Something's off about this thing. I think the narrative switch throws it off. ...I mean, I think there's a narrative switch. I don't even know. I just know something's off about it. It's weird.

Also, my thanks to those who reviewed - you have filled me with the squishiest of squishy glees, and as such, here's another prompt! Hooray!

URBAN

He should have expected that the second time he tried it, the same thing would happen. There was just no doing anything useful with GIR, unless one was looking for a dance club, or a taco shop, or something equally stupid. He'd hoped that such wasn't the case, but hoping really only got you so far when it came to defective robots. That is...not far at all.

Or, in Zim's case, pretty dang far.

This was, however, in a much more literal sense rather than a figurative one, as he was once again lost in the middle of the city, and his horrible SIR unit had rushed off in a fit of giggling madness, leaving him stranded. He should have known that the new guidance chip would fail spectacularly, even though he'd bolted it into the robot's head this time. Apparently this time around, GIR had shorted it out by leaving a sopping wet sponge in his head, for no other reason other than to have it in his head.

Zim knew this for a fact, as he'd spent twenty minutes dragging that exact reason from his insane SIR. Though, he still wasn't entirely sure why GIR had wanted a sopping wet sponge in his head.

What he was sure of, though, was that he probably didn't want to know, and also that he was really sick of Dib's penchant of stalking him. (This last part is important, seeing as how not two minutes after GIR had run off screeching, the dirt-monkey himself had appeared, laughing at Zim's misfortune.)

Fortunately, Zim got to laugh at Dib's misfortune not moments later, as the paranormalist had been more focused on stalking his rival than on keeping track of where he was going. He stopped laughing the moment he realized that, had Dib actually paid attention to his whereabouts, he might have been able to follow the human back to familiar territory. It was a realization that brought him to promptly smack Dib upside the head, proclaiming that the action was perfectly justified.

It was only after half an hour of yelling, arguing, ranting, and other such synonyms that the two decided to put aside their differences for the moment and find their way back; Zim really didn't want to end up in Mexico again, and Dib really didn't know what Zim was talking about whenever he brought that up.

He also really didn't want to have to go traipsing about the city with a deranged alien in tow, but...no going back now.

Sighing as he scuffed his feet against the floor and waited for the Irken, who had suddenly insisted on a bathroom break despite the fact that his body most certainly didn't work like that, Dib cursed his luck for the fifty-third time that day. He was certainly on a roll today.

"Hey, Dib-stink! How's this look?"

Dib stared, squinted, tilted his head, and stared some more, not entirely sure what he was seeing. He guessed that part of what stood before him was Zim, but... "What...are you wearing?" he asked hesitantly, tilting his head some more, as though it would help him figure out this visual puzzle.

"My city disguise!" Zim exclaimed, as though it were obvious. "I didn't have time to put it on earlier. Too busy being amazing. ...And trying to keep GIR from molesting the neighbor's cat, but that's not the point." He waved the not-point away with a sweep of a gloved hand, continuing proudly, "A most ingenious disguise! Certainly you find it HIP, yes?"

"Uh...sure...? But...why?" That was really all Dib wanted to know; a reason would make this atrocity a little less hard on him.

The disguised (and hip, don't forget) alien gave a scoff and flicked his eyes skyward in exasperation, again expecting that Dib was some sort of mind-reader and should know this already. "To fit in, stupid dirt-worm!" he responded irritably, adjusting his too-large baseball cap so that it faced to the side and making Dib want to yank the stupid thing off his head. Or face it the proper way, at least. "As an Invader, Zim must appear normal!" Following this sentence, there was a slight length of quiet, in which Zim assumed his rival was allowing the amazing words to sink in.

He was, in actuality, just a little baffled. Then, finding a shred of logic that might penetrate the alien's thick skull, Dib asked, "So, uh...Zim? Do you see anyone dressed like that around here?"

Zim stared around, putting a thoughtful hand against his mouth as he made a matching thoughtful noise. He then pointed gleefully, a wide grin on his face. "That guy!" he confirmed.

Immediately, Dib spun around to catch sight of the guy, finding... "...But...that's just a hobo," he said helplessly, by now developing a slight confusion-induced headache.

"Exactly!" Zim snapped, turning on his heel and stalking off in a randomly chosen direction. "Now hurry up! This city reeks of filth!"

For the fifty-fourth time that day, poor confused Dib cursed his luck, wishing he'd just stayed home today.

He really hadn't wanted to go traipsing around the city with a deranged (and hip...?) alien in tow...

Considered just lopping off the first part and starting from Zim speaking, but didn't know if that would help. Or make sense. ...Meh. Input?