Chapter Text
Another year had passed, which meant it was time for the talent show again. The school still hadn't bought a stage, and the microphone puttered out every so often. The air conditioner had broken a day before the show, which made the packed, lunchroom air stink with sweat. Dib's machine had failed, again, which left him red-faced and wet-eyed brooding in his chair. Students grinned, and parents moaned, as Zim paraded on stage.
"It is I, the Almighty Zim!" he shrieked. "Ms. Bitters said that I couldn't do a disruptive song," he gave the last words air quotes, "So, instead, I'll do a cool song."
The audience wondered in anticipation, as music blasted through the old, warped speakers. Powerful guitars and a cool bassline pounded the room. Kids looked on in confusion. However, a few adults recognized the song, much to their horror. Synthesizers were soon added onto the musical soup; Zim eagerly tapped his foot with the beat.
An older parent whispered, "Oh my god! Is he really going to sing-"
"Mongoloid, he was a mongoloid!" Zim screeched.
The whole lunchroom went utterly silent. A few kids who didn't know what it meant scrunched their eyebrows in confusion, while the rest of the lunchroom had their mouths wide open.
"Happier than you and me. Mongoloid, he was a mongoloid!- Hey, where's the music?"
Ms. Bitters jabbed a laptop key, abruptly casting the stressed lunchroom in silence. She yowled, "Zim! That's offensive language!"
Zim, with a smug grin, slyly replied, "Oh, offensive? What, like nig-"
Zim sat uncomfortably in the Principal's office, trying his best to appear innocent. The small, smoggy office with decades-old paneling was sweltering. The principal, a broad, borderline fat man, scowled at him under his long nose.
"Zim!" he spat, "You can't just say the n-word!"
The alien shuddered under the stern man's steely gaze. Sweat pooled under his wig.
"W-well, why not?" Zim mumbled, nervously grinning.
The principal furrowed his thick eyebrows. "I don't want anyone complaining on social media. You know how cancel culture is!"
Zim crossed his legs, as he spat, "Oh, so you don't care about minorities?"
The older man shifted uncomfortably in his large, leather, office chair. Zim grinned, growing confident he could worm himself out of this problem; he had found a weakness.
"Instead of caring about the poor African Americans being oh-so offended, you instead only care about your reputation online. That's not very-" Zim leered at the man, "Politically correct."
Now, it was the principal's turn to sputter.
"W-well, I, um- You're getting a detention!"
Zim apathetically stood in his chair.
"I'll take that."
The fat man scribbled on a red slip of paper, and the alien snatched it out of his hands.
"Now, get out!" he barked, as Zim scurried off, snickering.
Detention was held in a cramped, stuffy room, filled to the brim with brawny and unscrupulous teens. The plain, aging, grey cement walls were devoid of any inspiration or hope. Zim managed to cram himself in a seat next to Dib, who was tapping his pencil to alleviate his boredom. The young man scowled silently.
"How did you get your big-headed self into skool prison?" Zim asked cheerfully.
Ignoring his insult, Dib lamented, "Apparently, you're not allowed to do presentations on vintage porn." In response to the alien's raised eyebrow, he exasperatedly explained, "It's part of history! Porn films first showed up in the early 1920's."
Zim whistled, digging in his PAK for a pencil.
"See? I could've educated the masses. But no, I got detention because it has inappropriate content. Most of history is inappropriate content-"
A bulky, overweight teacher waddled up to the table, and vacuously told them to shut up and do the worksheet she was handing out. Inspecting the piece of paper, Zim decided the best course of action was to turn it over and doodle on the back. He created two figures, one representing himself with handsome antennae, and the other, Dib, with his signature spoke of hair. The stick figures held hands, and had hearts around them. The alien, beaming, slid the backside to his crush. Lifting his head from his worksheet, he glanced at it, and rolled his eyes. Flipping his own piece of paper, he raggedly sketched out himself, and Zim's decapitated head, complete with X's over the eyes. Suddenly, they felt a booming sound from behind them.
"Doodling is not allowed, Dib," the teacher growled.
"But he did it first!" he whiled.
Squinting at him, she barked, "I don't want to hear any more complaining."
Trying to block out Zim's smug smirk, Dib sputtered, "B-but, but..."