Welcome to the obligatory ranting/whining/insane-babbling portion of my fic.  Unfortunately, topics for ranting/whining/babbling about are slim these days, so this will be rather short.  Details about the help I asked for in my summary are available at the end of the fic.  Yes, the end.  That means you have to scroll all the way down to the bottom of the page to find out what I was talking about.  Since you have to scroll anyway, you might as well read the fic while you're at it.  A most diabolical plan, no?  Oh, and review!  Reviews are good too.

Two to three days later…

            Zim was just returning home from school.  He was scratched, bruised, and covered in a very nasty water-induced rash from his last face-off with Dib.  Needless to say, he was very happy to have made it home. 

"Miserable dirt child," he muttered to himself.  "I'll make him rue the day he ever messed with ZIM!"

He pulled open the door.

            "Welcome home, son," the robot parents greeted him cheerfully.

            "Gir!" Zim snapped, "Where are—Aaahhhhhhh!  Gir!  What is THIS?!"

            The room was covered in packages.  The enormous mound of boxes reached from floor to ceiling, and blanketed everything but the TV, which was playing an annoying infomercial.  Gir's giggling could be heard emanating from the bowels of the largest pile. 

            "Gir, come here!  NOW!"

            At the sound of Zim's voice, Gir stuck his head out of the pile, then tumbled down the side of it to land at Zim's feet.

            "Hi Master!" he said happily.

            "Gir," Zim said in a soft, dangerous tone, "What is all this…brown, cube-shaped…stuff?"

            "My boxes!"

            "Where did you get these…boxes?"

            "The telephone gave them to me!  Wheeheeheeeeeeee!"  He resumed his cavorting in the mountain of packages.

            "Gir!  I'm not finished with you!  What is in these packages, and who brought them here?  Have you been letting humans in the base again?"

            "Wheeheeeheeehooooo!  Where's my cupcake?"

            Zim growled in frustration, realizing that Gir was going to be of little help.  He picked up one of the boxes at his feet and inspected it.  There was a piece of paper stuck to the side, with some human writing scribbled on it.  He pulled it off and read it.

            "Dear valued customer number 7254190,

  Thank you for ordering from Webugu Corporation.  Our products are…pretty decent!  You have ordered 5,796 units of product number 435.  Payment comes to a cash total of four million dollars, and is to be paid in pilfered organs.  Please send your payment to the address given at the top of the page.  Thank you, and have a nice day!"

            "WHAT!" Zim screeched.  "Four million human dollars!  In organs?  What's in these boxes, anyway?"

            He tore off the lid of the box in his hand, and dug through the mass of Styrofoam packing peanuts inside.  His gloved hand brushed something solid.  He pulled out a large can.

            Zim read the label.  "Industrial grade…floor wax?  Floor wax?!"

            He threw the can at the ground.  Then, he went into the kitchen, where he was forced to use the garbage can entrance to his labs.  The toilet was inaccessible due to the astronomical number of boxes piled on top of it.

            "Computer, take me to my labs!"

Five minutes later, in Zim's secret laboratory…

            "Computer, what is this Webugu Corporation thing?"

            "Processing, PROCESSING! Webugu Corporation.  A human corporation whose sole purpose is to gain human currency.  Functions by exploiting the very stupid and the very gullible.  Employees called telemarketers contact potential victims via telephone, and then manipulate them into buying cheap and useless products at ridiculously high prices.  The company then sells personal information about its victim to other soulless corporate entities like itself, until the hapless victim (also called a customer) is devoid of currency and is forced to live on the streets as a wandering hobo."

            Zim glared at the screen.  "Pitiful human enterprise!  No one exploits a mighty Irken Invader!  NO ONE!  When I conquer this spinning ball of filth, I will be sure to devise an especially horrible punishment for these…telemarketing creatures."

            "You've got mail!" the computerized voice interrupted Zim's rant.

            "Computer, put the message on screen," ordered Zim.  He wondered who was contacting him.  There were really only two possibilities:  either the Almighty Tallests were calling to check on his mission, or Dib had finally managed to hack into his database.

            "You have 2,763 messages," the computer replied.

            "WHAT?" Zim screeched, "Impossible!"  He was on a secret mission.  The only two people in the galaxy who had the correct frequency by which to contact him were the Almighty Tallest, and they had never sent him even one message before, let alone over two thousand.

            "Computer, identify the origin of these transmissions."

            "Unable to comply.  Over two thousand seven hundred separate points of origin." 

            Zim narrowed his eyes.  "Computer, put the first message on screen."

            The message began to play.  It featured a short, chubby, balding, man with an obnoxious voice and a loud tie.

            "Hello hello hello!" he said, in far too chipper a tone.  "Are you tired of eating the same boring thing every night?  Sick of bland tasteless dinners?  Of course you are!  Luckily, C-Food Industries is here to help!  For the low, low price of just $99.99 per serving, you can order our patented dehydrated reconstituted fish product sticks!  Twenty percent fish substitute, eighty percent endangered sea mammal!  Call now to order!"  A number began flashing on the screen.

             "The telemarketers!"  Zim yelled, outraged, "But how did they discover the location of my secret base?"

            He switched off the monitor.  "Foolish human phone-lords," he growled.  "I was going to wait until after I conquered this pathetic planet before I dealt with them, but now…"

            He boarded the elevator to return to the main part of the house.

            "Now, they will suffer a fate far, far worse than that of the rest of their disgusting species.  Oh, what a fate they shall suffer!  They will never escape the wrath of ZIM!  NEVER!  Mwahahahahahahahaaaaaa!"

            Oooooooh.  This is starting to get good, no?  I only have one itty-bitty problem.  I have most of chapter 3 already written up, but I have a serious shortage of stupid telemarketing/infomercial company names and products.  If you have any ideas, please include them in your review!  Credit will be given in the fic to anyone who submits.  The next chapter will be up much faster if you guys help me out on this!