I'm tired. This is the only introduction you're going to get.

If you're new here, keep in mind that THIS IS A PARODY. THIS IS NOT HOW I USUALLY WRITE. DO NOT WRITE ME A REVIEW TELLING ME HOW BAD MY WRITING IS. I KNOW.

I don't own Invader Zim: the most noble Jhonen Vasquez and, unfortunately, Nickelodeon do. I do own Clev, Zalim, Cattivo, and FiFi. Probably some other stuff I'm forgetting here, but whatever.

Clev woke up with a monstrous headache

Clever Female Variation of Zim woke up with a monstrous headache. It felt like a large and rusty vice had been clamped tightly around her head, and some invisible person was standing just next to her tightening it mercilessly. Even worse, she felt slightly off-balance somehow- like the earth beneath her feet had moved without informing her.

But, she was a Mary-Sue and these things happened from time to time. Quite likely she had merely fallen into a dimensional rift and was now part of some horrible crossover; if so, it wasn't anything three iron nails and a half-dead goat couldn't fix.

She rolled out of bed with cat-like grace, jumping a little as her bare feet hit the floor. Where were her massive combat boots that she wore very single second of every single day? It wasn't like her to change outfits to sleep, unless doing so had some significance to the plot- like appearing in sexy lingerie, for instance. That was always really important because my character is teh sexy!!

Clev padded down the hallway, very aware that she was not in the right body and all because she's awesome and has super senses and stuff but ignoring it because I need her to be really surprised in about nine paragraphs. She brushed the wall with her hand as she walked by it, confused at the smooth plaster that covered it. Shouldn't the walls be made of metal? And the floors? And shouldn't those hall lights be glowing an eerie green instead of fluorescent yellow?

She stopped at the top of a long flight of stairs, wondering when those had gotten there and why there wasn't an elevator instead. The carpeting on the stairs confused her as well; why bother covering the steps with fabric if your foot was only going to make contact for a moment? If you haven't noticed by now, I'm been drawing a direct parallel with the first chapter. Hell, the first two paragraphs up there were just copy-pasted and then altered to fit the situation.

Clev, always the drama queen, opted to slide down the railing instead of walking down like the human she now was. Needless to say, her new body was not nearly as awesome as her old one and the cruel forces of Fate conspired to make her fall off after two feet and plummet the rest of the way down the staircase. She screamed as soon as she felt her strangely large head hit the stairs, wondering in frantic bewilderment why this was happening. She was a Mary-Sue, for heaven's sake! She wasn't even supposed to be capable of thinking anything ungraceful!

But ungraceful she now was, facedown on the first step with her legs comically curled backwards over her head. Angrily she recovered, brushing the dust off her bare, pale arms. Hmm? Pale?

Both of her arms were a perfect ivory, the color of a creature who has not seen the sun in far too long. It would have been appealing on a female body, but the creature that Clev now inhabited was most definitely male, to judge by the reek of unwashed teen. She stared in growing horror at her skin, dragging her eyes farther downward to examine her short, sweat-panted legs. What was happening? Where were her chains, her belts, her numerous and highly impractical weapon holsters? Why did she smell like a laundry pile? Why did she feel the urge to shave? And for the love of Irk, what was she doing shirtless?!

"Put some clothes on, Dib. You look like even more of a freak than usual," drawled a dry, bored monotone that rasped unpleasantly in Clev's ears. Huh? She reached up to touch the newfound hearing organs but was distracted as a small and very scary looking human child appeared around the corner.

The girl was short, very short, with the huge head of the young and wearing a black skull dress with striped stockings. She was carrying some sort of beeping electronic plaything, glancing up from it only once to give Clev a glare that made her want to whimper and hide under the sofa. She could have made a very nice Mary-Sue if she was only a little taller and wearing significantly more pointless accessories.

"Make me breakfast. Toast. Butter. Bacon. Don't burn it." The girl vanished around the stairwell again without ever seeming to move, her last line just enough of a threat to be intimidating but not enough to feel justified about fearing it. The effect of a demon-child was very well played out, and Clev found herself admiring the girl's style. Perhaps she would try it out later, only sexier. Horns, maybe, and a fiery whip.

Busy planning her next cliché, Clev almost missed the most crucial moment in this chapter.

Well, all right, she didn't really almost miss it. It's not like I said, "Oh crap, I almost forgot to have Clev realize she's a human now." No. That little one-liner up there is intended purely for dramatic effect. You're just going to have to get used to this sort of thing because it happens a lot. Go back and read the earlier chapters if you don't believe me. (If you just came in and started reading this before the first two chapters, shame on you. However, this is a good time to read the other bits under the pretext of being a dutiful reader. See, aren't I a good author? Now shut up and let me finish.)

It was quick, a mere flash of flesh in a hallway mirror, but Clev was a highly trained Invader/Tallest/assassin/mercenary/pirate/ninja/whatever she originally was so she knew that these kind of things are important. She whirled back around to stare at a horrified human teenager leering pitifully out of the mirror.

Lanky black hair drooped around an enormous head, sweeping up in a hopeful scythe near the forehead only to end in a disappointed spike. Huge, mournful brown eyes accosted Clev- Dib, really- as if seeking some small fragment of mercy that they knew never existed. A disturbingly large head tapered to a thin, awkward neck, then to a wormlike chest with almost no muscle definition. A faint air of pathetic desperation hung about the boy in the mirror, like a puppy abandoned on a rainy winter night except that most puppies are cute and this boy was decidedly not.

Slowly, with a badly shaking hand, Clev reached up to brush her- his- own face, hoping to whatever gods existed in this universe that the reflection wouldn't do the same. His hoping was in vain; the mirror boy lifted a pale, almost femininely slender hand to his pockmarked face with a look of utter horror on his teenaged face.

Clev-who-was-now-Dib sunk to his knees, not even spared the comfort of looking away from the floor-length mirror. "No," he whispered. "No, no, no, no…."He clawed pathetically at his reflection, voicing a series of frantic moans that increased in volume and intensity until he finally screamed, "I'm a canon character!"

He continued wailing for nearly thirty seconds until the frightening girl-child appeared once more and sneered, "If you really have to be such a freak, do it outside. But make me breakfast first or I'll tell Dad about the walking dead in the basement."

"I said I was sorry about that!" Dib cried, then slapped a hand over his mouth. What was he even talking about? What did walking dead have to do with anything? And who was this scary human smeet?"

Gaz. Sister. Not to be crossed. The memory popped up and then vanished in an instant, leaving Dib more confused than ever. He was related to the demon child? What kind of genetic cross had that particular mix arisen from? Sweet mother of Irk, what were his parents like?

"Breakfast, Dib. I'm waiting." Dib started, not realizing that the girl was still there, only to discover that she wasn't. Faint beeping sounds came from a room on the other side of the staircase. Shaking off a case of the shivers, Dib climbed to his feet. It was probably in his best interest to obey the scary sister-creature.

The only problem was that Dib had no idea what breakfast was.

It was an exhausted, oil-spattered, and badly burned Dib that handed Gaz a tray with three slices of buttered toast (the fourth had been burned to ashes inside something called a "SuperToaster") and several strips of slightly overcooked bacon (Dib had gone through three packages in a noble attempt to figure out how exactly one goes about cooking bacon). He held his breath as Gaz looked over the meager breakfast, gave Dib a look that clearly said he could have done better, and engulfed the whole meal in less than four seconds. She hopped off the couch, wiping her mouth on a throw blanket, and vanished again.

It took Dib a few seconds to realize that the tray was inexplicably back in his hands, and that a towel had been thrown at his head and was blocking his line of sight considerably. Pulling the towel off, he stared at the tray in his hands, empty of even the slightest crumb. His stomach rumbled angrily, and he realized that he hadn't eaten anything since last night…whenever that was. And all the food he had just made had gone towards Gaz.

Briefly he considered having a go at the bacon again, but then a blaring siren interrupted his thoughts. "ALERT! ALERT! HOUSE DENIZEN: '…Dib?'… IS IN TERMINAL DANGER OF: 'spontaneous combu-' chckfzzzchkck '…being late for Skool'. THIS IS THE ONLY WARNING YOU WILL RECEIVE. HAVE A NICE DAY."

The booming mechanical voice caught Dib off guard. He whirled around and demanded to know which impertinent robot slave had dared to address him in such a manner, but was greeted only by silence. Somewhere far away he heard Gaz mumble, "Freak…"

He was just recovering his nearly nonexistent dignity when something unseen and unpleasant squealed loudly nearby. A wave of diesel-perfumed air leeched in through a window, nearly making Dib choke. The tiny voice inside his head that had recognized Gaz immediately spoke up, whispering, The bus! The bus! Backpack! Leave! Late for Skool Bitters will leech the life from my veins! Go! Now!

Moving more by instinct that anything, Dib stumbled towards the door, snatching up a red satchel that felt as if it were filled with several medium-sized rocks. He struggled with the doorknob for a moment, and then flew towards the bus, barely making it in time. He scrambled up the stairs and was slammed into the nearest seat as the bus driver did her best to reach eighty on a cul-de-sac.

Someone behind him giggled maliciously, and a sneering voice asked, "Late again, loser? Wassa matter, too busy making out with your boyfriend behind the couch to catch the bus?"

Poor, poor Clev-who-is-now-Dib. Not even the harshest military training Irk has to offer course possibly prepare him for the horrors of the public education system.

It's short because I'm tired. We have already discussed this. Review and I'll love you forever oh sweet Lady Godiva make the writing stop...