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"Ugh. Why the fuck are we here again?" Rick says.
They're standing in the middle of a ballroom in J-19-Zeta-7's home dimension, where a bunch of big wigs in tuxedos and ballgowns are gathered for a cancer symposium.
"Don't you want to see...want to see what it's like to be a normal scientist?" Morty's also wearing a suit, the shitty prom suit he wore before his home dimension got Cronenberg'd. "You know. Making a living not selling weapons or grifting from alien planets--"
"Okay, first of all, that dipshit's not normal, okay, you can tell by the bowl cut and the lazy eye. Second of all, I sell weapons AND technology, Morty. I'm not a fucking hack," Rick says, and a couple in a tuxedo and ballgown glance at them.
"Oh," the woman says. "Are you related to Dr. Sanchez?"
"Fuck no," Rick says, while Morty goes, "Yes."
"Howard and I have a bet. He's convinced that you two are twins," the woman says.
Rick rolls his eyes. "Christ..."
"Rick," Morty says.
"Okay, okay, fine. Yes, I suppose we're technically composed of the same sets of DNA. Except in terms of gene expression, he lost the genetic fucking lottery. You know, in case you couldn't tell just by looking at him," Rick says.
The man in the tuxedo gestures with his drink. "I see your lab coat. Are you a scientist too? What's your field of research?"
"Uh, how about everything," Rick says, and Morty shakes his head.
"H-he's more of an inventor than a researcher," Morty says.
"Oh you little piece of - are you, are you fuckin' serious?" Rick says. The woman in the ballgown smiles.
"Well. You must be so excited for your brother - we're excited to hear him speak," the woman says. "He's one of the most prolific and brilliant researchers in the field."
"Oh yeah?" Rick says. "How many papers does he urrp publish?"
"Oh at least two or three a year," the woman says.
"I-is that a lot?" Morty says. Rick rolls his eyes.
"See Morty, i-i-it doesn't take much to impress these people," Rick says, after the couple leaves. "J-19's a fucking idiot and they're all pissing themselves because he publishes a paper."
"Rick, you know, I think you're jealous," Morty says. "I-I mean, look at him! This is what it'd be like if you, you know, applied yourself."
"'Applied myself'?" Rick says. "What, are you kidding me? You mean this slow-ass, circle-jerk, piecemeal way of so-called 'science' is more impressive than what we do on a fucking daily basis? I-I mean, this guy can't even go forward with his research until his findings are 'verified' by 'other researchers.' It's a crock! A scam. A fucking sheep-like mentality that cock blocks actual science."
There are people in the crowd staring at him. Rick turns around. "What."
"Rick, you know. I-I think you're being kind of harsh. I mean, he found the cure for cancer--"
"Because he's a moron, Morty, actual science is too complicated for him so he dicks around with cells."
"I mean, I don't see you coming up with the cure for cancer," Morty says.
"And why would I?" Rick says. "Selling weapons is way more lucrative."
The ballroom dims, and they take their seats. Someone whispers, "Oh, it's starting," and there's a murmur in the crowd.
The announcer walks up to the podium. "Our next speaker is a Nobel laureate whose work on oncolytic viruses and vector-based vaccines has led to exciting advances in the treatment of cancer." ("Boo," Rick says.) "Please join me in welcoming our special guest speaker, Dr. Rick Sanchez."
The crowd claps as Doofus Rick walks up on the stage. He fiddles with the microphone.
"H-hello, everyone." The microphone squeals.
"Oh this is gonna be a trainwreck," Rick says. Morty motions at him to shut up.
"H-hi. My name is Rick Sanchez, a-a-and I'm here to talk about, about oncolytic viruses..."
The other Rick Sanchez slaps his forehead.
"...specifically the, um, in-vivo evaluation o-o-of combining HSV1819-mediated oncolysis w-w-with gene transfer and targeted radiotherapy..."
"Booooo," Rick says again. Morty motions for him to be quiet.
"So let's...let's go to the slide." Doofus Rick clicks on the powerpoint.
"Ugh," Rick says, and he slouches in his chair. "So fucking lame."
"Rick. He discovered the cure for cancer, Rick. I-I-I don't think that's 'fucking lame.'"
"Morty, h-h-he's fucking around with the herpes virus, Morty, and it isn't even through having sex! He's the only Rick who's still a virgin, Morty. Are you seriously impressed by that?"
"Yes," Morty says. Rick smacks his forehead.
(Doofus Rick continues, "So, w-we engineered HSV1819 to convey the, the noradrenaline transporter gene, or NAT, a-a-and used the HSV1819-NAT variant a-as a dual cell-lysis delivery vehicle....")
"Okay, I'm bored," Rick says, and he shoots a portal.
"Rick," Morty says, while the rest of the audience stares at the shimmering green portal glowing in the background. Rick groans.
"Ugh, fine, whatever," Rick says, and the portal winks shut.
"Rick. He found the cure for cancer, Rick. I mean, maybe to other Ricks, it's not a big deal, you know, but to normal people it's really impressive," Morty says. Rick throws up his hands.
"Morty! His research is fucking worthless, Morty. I mean, seriously? A fucking cure for cancer? I-I-I could whip one up in a couple hours! The reason it takes so long is that his quote unquote 'genius' is fucking hamstrung by a bunch of mediocre hacks."
"Shh," someone says. Rick flips them off.
"He helps me with my homework," Morty says. "He takes the time to teach me even though he's visiting my Dad."
"What, so you're saying you don't learn anything? You little fuckin' turd. Who taught you how to defuse a neutrino bomb or drive a motherfucking spaceship, huh?"
( "...and the result was decreased, um, tumor growth, a-a-and enhanced survival, uh, relative to the injection of either agent alone." Doofus Rick shines a laser pointer at a graph on the powerpoint. The red dot circles the numbers.)
"Ugh." Rick groans. "He's seriously the only Rick that can be talking about gene transfer and targeted radiotherapy and still sound like a fucking idiot."
A portal opens. A bunch of Militia Ricks step out.
"Oh, look at this dipshit. Doofus Rick's urrp giving a lecture." The Militia Ricks snicker to themselves.
Rick rolls his eyes. "Great," Rick says. "Now we got the Sheep Ricks to worry about."
"Look at this! It's the Terror-Rick. Fuckin' Terrorist Rick. The fuck are you doing here?" the Militia Rick says.
"Hey, knock it off, I'm here supporting my buddy, okay, shut the fuck up, you're being rude," Rick says.
"Oh, you're friends with him?" The Militia Ricks snicker. "Get a load of this. Terrorist Rick is friends with Doofus Rick."
"Yeah, because obviously I don't give a shit about a bunch of Sheep Ricks."
"Go fuck yourself, Terror-Rick."
"Why don't you go fuck yourselves, Sheep Rick?"
"Um," an audience member stares at them. "A-are you all related to Dr. Sanchez?"
"Fuck no."
"Ugh."
"Look at that moron, fuck no."
"Um," Doorus Rick peers out from the podium. "I-is something going on?"
"Boo!"
"You're a fucking moron!"
"Fucking dumbass dipshit Rick!"
"How about you take that cancer cell and stick it up your ass!"
"Hey, rude," Rick says to the Militia Ricks, who laugh and high-five each other.
A security guard walks up to them. "I'm going to have to ask you gentlemen to leave," he says.
"Gladly," a Militia Rick belches, while another one zaps a portal. "Yo ding dong, when you're done jerking off, come to the Citadel. We got a backed up toilet for you."
"Ha ha!"
"Fuckin' moron!"
They walk into the portal, which winks shut.
The audience, who had been staring at the crowd of Ricks that had appeared in the back, turns back to Doofus Rick, who's standing dumbstruck at the podium.
"Hey, J-19, they're a bunch of fuckin' hacks. Just ignore 'em!" Rick says. Doofus Rick's face brightens.
"Thanks, Rick," Doofus Rick says, smiling. The audience stares.
"His brother's name is also Rick?" an audience member says.
Another audience member blinks. "Seriously?"
"Gee, Rick," Morty says, as Doofus Rick begins his presentation again. "I was really surprised, you know. Stickin' up for J-19 Rick like that. I thought you'd join them and keep heckling him."
"Pfft." Rick leans back in his chair. "There's a difference between complaining and heckling, Morty, and only fuckin' losers go after an easy target. I mean, it's like kicking a special needs kid in the nuts, Morty. There's no, there's no fuckin' craft to that. I mean, look at him," Rick says, and he gestures toward the powerpoint.
"Fuckin' dicking around with the herpes virus and he's never even gotten laid."