DISCLAIMER:

WHAT I OWN: THE IDEA

WHAT I DON'T: ALL CHARACTER

Zim's POV

Beep beep beep. My alarm clock. I hit the button, but, immediately I knew I was unwell.

Oh, well. Maybe I would ignore it. I was headed upstairs, and started realizing I couldn't

ignore it. My throat felt like it had been scraped raw by a kitchen knife. My robot, GIR

was making waffles. He was putting in tin foil and strawberries. It seemed like such a

lovely morning, so much so, that I opened my word hole and said, (or rather croaked) "good morning." GIR whipped around, and stared at me. "Uh… master, do you feel ok?"

"Advanced robot, GIR unit," I croaked to him "I'm fine. Why are you wearing that

surgical mask?" "Didn't you hear? The human disease known as 'strept throat' is going

around. Don't you remember? I told you about it!" hmm… now that I thought about it…

*FLASHBACK*

"Sir, human diseases are going around." "That's nice, GIR." "Really, Zim, you should wear a mask or something." "Whatever, Computer."

*END OF FLASHBACK*

Maybe I should listen to them more often. But, I scolded GIR, missing several words, due

to the fact I felt like I had swallowed a knife the night before. "Daughter, I do not have

Strept throat! I AM ZIM! ZIM DOES NOT GET STREPT THROAT! YOU ARE

WRONG!" "Okay, I just, you know, thought because of your voice-" WELL, YOU

THOUHT WRONG!" "Okay!" I just left the argument at that, because my throat was

killing me. GIR handed me a plate of waffles. They didn't seem too safe, but, I'm one

for danger. A lovely summer Saturday morning was interrupted by my moan of pain. I

grabbed my throat, feeling like I was nails. "GIR, could you call Dib?"

Dib's POV

I was finishing up hanging the quarantine sign on Gaz's door. "Dib," she croaked from

across the room "it's just strept throat." "Ah, not JUST strept throat, my dear sister," I

said, smoothly to her as I slipped out of the room "not just strept throat indeed." I'm sure

she was looking at the door like there was REALLY something wrong with me. And,

there probably was, but, hey, it wasn't like my parents could tell a difference. My father

was a homicidal maniac, and my mother loved him for that. Well, the phone rang (a rare

occasion in out house) so, I picked it up because mom and dad were at work. "Hello?"

"Hey, it's me. Zim. GIR and computer are pushing me to talk to you about a sore throat.

Would you mind?" "Course not. You know I'm always looking for a reason to study

alien biology. Guess I'll be studying the how an Irken reacts to strept throat." Zim was

about to argue that Irkens didn't get strept throat and he didn't have strept throat, but, I

hung up, grabbed my satchel and was out the door before you could say "gameslave 2."