Reintroduction
"Okay, let's try this," the counselor pulled the pen from behind her ear and located her notepad. "Remember, you're starting over; just pretend you've never even heard of each other."
A long sigh. "Okay. Hi there, I'm Dib." He stuck out his hand.
"Hello," came the response. "I am Zim! Your slave master-to-be—" a glance to the counselor "—er, despite my being normal."
"No, no," the therapist said.
"Yes I am! I'm more normal than you will ever be!"
"No, I mean leave out the aggressive language. No more talk of enslavement or weaponry or violence. Just introduce yourself. Let's try this again."
"Whatever," Dib re-extended his hand. "Hi, I'm Dib, you jerk."
"No, Dib," she scolded. "What did I just tell Zim? Try again."
"Fine. Hi there, I'm Dib." The hand went out again.
"Hello, I am Zim." Zim broke off his sneer and stared at the boy's hand.
"Well, Zim?" the counselor prompted. "Shake hands with him."
"Ew!" Zim shrank back. "He's probably got all kinds of filthy, big-headed, disgusting hyoooman germs—er—which I don't want to mix with my much more normal human germs."
"But Zim, you're wearing gloves," she pointed out.
"Yes, but—"
"You've gotta shake hands to look normal, Zim," Dib taunted.
"You shut up! Before I unleash my enslavement and weaponry and violence on you! As well as my aggressive language of doom!"
The therapist pinched the bridge of her nose and mentally sighed. 'No wonder this skool goes through so many counselors.'