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"I want this gig, Kif. I want it so bad I can taste it. Taste it like the smooth, dark taste of Galaxy Brand Chocolate. Ah yes, Galaxy Brand Chocolate, the chocolate that tastes as exotic and voluptuous as the lovely ladies of the Horsehead Nebula the second you taste it!"
"Please stop saying 'taste,' sir," Kif Kroker sighed.
"Never!" Zapp Brannigan said, rising from his captain's chair to strike a pose. He paused, then asked very seriously, "Did you believe that? Do you want to buy Galaxy Brand Chocolate, Kif? Want it down to the tip of every gelatinous finger?"
"Yes, sir. Please, we need to review these battle plans, sir, the enemy fleet is scheduled to arrive in..." He looked around for a clock. "Seventeen minutes."
Zapp waved away his concerns. "I'll need three. Now, the Galaxy account would be nice to land. They'd be lucky to have my face gracing every cover of every bar, to be perfectly frank!"
"Yes, sir. Of course, sir."
"But a new vista has opened before me, Kif. Here I thought my fortunes were tied up in the Galaxy account, only for my spokesperson practice for that audition to prepare me for something grander, something greater, something—" Zapp waved his hands around in search of the perfect word, then looked expectantly at Kif.
"The enemy fleet has increased velocity, sir."
"And that is why," Zapp proclaimed, pointing dramatically ahead at the viewscreen, "if my acting abilities are spectacular enough to make you want to buy a bar of Galaxy Brand Chocolate, I have no choice but to turn this ship around!"
"...What, sir?"
"To the casting office, Kif! I have a different audition to make!"
Kif fought down his first reaction, his second, and all the way through his seventeenth. "Which casting office would that be, sir?"
"You know, the one with the audition I need! Get to work, mister!"
Eight more years and he'd have enough for a down payment on a nice little hut, Kif reminded himself as he slouched off. Eight more years.
"Next!" bellowed the woman behind the desk. "And try to make this one a little less crappy!"
"Morbo despises puny earthlings!" bellowed the news anchor the second he walked into the room. "Morbo doesn't think they deserve the quality service of Mom's Friendly Delivery Service! Morbo warns everyone watching that they had better be ready to sign to accept their package or they will be destroyed, box and person alike!" His audition having degenerated into wordless, phlegm-filled snarling, Morbo stepped back and awaited his judgment.
Mom quirked an eyebrow, then leaned in to make notes. "I like his moxie," she said to Walt.
"I like his moxie too, Mommy!" chimed in Larry and Igner.
"Cram it with walnuts!" she snapped, then turned back to Morbo. Her sudden vocal shift into sweet, grandmotherly tones didn't surprise him, or he simply didn't let it show. "Very good, young man. I'll let you know, but you've certainly captured that true Mom spirit!"
Visibly pleased, Morbo strutted off.
"Who's next? Guy working as a waiter, guy working as a waiter, actual waiter..." She shuddered and set aside the clipboard she'd been flipping through. "Musical theatre actor. I think that green guy with the rage issues is our safest bet."
"Hold it right there!" crowed a voice from the hallway. Zapp Brannigan skidded into the room with enough speed to flip his velour miniskirt up around his hips. Static electricity made it cling in place.
Mom slowly tilted her head and inspected the goods before asking, "You're that idiot with the spaceship, right?" No need to let the fresh meat have any sort of inflated self-importance. Not right before contract negotiations.
"That captain idiot!" Zapp cheerfully corrected, flipping down his uniform. He handed over a resume so heavily embossed with the DOOP logo that she could barely read it. Mom crumpled it one-handed and threw it into the trashcan. "And I'm here to be the new face of Mom's Friendly Delivery Service!"
She leaned back, considering matters. Zapp Brannigan did have great awareness ratings. Had to be one of the best-known names on the planet. And only a few of them realized what a great bounding buffoon he was. Intriguing. And this was a business about ships, he was a famous captain... she tapped her foot against the carpet. "Okay, read the lines," she prompted, waving for him to hurry it up. If he didn't suck walrus snot, then maybe she'd forgive him for not following the proper audition procedures.
He was awful. Weird spaces in between the words, emphasis on the wrong ones, and he forgot the name "Mom" when he read through the second set of lines and wound up referring to her as "that old chick with the hair." Mom's lips thinned to razor thinness. She took a deep breath and began to bellow, "Next los—"
"Wait!" Zapp pleaded, throwing himself to his knees with enough force to slide across the room. Hands clasped, he stared up at her. "Oh god, please give me another chance! Please... givemeanother... chance!"
"You're touching my boot," was all she said.
"You're touching Mommy's boot!" snapped Walt.
"Stop touching Mommy's boot!" the younger brothers said in stereo.
"Shut up!" she ordered them. "And you. Captain. I don't have time for this. I have to listen to two dozen more losers who submitted their application packet ahead of time, as per the audition listing." She spat out every word at the end like it was swimming in dramatic punctuation.
"Please!" Zapp sobbed.
"Ugh, sack it up and be a man."
He perked up. "Now there's an idea." Grinning at her boys, Zapp said slyly, "Would you three mind leaving us... alone?"
Mom leaned back, entertained. Well, this was unexpected. "You heard the moron," she said. "Clear out."
"I could make this very worth your while," Zapp promised her when they were alone. His fingers roamed up the rather narrow expanse of her inner thigh. "You know what word twelve different solar systems use for 'the best lover I've ever had?'"
"Zapp?" she drawled.
"Well... ah, actually, Brannigan. They said something about more syllables giving them the chance for more dirty limericks, and..." Zapp shook his head. "So... want me making a woman out of you?"
"I'm more woman than you could handle," Mom snorted, "but hey, give it your best shot." Without further preamble she yanked down her top.
Zapp stared. His eyes were very wide, and the pupils within them had constricted to tiny pinpricks. As he babbled insane ramblings with a numb tongue he sounded like a man suffering his first view of hell.
"Well? I haven't got all day." She tapped her foot impatiently. Ancient, dry skin wobbled.
With a scream that echoed around the room and down the hallways as he fled to it, Zapp ran.
"Limpdick," Mom snorted, pulling her catsuit back up to her shoulders. "Secretary!" she bellowed, slapping the intercom on her desk. "I don't care what your name is!" she snapped when the girl tried to offer it. "Tell those other auditioners I'm bored, I don't want to see them! Get a contract drawn up for Morbo. And get me my mineral water!"
Mom frowned when she saw a commotion in the sky outside her large windows. Some attacking alien vessels were engaged with the last line of Order defense. What halfwit hadn't met them out in open space? "Of course, mayor," she promised in her most kindly voice when the frantic call came. "Mom's Galactic Defense Fleet is ready to fly just as soon as we receive your credit information."