"I have bought enough coffee to make these human noise drones follow the nasty scent of this...Foldgers...to my base so they will be captured to have their brains sucked out with these neat little vaccum tubes that I never got to use...ya'know...the ones with the saws and the chains on them...yeah, those..." ZIM babbled as he stood on a steel podium surrounded by tiling and gates, which below was a sea of snaking wires, cords, and other electromagnetic wave transporting mechanisims.

After the "sea" was a giant plasmatic screen that took over half of the gargantuine lab room. Two lanky aliens who looked identical to ZIM looked half asleep as he babbled while they ate junk food.

"He's boring," said one alien with purple eyes to the other with red eyes.
"You didn't notice that before?" retorted the one with red eyes, sucking on a straw for his drink. "His plans were so amusing a few days ago, and now they are-"
"BORING, YOU'RE BORING ZIM SHUT UP," the purple eyed alien shouted at the transmitting screen. "And these cheese snacks you sent me smell very icky! I'm not eating them anymore!"

"Yeah, see? He's not going to eat them because you're icky like those snacks, ZIM. So go away, you're just too icky for us, your ALMIGHTY TALLEST LEADERS," bellowed the red eyed alien, and cutting the transmission.

"But My Tallest! - uggghhh," ZIM said with a frustrated growl. "I feel as if even my leaders have turned on me for my conquest of this planet. COMPUTER IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!" ZIM shouted angrily.

"Okay, but I don't really want it to be my fault," said the deep voice that belonged to the computer.

"Well too bad, it is. Deal with it," ZIM retorted. "Now help me get all this coffee upstairs so I can sell it and things to those Love Ambassadors of Brooklyn." The computer groaned and bagged up the 426,138 canisters of coffee that was stocked at the grocery store. How ZIM carried all that beany stuff home in the first place, I am not sure.

The bag was transported upstairs to the living room and then shoved into the lawn.
ZIM put on a fake rabbi's beard, a top hat, a neat children's tuxedo, and a convincing sign on his top hat that said "I LOVE COFFEE AND SELL IT TOO" on it. He was now a green and neatly dressed coffee salesman.

"Linnell, you are NEVER driving again, you always make us stuck in potholey roads," said a man with glasses and a beer belly dipping a glazed doughnut in his "lite" coffee. "Do you even know where we are?"
"Uhh...uhm, of course I do! We are...some place! On some road!" Linnell, a skinny man at the wheel said as-a-matter-of-factly.

"That's it, John, no more vauge excuses for you, I drive now!" said the slightly round man, pushing Linnell out of the way and grabbing the wheel, making the tour bus swerve left to right on the roughly paved road. After nearly running over a small ugly dog, the small bus tipped over on its side, and one of the men who were in the back wet himself as he was pummeled with encased instruments.

"Ah, Marty, you should know well enough now that you sit on the wrong side of the equipment," said another thin man who was fiddling with his bass guitar. He and the other man looked completely nonchalant as they sat on top of the large pile of musical instruments, with Marty at the bottom being crushed at the bottom. "Then you wouldn't have to make the bus smell of urine so much." Marty nodded weakly as the bruises on his body prevented him from moving very much more.

"Is everybody alright?" Linnell said, brushing the passenger curtains aside and looking at the three men which were in the back.

"Yeah, what happened?" said the man with neat black hair who sat by the man practicing on his guitar.
"Flansburgh tried to drive again," Linnell said sighing and rolling his eyes.
"Gawd, he needs to stop being such a control freak, man," he replied to Linnell's comment. "I mean, it's not like he owns the bus or anything."

"Yeh, but when he's not being a 'control freak', he's drinking like alcohol is water, and we all know (even Marty) how that gets," Linnell said gloomily.
"Hey, I heard that! I'm only right here!" Flansburgh snapped, but let his expression soften a little when he saw the amazingly tall "SUPERIOR COFFEE EMPORIUM OF ROASTY SUPERIORITY" building.

"Coff...ee..." he said unintelligably as he emerged from the door facing upwards, and walking stiffly towards the building. "Me get coffee...John get coffee...me...John...coffee"
"Uh, hello? Flansburgh? Is your brain not functioning today?" Linnell said, standing in front of Flansburgh after he had gotten out behind him. "Hey! Hey! Flanso! John! Mr. Kissyou! Hey!"
But when he had seen the sign and realized the scent of roasted coffee beans, he too became a brainless caffene-hungry zombie.

"Me get coffee too," he said monotonous tenor - pitched voice. "...Johns get coffee..."
"Uhm, is it just me, or did those two leave their brains back at your apartment, Danny?" said the man who was previously messing with his bass guitar.
"Dunno," Danny said with a shrug, still smirking at Marty's squished self under him and a few cases of instruments.
"Can you guys get off me now?" Marty said feebly, raising a weak, purplish finger.