After Stan had showered and eaten, they put their respective profits for the day into two giant barrels in the basement-one marked with an S, the other with an F.

Ford had argued that this wasn't the most accurate way in the world of judging which tour people liked better, and that they should ask them to fill out surveys at the end instead, but Stan pointed out that nobody ever did those willingly. Since Ford had been unable to come up with any better ideas, they decided to go with counting profits, tips included.

Even after Ford stopped Stan from committing voter's fraud by sneaking some of his own money into his barrel, his twin's profits were still higher than his.

Ford just ignored his smirk, and carried the mandible upstairs to the freezer (he would take great pleasure in studying it and finding out how Stan got it after these ridiculous tours were over for good).

Then Ford went to his room, and pondered over his notes on the day-specifically, what had gone wrong.

It seems that large amounts of information about human subjects just bore them-which is ridiculous, since they should be eager about this chance to learn as much as possible...but maybe they don't see it that way. It looks like I'm going to have to meet them halfway a little.

Ugh, Stan would never let me hear the end of it if he knew I was thinking like this.

He grabbed a pen and a fresh set of notecards, and got to work.

The next day, he was relieved to see that there were no sirens, gremloblins or manotaurs in the crowd of monsters that showed up. There were, however, a few unicorns, with manes bobbed around their necks (it had apparently become the latest fashion statement for them), along with some cryptids, and a pale-skinned boy in a dark hoodie who Ford was 80% sure was a vampire. To his disappointment, the boy got into Stan's cart, denying him the chance to study him further; he reminded himself, however, that that shouldn't be his main priority at the moment.

Once his cart was full, he drove off towards his first destination, a place he didn't think even Stan had thought to bring tours to.

"Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to present Gravity Falls Lake!" Ford announced, pulling up on the beach. "Where humans spend their time fishing, swimming and sunbathing, oblivious to the elusive Gobblewonker living just below the surface!"

"Oh my g_d, that's where he lives?!" an exasperated voice demanded, which turned out to belong to an ethereal-looking fairy who was, unusually for her species, wearing a postal worker's uniform and tiny messenger bag. "I've spent the last six years trying to bring him his mail! It keeps getting 'RETURNED TO SENDER' because people are putting the wrong address on, and I am so sick of it! Gah!" She threw her hat on the floor of the cart in irritation.

Ford covered his mouth for a second. "Yes, the Gobblewonker is mostly to be found under the water, only venturing out on occasion to the most remote islands, far from humans. Even so, he still gets occasionally picked up on the average fish finder, or people catch glimpses of him with their-" he reached into his jacket pocket, and whipped out- "Polaroid cameras!"

The tourists' different reactions demonstrated interesting things about how they lived. Some of them gasped in awe, staring transfixed at the camera and murmuring things like "so that's what those things are!" Others were surprised that they were a human-made invention, because they'd assumed that cameras just naturally developed on park benches or back alleyways. Still other species had invented their own types of cameras, and were amazed at how primitive the human kind were. Either way, though, everyone in the cart was fascinated, and Ford even allowed a few of them to peer through the lens and point it at things (but he took a page from his brother's book, and required an extra charge for anyone who wanted to take an actual picture). And he snuck in a few tidbits of information about people who had seen the Gobblewonker in the past, and things that were going on at the time.

When he finally moved on from the lake, he overheard some of the group murmuring to each other about having to come back and visit this spot; he smiled to himself.

Maybe this isn't so impossible after all.

Of course, there were still a few issues.

Ford had overestimated their levels of interest in certain things, as well as how much he would have to explain (some of them didn't even know how cars worked); despite this, he saw less general sleepiness in everyone, and significantly more overall interest. And at least today there were no manotaurs in the cart, so he didn't have to worry about anyone asking to steal deeds to electronic stores or invade the biker bar.

The piece de resistance came at the end, when as they were leaving, Ford produced a set of hand-made brochures for whoever wanted them, giving a few paragraphs on electricity, motor vehicles, and human culture, since those were the things that tourists seemed to ask about the most. Not everyone took one, but enough did that Ford was pleased. And he was even more pleased when several extra tips were added to the treasure chest on the seat next to him. As he drove back home, he even found himself humming happily, and drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

...It was almost a shame that he wanted this project shut down; on days like this it actually seemed kind of-

No! Focus on why you started this in the first place: beating Stan because it's all just a big joke to him!