"GIR!! Return to the control room. I don't want any part of the plan to suffer because of your STUPIDITY!!"
"But I forgot to register."
Zim stared. "What?"
Gir surveyed Zim matter-of-factly.
"The lady on TV said that if you don't register you can't vote. And if I can't vote I can't get a free tub of nail goop in Alice's Beauty Dungeon."
Zim continued staring at Gir, first of all dealing with the length of Gir's speech. "Gir never gets that sort of airtime, the viewers will become suspicious…" Suddenly, Zim felt as if he had been knocked over by some racing force. He was sure he had been bowled over by some fantastic idea but soon realised that there was merely a light bulb flickering over his head.
"GIR! What is this, voting?"
But it was too late. Gir was already traipsing around the room wearing a pink apron. He skipped merrily (the gaiety, how it haunts me) over to Zim and handed him a paper bag. Unfortunately, the bottom was to fall out of it quite soon. (Do not worry, I am not trying to burden your tiny brains with squishy metaphor. The above is meant quite literally, for you see, our ever-so-thoughtful li'l Gir has filled Zim's bag with super nutritious raw (for flavour) pig entrails, whose effluent juices were dripping through the end of the feeble paper bag.)
Zim glanced at the repulsive bag, clearly marked "LUNCH EATS".
"Uh, Gir?"
Gir remained cooing around Zim in his dear mother hen manner.
"Hurry, or you'll be late for Skool! And remember, take candy from strangers, it tastes GOOOOOD!!!!"
Gir slammed the door in Zim's face.
SPLAT.
It took Zim ten minutes to recover ans kick the pig intestine off his shoes.
"Monday. What a vile human ritual."
Zim stared. "What?"
Gir surveyed Zim matter-of-factly.
"The lady on TV said that if you don't register you can't vote. And if I can't vote I can't get a free tub of nail goop in Alice's Beauty Dungeon."
Zim continued staring at Gir, first of all dealing with the length of Gir's speech. "Gir never gets that sort of airtime, the viewers will become suspicious…" Suddenly, Zim felt as if he had been knocked over by some racing force. He was sure he had been bowled over by some fantastic idea but soon realised that there was merely a light bulb flickering over his head.
"GIR! What is this, voting?"
But it was too late. Gir was already traipsing around the room wearing a pink apron. He skipped merrily (the gaiety, how it haunts me) over to Zim and handed him a paper bag. Unfortunately, the bottom was to fall out of it quite soon. (Do not worry, I am not trying to burden your tiny brains with squishy metaphor. The above is meant quite literally, for you see, our ever-so-thoughtful li'l Gir has filled Zim's bag with super nutritious raw (for flavour) pig entrails, whose effluent juices were dripping through the end of the feeble paper bag.)
Zim glanced at the repulsive bag, clearly marked "LUNCH EATS".
"Uh, Gir?"
Gir remained cooing around Zim in his dear mother hen manner.
"Hurry, or you'll be late for Skool! And remember, take candy from strangers, it tastes GOOOOOD!!!!"
Gir slammed the door in Zim's face.
SPLAT.
It took Zim ten minutes to recover ans kick the pig intestine off his shoes.
"Monday. What a vile human ritual."