By Drone N
I turn my head. There he is, panting from running halfway across the base: No wig, one contact on, both eyes squinting.
"Where is the rest of my disguise?" he says, a little calmer now, trying to get my cooperation.
"It's in my sammich!" I squeal.
"What sandwich?" He asks, left eye twitching.
"The peanut butter one!" I exclaim, not loud enough to draw attention from the neighbors, but enough to make him worry.
He sighs. I can't blame him.
"Where did you put it?"
"In the computer core."
"I was gonna put some jelly in it, but I decided I didn't want to, so I shoved the jar into the elevator control board."
He stands there, mouth agape, stupefied at my stupidity.
"I put the maple syrup in the Voot's engines, so you couldn't fly to skool." I add, attempting to cheer him up.
"Why would you need maple syrup in a peanut butter sandwich!?! And why would you purposely make me late for skool!?!" he screams.
"I forget!" I giggle, pushing him over the edge.
"GIR! You incompetent, stupid, foolish little-"
"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! Mastah hates me!" I yell, as pitifully and annoyingly as I can.
"No GIR! Please stop crying! I…I love peanut butter!" He says, eager to cut off the screaming.
"Y-You do…?" I sniff.
"Yesss. I do. I'll eat it all up if you leave the room and let me call the skool office to tell them I'm sick today." He says, as soothingly as his Irken throat can allow.
"No GIR! No yelling!" He cuts in.
"Okay!" I yell, far to loudly. I march out of the room. As soon as I'm out of sight I pause, and listen to him scream at discovering the phone full of compressed melted butter.
"Idiot." I say to myself, insulting the defective in the living room. My eyes flash to their natural (or perhaps, artificial) red. I wonder how he can be so paranoid about the pre-spaceflight humans, and so naïve about the 'malfunctioning' SIR in his base. He never realized he was being used, never realized that I did a lot more while he was gone than dance with humans and watch the Scary Monkey show. He never realized that when the Earth is conquered, it will be the start of a new Empire, not an extension to an old one.
I step into the elevator thinking about the plan. I had nearly enough ground beef to overwhelm his body's defenses, collected from tacos and burritos. The moon cannon was nearly ready, already testing it's aiming systems by focusing on human power centers. I step off the lift, and walk to the teleporters.
Before I beam myself up to the space station, I pause, and repeat my previous insult:"Idiot."
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