Somewhere outside the bar, a very strange thing was happening. A shaded figure with a Pikachu perched upon its shoulder turned to what appeared to be a small, shadowy dog sitting next to them on the sidewalk. The dog resembled Rush from Mega Man: NT Warrior, different only because of his darker pelt and closed eyes. But enough of that; I mentioned him already. (yawns)
"What was that all about?" inquired the shaded figure, one hand uplifted. (That's me, by the way: Fanficcer or TCF.)
"They can't know about their own show," replied the Dark Rush, rolling his eyes. "I had to do something."
"Here we go ripping off Artemis Fowl with the mind wipes again." Fanficcer rolled its own eyes as it stared down the Dark Rush. It thought for a moment. "Maybe I'd've been better off just getting rid of that particular scene."
"It's too late now," Pikasqueaks, the pocket monster seated on TCF's shoulder, shrugged. "Wouldn't to want a great piece of writing, would you?"
"I agree with the thunder mouse." The Dark Rush slapped one paw hard against the sidewalk. "I say you take action! I say you do something great! I say you do what we're telling you to!"
Fanficcer stared hard and long at the not-so-loyal fatedog. "You have got to stop talking like a commercial broadcaster," it noted, annoyed.
In another area of Springfield, Comic Book Guy, too, was puzzling.
"That's odd," he muttered to himself as he pursued the 'Net on a laptop, comfortably installed near the back of the Android Dungeon and Baseball Card Shop. "I haven't seen that boy Simpson and/or his family around Springfield for almost a day now." He paused. "I also don't see why I should care about matters as trivial as theirs."
He resumed to his tapping of the small black keys; within seconds, he had discovered an interesting website (content not specified) and was preparing to track it down to the URL before he was strangely stopped by a sudden, mysterious thought. I wonder where they have gotten to now? CBG shook his head. He had to stop thinking like that.
He had women to – he had a shop to run, after all.
It was the sort of thing you noticed. No, it's the sort of thing you more than –
glaven! – notice, observed Professor Frink with a singsong thought upon glancing around the deserted Springfield. Everyone goes away when the Simpsons are – glaven! – gone. As if to prove his point, tumbleweed rolled past the cracked, faded cement.
Professor Frink reached for a pen hidden within the depths of his white lab coat, at the same time fishing around another pocket for his trusty notepad. He then proceeded to scrawl down some things – little bits of info that would help him with his research of human psychology.
"It appears to me that when the Simpsons family goes, the life is sucked out of Springfield," Professor Frink muttered to himself as he scribbled upon the acid-free notebook sheets. "This is a – glaven – unusual development. I shall conduct a survey on all of Springfield. Glaven!" He paused, looking longingly at the superhero suit. The aforementioned item had been purged of its usefulness and was currently stashed away in a closet, never to be used again. Yet oddly enough, Professor Frink had discovered a use for the blue foam ball and this, on the other hand, was bouncing absently in his right hand as he finished jotting down his co-ordinates. The professor keenly observed the dull, listless residents of Springfield, noticing their desire to do something and their counteracting laziness to not do it. "Glaven…" he murmured softly to himself as he recorded more info.
Within minutes, Professor Frink had created a survey on his computer, photocopied it on his scanner several times ('several' meaning, of course, about ninety-nine times) and had handed it to a few random passerby. Out of the seven, only two people paused to fill it out.
"I shall not bend down to your level to discover why the Springfielders are so restless," was CBG's answer. "When they're restless, they appreciate my shop more."
"Yeah, the same thing goes for me," the squeaky-voiced teen threw in. "I'm getting more and more money."
"Disco Stu wants to have some fun. If filling out surveys is the only way to go, then Disco Stu will do it," answered the namesake of these sentences as he relieved Professor Frink of one of the plain white sheets.
"If it will-a help a-Luigi with his customers, then-a he will do it, eh?" was Luigi Risotto's answer as he filled out a survey, thereby helping the stranded professor.
"I need to keep Springfield like this, arr," was Sea Captain's declining contribution. "When it's empty, I have more room to roam the seas, arr."
"No, thank you. I have things to do with my daddy," said Ralph brightly when Professor Frink offered the second-grader one of the surveys. "My dad said that if I came home on time, we could play dress-up." That said, he held up a little-girl's outfit, complete with frilly pink dress and curly blond wig, before going on his way.
"The human brain is an estranged – glaven – device," the professor muttered to himself, stroking his chin as he stuck out a survey-filled hand to the next customer. "Do you want a survey, señor?"
"¡No entiendo inglés!" was Bumblebee Man's answer upon seeing the proffered personal test. (Which technically translated to 'I don't understand English!', though no subtitles appeared on the bottom of the screen.) "¡No deseo un examen!" ('I don't want a survey!')
"Odd." Professor Frink wrinkled his nose as the bee-clad Hispanic man disappeared into the horizon. "Despite my delicate grasp on the Spanish language, it appears to me that he understands English perfectly."