We haven't checked in on Pinky and the Brain for a while, so I thought now would be a good time to see what the two bad mice are up to. Last time we saw them, they were cooking up their latest scheme to take over the world. Phase One, the paper campaign, is going pretty well, but you know these two, there's bound to be a snafu somewhere...

Just a heads-up: some of Animaniacs' famous "goodnight everybody" humor comes into play here.

"Marvelous. Absolutely marvelous."

Brain gazed proudly at the cover of the latest issue of Time magazine, which bore his picture beneath the headline Citizen Brain: A Light in Y2K Darkness. So far, their campaign to run news features about his abilities to navigate the sharky waters of the Y2K panic had been a success. They'd managed to get not only the local papers interested, but a few mainstream publications as well, which pleasantly surprised him… and yet was no surprise at all. Even the most reputable media outlets were not immune to sensationalism or even yellow journalism, if it would guarantee them more views or revenue. This Y2K nonsense had spread like wildfire and people were panicking, some going so far as to build bunkers in their backyards. And naturally, the media was having a field day.

Brain opened the magazine and turned it to the article that he and Pinky had planted. The story described him as an up-and-coming leader based out of California, a former scientist who was working tirelessly to research the effects of the new millennium on the nation. So far, he had determined that there was no danger of another world war, although a widespread computer virus was not out of the question – and he was working on a solution. So far, the response had been fantastic. Pinky reported to him daily on the sales of the newsstand around the corner, and this issue of Time was sold out… and people near the stand were huddled together discussing it.

"Lord, what fools these mortals be," Brain quipped, moving from the magazine to another article in the Los Angeles Times. He'd been impressed when Pinky had managed to wrangle that one in particular, because once Los Angeles had hold of a news story, New York usually wasn't far behind. As of now, Pinky was out and about in Los Angeles, distributing campaign flyers and seeking out more papers to plant their stories in. "If there was ever proof that a news story doesn't have to be Watergate-worthy to receive national attention, this is it. As long as it makes money, the story can be as ludicrous as –"

"Tallyho, my darling!"

Brain shut his eyes as the yell ripped through the open lab window. "A mouse on a fox hunt," he finished, praying he wouldn't see what he was about to see outside. Alas, God had apparently decided to have a chuckle at his expense. He peered out the window and there, riding out of the sunset, was Pinky, riding up on the head of his girlfriend, Pharfignewton, who wore a wreath of roses around her neck. Brain held his head in his hands, giving thanks that the scientists were out at the moment. Although, this was California. Stranger things had happened. "Well, if it isn't Pistol-Packing Pinky," he deadpanned, glaring up at his cagemate.

"Hi-yo, Brain!" Pinky saluted his friend with a wave of the cowboy hat he wore. "I was sliding flyers into the racing forms at Santa Anita. Pharfy came in first," he said proudly, looking down at the mare with love.

"Congratulations, Kemosabe," Brain said dryly. "Would you care to dismount and report?"

"Say again, Brain?"

Lord, help me. "Get off the horse, you nimrod."

"Right-o!" Pinky waited until Pharfignewton had stuck her head through the window and slid off. "Dinner tonight, love?" he asked, lovingly stroking the mare's nose. Pharfignewton snorted and gave Pinky a great swipe with her tongue, nearly snatching him up in a slobbery kiss. The lanky mouse plopped back onto the table with a splash. "Not in front of Brain, darling!" he said with a laugh.

"Yes, I'm so scandalized," Brain said sardonically, rolling his eyes. He waited until Pinky had sent the mare on her merry way before speaking again. "Where are you two registered? Crate and Barrel Racing?"

Pinky blushed. "Brain, I haven't asked her yet!"

"Do let me know when you put a ring through her nose," Brain said, waving Pinky over. "Enough sentimentality and get to our paper campaign. You said you slipped our flyer into the forms at the racetrack. How many people were there?"

"Oh, oodles, Brain. It was a full house."

"Excellent. When they've thrown away their hard-earned money on the last nag out of the gate, they'll see my promise to make life in a new millennium better and put their hope in me." Brain sent his friend a rare smile. "I must admit, Pinky, that was a stroke of genius."

"Aw, Brain! Thank Pharfy; it was her idea."

"I'll send some thank-you oats. Now, what other progress have we made?"

"Ooh, you know that advert you made for your talkie-gigs?"

"Yes, the one with my picture that reads Think Big with Brain, Book an Oration Today, and has our phone number beneath it?"

"Yeah, that's the one! I put that in the New York Times!"

"No!" cried Brain in joy, his heart leaping. "Pinky, you actually got the New York Times to run my advertisement? How?"

Pinky beamed with pride. "There was a nice chap at the LA Times office who knows another bloke at the New York Times, and he promised to email it to him for tonight."

"The evening edition? That should be coming out anytime!" As if by magic, a newspaper sailed through the open window and landed on the table, narrowly missing Pinky. Brain unrolled it and beamed. "Thank God we had subscriptions taken out and delivered to the lab. Now we can keep up with the news. Think about what this means, Pinky! It means even more coverage. This paper has long been renowned in the United States, and the European papers may follow suit. And since we've had the phone rewired to the ad's phone number, we can accept calls for booking lectures and orations. And when that happens, the Y2K tour will commence!" Brain clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Pinky, we may finally have found your calling. Public relations seems to be your forte."

Pinky chuckled. "Oh no, Brain! My fort already came with a name," he said, gesturing at the hideout he'd constructed from a cardboard box.

Brain glanced at the logo on the box. The scientists had recently ordered new video recording equipment that he himself planned to filch for their campaign trail, and the company name could not have been more apropos. "The Village Vidiot. I'm in a cheerful mood, so I'm not going to say a thing." He rubbed his paws together. "Now, let's have a look at our ad." Eagerly, he scanned the first page of the New York Times. "Well, I assume we weren't in time to make the headlines. No matter." He leafed through a couple of pages and was about to turn over another when the phone rang. "Ah, our first campaign call! Pinky, check the paper and find where our ad was placed. I have to take this." After an aye-aye from Pinky, Brain trotted to the cordless phone and pressed the answer button. "You've reached the office of Citizen Brain. What will be your pleasure today?"

Brain's confident smile morphed into a disgusted expression as the caller's voice came through. Am I hearing what I think I'm hearing? "Madam, I assure you that is not what I meant. Might I suggest you try calling a number that begins with nine?" He ended the call and shuddered. "That woman needs help." The phone rang again and Brain answered, rewording his intro into "What can I do for you?" Again, he squirmed in disgust at what he heard. "I have only two words for you: get therapy." He got two words back and retorted, "May you also be so fortunate. Goodbye." A few more calls of the same variety came through, and only when Brain asked where they'd gotten the number from did he get an answer that made him suspicious. "They saw my ad in the paper?" he muttered to himself. A red flag waved furiously in his mind as his gaze slid over to his partner, who was still fluttering through the newspaper pages and humming obliviously. "Pinky?"

"Yes, Brain?"

"Where in the New York Times did your friend of a friend place the ad?"

"I dunno. All he said was he knew the perfect place for it… zort, I found it!" Pinky waved him over and pointed to the spread in the middle of a page in the back of the paper. "Didn't I do a good job, Brain?"

Brain's eyes flicked to the title of the section and he facepalmed with both hands. His suspicions had been confirmed. "Yes, at ruining my reputation! Pinky, you utter imbecile, your contact put our ad in the personals!"

Pinky looked nonplussed. "That's what I told him, Brain. I said it was personal to you, and he said he'd put it in the perfect place. Isn't that where this goes?"

Brain glared at him. "No, you ninny! This is the lonely hearts section!"

The terminology clicked and Pinky's eyes flew wide. "Oh, dear!" he gasped, clapping a hand over his mouth. "You mean we're getting calls from people who…"

"Breathe heavily? Yes," Brain replied through clenched teeth. He seized Pinky by the nose and yanked him up close to his face, pink eyes boring into blue. "Listen and listen good, you addlepated pinhead. You take yourself back to the Los Angeles Times office and get your so-called friend to rectify this blunder. Our campaign depends on booking our speeches and lectures, and it does not to be ruined with gratuitous sleaze!" The phone rang once more, and Brain gave Pinky a parting kick in the butt before answering. "Hello?" he answered, watching his partner hightail it out the door. He listened for a minute and closed his eyes before responding. "Flattered though I am, Miss Lewinsky, please stick with what you know."