This fic was inspired by 2 cases of Surge and one reeeeeally persistent telemarketing phone-slave.  Um, I'm grounded.  You don't really want to know why.

            The day dawned brightly over the small green house.  Inside, Zim was preparing for another hard day of attempting world domination.

            "Gir!" he ordered, addressing the small green robot sitting on the couch.  "I'm leaving for skool now.  Guard the house while I'm gone, and don't let anyone in this time."

            The little robot jumped off the couch.  Its eye color changed from cerulean to red, and it saluted.  "Sir!  Yes sir!"

            Zim eyed the robot suspiciously, as though not quite certain it had understood.  "I'll be back in a few hours.  Try not to mess anything up."  He pulled open the door, and began the walk to skool.

            Gir went back to the couch, and became totally engrossed in the Scary Monkey Show.  "I love this show," it sighed happily.

            Gir had been watching the monkey for several hours when the phone began to ring.  After a moment, Gir picked it up.

            "Hello," said the voice on the other end.

            "Hiiiiiiiii!" answered Gir.

            "I'm calling to tell you about our fabulous product that you just can't live without!"

            "Oooohhh, what is it?"


            "What is it?"


            "What is it?!"

            "That's what I'm trying to tell you!" the voice yelled.


"Our product is the most amazing product ever.  After you buy it, your life will never be the same again!  Our product will make you rich!  Our product will make you famous!  Our product will help you lose weight!"

"Will it give me cupcakes?" Gir asked.

The voice on the other end considered this.  "Um, yes.  Yes it will."

"Gimme!" Gir yelled.  "I need it!  I need it or I will explode!"

"Don't you want to know what it is?"


"Okay then.  How many units of our fine product would you like to order?  Five?  Ten?  Fifty?"

"All of them!  I want all of them!"

"Excellent decision.  And how will you be paying for these?  Cash?  Credit? Suitcases full of stolen organs?  We're flexible."

"I don't knooooow."

"I'll put you down for the organs.  Okay.  Before we mail you your purchase, we need you to answer a few simple questions.  Is that all right with you?"


The telemarketer reads Gir the standard list of annoying telemarketing questions.

"And, finally, do we have permission to share this information with other companies?"


"I'll take that as a yes.  Your order should arrive in 2 to 3 days.  Thank you for your time."

The telemarketer hangs up.  Gir loses interest now that the phone is no longer speaking to him, and goes back to watching TV.

Okay.  That's all for chapter one.  But you know what?  I still feel like writing.  My parents are out, so the whole grounded thing doesn't apply right now.  Yay!  So, I'm going to regale you all with my amazing new mini-fic.  Here it is:

Random Acts of Dumbness:  Episode 1

Setting: K'Rin's academic geometry class.

Time: Middle of eighth period.

Note: Everything in this fic is true.  This is the transcript of an actual conversation that took place in K'Rin's class.

Teacher:  Okay class, who can tell me the measure of an angle with a complement of 60 degrees?

Student 1:  30 degrees.

Teacher:  How about a complement of 25 degrees?

Student 2:  65 degrees.

Teacher:  165 degrees?

Math Doofus:  Negative 75 degrees.

Teacher:  No, that's wrong.  You can't have a negative angle.  Distance can't be negative.

Math Doofus:  But why?

Teacher:  Because it can't.

Math Doofus:  What if I walk backwards?

Teacher:  It's still a positive distance.

Math Doofus and two of his friends stand up and begin pacing backwards across the classroom.

Math Doofus 2:  Look, it's negative distance.

Teacher:  No, it's not.

Math Doofuses 1,2,and 3 go from walking backwards to attempting the moonwalk.  The teacher slaps herself on the forehead, then gives them all detentions. 

End transcript.

K'Rin's conclusion:  Negative distance may be a myth, but negative IQ is proven fact. Food for thought:  In two years those guys will be able to vote.

On that sobering note, I will shut up.  R&R please.