe your findings were soundly trounced in a certain episode of 'Mysterious Mysteries of Strange Mystery' only a few years ago. Please stop embarrassing the paranormal profession and let legitimate experts handle this."
"I keep telling you, those witness testimonies were faked!" Dib insisted.
"And those times you kept showing me that 'alien' video feed of your normal neighbor eating normal waffles?" Darkbootie countered.
"That was a chronic case of bad timing..." Dib muttered.
"Log off, Mothman," Darkbootie warned. "Or revoke your membership to our organization. Your insubordination at a time like this will NOT be tolerated."
"... tch," Dib looked away disgustedly. "I'm telling you, you're making a mistake... I'm the only one who knows what we're really up against. But fine, I can tell I'm just wasting my breath here. I'm sick of everyone ignoring me." He turned and faced the larger TV audience. "You'll remember me when all your plans fail."
With that, Dib's screen blipped and disappeared, leaving behind a bewildered anchorwoman and irritated secret agent.
"...Well!" said Joan. "That was certainly... something, wasn't it? Mr. Darkbootie, that was Professor Membrane's son, wasn't it? You called him Agent Mothman... what relationship does he have with you and your organization?"
"Agent Mothman..." began Darkbootie patiently "...is a good kid. A bit misguided and, well, insane at times. We made him an honorary agent as he is one of the largest contributors to our research department. Money well spent, I assure you!" He too turned to face the TV audience and continued in a much cheerier tone. "And everyone at home can donate to our "Save the World" fundraiser too! The first 100 callers will get a free Swollen Eyeball key chain! Just call the number flashing at the bottom of your screen. Operators are standing by!"
