andalitebandit-6: You made me pull a TAK. I looked at your review and just thought. "Hm! You must be smarter than the rest of them..." for some odd reason. BUT! I try to give nothing away. Is it that obvious? Or are you just weird? OR IS IT BOTH? We shall find out...

Lunar Lilly Muse: Okay! Cupcake is a fun word. You can't be mad and hear cupcake and keep being mad.

Silver Beast Girl Midnight: I've never watched Prison Break o.O; It just never really grabbed my attention, I guess. And it is FREAKY how alike our chapters can be, without any meaning to hah

QueSaraSara: Nope, still says Son. That's odd. And confusing a little. Maybe it's an acronym. like SUCK ON NOODLES. Or SPLODEY OVER NUTS. I update NOW! Because it's convenient! hah

Circus freak92-I AM GIR: different. But you were close! Thankies :) I like experimenting with different POV's in stories I write, because I get bored and go insane. But that's okay! At least it makes for good writin's. I hope.

Dekoi: Aw, thanks! Twists are fun O.O; I hate and love them at the same time. You'll be reading a fan fic and all interested, and then BLAMMO. Then you're all 'ARGH, WTF' but you keep reading! Because it's cool. I'm done now.

Invader Iza: Hillary doesn't see what's wrong with talking in third person. She does it all the time, and people call her crazy. Damn you, people...

Anywho.

The show reference was the "Master falls up the stairs and Master falls down the stairs" bit in GIR's POV. It's from LOST, which is almost as addicting as House. Okay, not that addicting, as House is my bitch, but still addicting. In Lost, it wasn't Master - it was Teresa. But that's beside the point.

Anyway! Back to my filthy evil, I guess.

"Shit shit shit shit shit."

Zim bolted down the street, math textbook clutched in his arms as he ran. "Late late latelatelate," he was seething angrily to himself, cursing his malfunctioning robot for keeping him up for hours on end, making waffles all night. He wished he had never stayed home the day before, but after he had told GIR he would, he couldn't rebel against that face. It was disgusting. The kitchen was full of random waffles stacked in plates all over the place. They had to have made about 300 of them. The thing wouldn't let him stop! Every time Zim tried to, he started screaming and sobbing and throwing things around the room until Zim finally cried that he would make more just to make him SHUT. UP. Then GIR decided to make it worse by continuing to make them even after Zim could finally escape, running around and squealing every time he finished one so that it was completely impossible to get sleep.

He was going to destroy that hunk of metal some day.

"Dammit!" he squealed as he tripped over his own feet, sending himself flying onto the sidewalk. He gave a sharp hiss of pain as he sat up and inspected his forearm, wincing at the long scrape he had managed to receive down the entire length of it, even through the added layer of his gloves. His knees were skinned as well, he noticed as he stood, and started snatching up all of the scattered papers that had fallen out of the book when he had fallen. He shoved some inside and just crumpled the rest in his fist as he grabbed his book and started back towards the skool, not running this side as he just hunched his shoulders slightly in defeat. It hurt to walk now anyways – he just hobbled down the street.

At least, he did until he passed the arcade.

"Zim?" he heard somebody call confusedly from inside and started as he fell to a complete stop.

"Eh?"

Dib took a step outside, dropping the gun to Kill the Dead Stuff as he walked. Zim felt his shoulders relax slightly as the human stopped in front of him. "Zim … what are you doing?"

"Going to ssssSKOOL. What does it LOOK like? Just because I don't play this 'hockey' like you, you miserable cow-"

"You mean hooky?"

"Sure. Whatever."

"I'm not playing hooky."

"You're not at skool."

"It's Saturday."

Zim opened his mouth to argue back, but quickly shut it when Dib's words finally made sense in his head. His eyes widened in realization and he furrowed his non-existent eyebrows. "You're lying!" he shouted, raising his fists in excitement and giving a small wince as he felt a slight spark of pain run down his arm. "Ow," he mouthed to himself, slowly massaging the cut and frowning.

"What did you DO?" Dib asked, carefully grabbing Zim's elbow and inspecting his forearm. Zim snatched his arm away and took a small leap back.

"I tripped," he mumbled indignantly, hugging his book to his chest. "Look, are you SURE it's Saturday? Because if I'm late because of your filthy head of smell-"

"Yes, it's Saturday. Why would I be here anyways? Dad would kill me if I skipped skool." Dib snatched up his gun and leaned against the machine. "And you sure you don't want to get that fixed or something? It doesn't look too good."

"It's just a SCRAPE, you inferior being!" Zim spewed, rolling his eyes. "I've dealt with a lot worse than that – trust me." He scowled as Dib shook his head and turned back to the game. Miraculously, he hadn't died, and he just went back to shooting zombies. Zim took a tentative step over to the game and stared into the screen, rubbing his chin as Dib took out all of the random zombie people. "What type of technology is THIS? You are actually KILLING people and-" He looked around. "-you don't get ARRESTED!"

"Ah, hah, no," Dib laughed, glancing over at Zim briefly as he continued to play. "It's not real. They're not actual people – it's all computerized. It's just a video game."

"Video … game? I thought that was the little blinky thing the Gaz-human carried around?"

"That's different – that's a GameSlave. There's tons of different video games; not just that."

"Oh." Zim just gently picked up a pistol and slowly inspected it. "Bah, this couldn't do any REAL damage anyway. You're right, Dib-stink." Dib just shook his head at him and laughed. Zim looked confused. "What?"

"You're just so stupid sometimes – it's funny."

"What! Am not!"

"Are too."

"Am not!"

"Are TOO."

"Am NOT."

"We're ARGUING like FOUR-year-olds!"

Zim opened his mouth and shut it. "Meh."

Dib looked back up to the screen, frowning when he found out that he'd just died. "Dammit." He dug in his pocket and pulled out two more quarters. Zim inspected him slowly as he pushed them into the slot. Dib bristled slightly as the gaze locked onto the back of his neck. "Doo… you want to play?' he asked slowly as he glanced up at Zim. Zim glowered at the Dib and debated, peering from the pistol to the screen and to Dib's hand.

"…Fine."

He flinched as Dib slid two more quarters in and glanced to the screen, suddenly looking confused. "Er, what do we do?"

"Just shoot bad guys when they come up and press the pedal thingy when you wanna duck."

"Uh … oo-kayy.."

(three hours later)

"THAT'S RIGHT, DIE! YOU WANT SOME OF THIS TOO, ZOMBEH! WELL YOU'RE GOIN' DOWN! DOWN, I SAY!'

Zim was leaning over the arcade console, vigorously pumping the gun trigger at the game screen and squinting an eye. He was grunting odd, little squealing noises, somewhat like that of a pig, and Dib couldn't help but laugh. Zim didn't even notice as he continued to shoot at the zombies, his tongue stuck between his teeth in concentration. "GUH – CURSE YOU, RELOADING!" he swore as he randomly snapped the gun off to the side of the screen and started rapidly pulling the trigger more. The last three zombies died, and a message flashed up on the screen.

GAME OVER – 900 BAJILLIONTH LEVEL BEAT. GO AWAY AND GET A LIFE.

Zim glanced at the machine, his non-existent eyebrow cocked as he read it. "That's it?" He let his arm drop to his side and stood up completely on the arcade game console, towering over Dib. "It's OVER!"

"Well, yeah, Zim. We have kinda been playing this for three hours straight."

"GUH. CURSE YOU!" Zim shouted, throwing down the gun and crossing his arms. He leapt down and frowned, glancing around the arcade. "Where did this place come from anyway? III have never seen it before."

"This has been here for the last 10 years, so you just don't notice much," Dib scoffed, dropping his gun into the slot with a grin. Zim carefully inspected him with a frown.

"What is so funny, human? I see no comedy…"

Dib just giggled. "You."

"Eh? What did I say that was so funny? Where? Did? This? Pl-"

"No, no no, it wasn't any of that," Dib sighed, rolling his eyes. "Jeesh, you can be the biggest idiot when you want to."

"ZIM IS NO IDIOT!"

"You are when you're playing Kill the Dead Stuff."

"Eh?"

"You were just STANDING on the video game."

"S-so?"

"Come on! You were so into it!"

"I wasn't inside anything, you filthy brain head of smell!"

Dib just started laughing, slapping himself in the forehead as he did so. Zim's pupils shrank to an inhumanly tiny size as he squared his jaw. "What?" He looked so confused, and Dib kind of felt bad for him.

"You are so behind on your lingo."

"Lin…go?"

"Yes. Like … Earth phrases. That you interpret oh-so-wrongly."

"ZIM HAS NO FLAWS!"

Dib shook his head. "Sure. You dwell on that."

"What? I don't! I perfectly understand your culture."

"Oh, so that's why when somebody says, 'what's shakin'?' you ask if there's an earthquake going on later? Or if somebody asks, 'what's up?' and you always reply 'the ceiling'. Or if somebody mentions 'jealous' and you ask what things have to do with 'jelly'. Or if a muffin is a 'pork-"

"ALL RIGHT, OKAY!" Zim shouted. "I can't keep track of your FILTHY little Earth phrases." He wiggled his fingers into a claw for emphasis and frowned. "Maybe if you didn't come up with such riDICulous sayings…."

"Ridiculous? They're perfectly easy to follow!"

"I've heard the way those darker humans speak! 'For shizzly my nizzler' and such."

"So? I don't say that! And at least humans don't say, 'great Irk!' when something surprises them!"

"No, you condemn your own God!"

Dib opened his mouth and shut it, crossing his arms with a grin. "Touché."

"Two… shay?"

"It means, like, even. Or something. I don't know."

Zim cackled once and pointed. "See! You can't even keep track of your own planet!" Dib shook his head and laughed.

"Okay! Fine, you win! Happy?"

"Very!" Zim grinned, docking his Kill the Dead Stuff gun and glancing up at Dib. Dib shoved his hands in his pockets and just smiled awkwardly back, completely disbelieving that any of this was actually happen. A week ago, they would be trying to tear the other's voice box out. Then again, a week ago, they hadn't … ya-know-ed. But still. Dib just leaned up against the video game.

"So, it IS a Saturday. What did you want … to do?"

Zim scuffed his boot against the ground. "I dunno. Maybe-" He froze and snapped his head up, looking absolutely horrified. "No!" he blurted, glancing down at his hands as his shoulders seized up. "But … over … and …" He blanched and gazed back up at Dib. "I gotta go." With that, he bolted from the arcade, leaving an extremely confused Dib behind.

lkjbghg;lkuio

I was gonna write something. Dammit.

I forgot what it was. So that was my brain melting.

Enjoy 8D