The interrogation jar was a brutal place, considering it had only just been cobbled together from an empty jar of Greasy's Special Sauce (Nobody discussed it, but everyone knew it was Thousand Island mixed with a drop of mustard) and a desk lamp. In any sense, the Boggle despised it. The creature roared in anger, throwing itself back and forth against the thick receptacle while raving in distinctly old-timey language.

"You are fiends! Fiends! How dare you prevent me in my purpose!"

"Is there any point in the desk lamp?" Pacifica asked. "He has no eyes."

"We gotta have some atmosphere, Paz!" Mabel chirped, popping a wide-brimmed fedora on Dipper's head. "Everybody put on your best noir voice!"

"Ew! I look like I'm about to send creepy messages to girls on Hipstergram like some- some kinda desperate guy." Dipper retorted, taking the hat off. "No thanks!"

"If it wasn't for me, you'd probably do that anyway. No matter how cute you are, you were a desperate guy." Pacifica smirked, tapping his nose. Dipper pouted and tried to fight off the flush in his cheeks.

"Your casual flirting irritates me, humans!" The voice thundered from inside the glass. Every word was sufficiently booming to make it rattle on the desk.

The Northwest heir's eye twitched. She whipped her head around and jabbed the jar with her finger furiously. "Yeah? You irritate me, you jerk! What gives with you freaks? Your entire family throw themselves into the fire and you don't even blink?!"

She silently cursed herself. Of course they didn't blink. They didn't have eyes.

"It's our one purpose in life. What more does a flammable mineral wish for than the chance to burn? Some humans wish to watch the world burn - we wish to help them burn it, too!"

"What, this is some kind of crazy world-destruction attempt?

"You try coming up with better when you have no limbs, eyes, or nose."

Mabel shrugged and nodded. Hard to argue with that logic.

Ford ran one of his many piles of scanners and electronics over the thing and grimaced at the readings. The theory of alien fuel seemed dead on the money; not only did it go some way to explain the flammable nature of the mutated creatures, but provided a decent answer - as with much of the town's anomalies - as to why the damned things were so unbelievably bizarre.

"So there's more of you?"

"Thousands of tons of boggles. My god, the revolution will be beautiful."

"But you were dormant until we brought you here."

"We wake up when we see familiar things. Steam engines, women with covered ankles who aren't allowed to speak, industrial child labour, or - in this case - your miner pig."

Pacifica wrinkled her nose and looked at Waddles, who cocked his head innocently in his little helmet. "Wait. Seriously?"

"Where do you think pig iron gets its name? Mined by pigs for centuries."

"Told you." Mabel said, sticking out her tongue. "You guys forget I'm totally, utterly in sync with this place."

"And if you find a fire… ya first instinct is to just toss yourselves in there?" Stan asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "That's pretty fuc-"

"Pretty messed up." Dipper interrupted. "You know that, like, destroys you?"

"It's our sole purpose. And a proud one. We are all united!"

"You're a hive mind." Ford seemed unimpressed. "You all have one thought process."

"When you say it like that, we sound really dumb."

"Don't you get that you, like, blow things up?" Kevin asked, his eyebrow raised. "You could kill people."

"It's a win-win!" The boggle boomed. "You are a scourge! We destroy your primitive technology! We destroy you! We create smoke and smog! We come from this Earth and shall take it for ourselves! We are the ultimate lifeform!"

The Pines all glanced at eachother at this 'ultimate lifeform' - a fist-sized lump of dirty rock with lips and teeth.

It was a puzzling thing; A strange enemy that, on its own, was relatively pathetic. To translate it into the ton-load though, that - that was an intimidating concept. The idea that such a huge group of these self-propelling demons could be all united in the cause of destruction was more than a little intimidating. Especially considering that McGucket was planning to fill his locomotive's tender with about seven tons of the stuff. And was probably finishing his brand new steam engine as they spoke.

"What do we do?" Dipper asked.

Ford finished taking notes and huffed. "If I know McGucket, he'll have taken my words to the letter and will be waiting for my judgement."

Stan glared at his brother. "You don't know him that well, huh?"

"Huh?"

"The guy's been nuts for nearly thirty years. He ain't gonna wait because the Scientist who nearly destroyed the planet told him to. This is the most excitin' thing he's ever done."

Ford rubbed his chin. "I suppose we'd better call him and tell him what's what."

"And this guy?" Mabel asked, tapping the glass at the still-ranting, still-vicious, still-pig-headed boggle in a jar.

"Take him away from Waddles and he'll basically go silent, right?"

"No! No, you wouldn't! Not while I'm trapped in this infernal canister!"

"Hey Soos!" Stan yelled. "Got a new attraction for ya!"

Soos wandered in through the gift shop's door excitedly and picked up the trapped little soot golem. "Oh hey, that's great, Mr. Pines! It looks almost lifelike! I'm gonna call him Malcolm!"

"It's an uh - he's a two million-year-old rock." Stan said. "Remember to put a big sticker on the jar and keep mine pigs and steam engines away from it."

"Those are very specific instructions," Soos said, his brow furrowed. "But I shall follow them to the letter, dawg! C'mon, Malcolm! I'll put you with the preserved Snadger head!"

The Boggle - crippled as it was by the unwritten, albeit persistent rules of its race - went silent, helpless to follow the portly host to its new home. With the loud, outspoken creature out of the picture (sort of), Ford pulled out his cellphone and began tapping away. As ever with the Scientist - even a man with so much experience with technology - Grunkle Ford found it a ridiculous struggle.

"Dipper, how do I send a text?"

"It's just like a keyboa-"

"What the hell is an SMS? Is this some sort of code?"

"Just- just pass it here, Grunkle Ford."