A Final Season of Rick and Morty

4 -- Dribbles

"Yeah, it's a survival mechanism," Rick says. "That frequency is how they hypnotize you into loving them. Otherwise they're just a moving ball of dog pubes. Who want's that?" trying to avoid touching them.

The woman holds one seeming a little more fascinated than charmed, "I don't know, they are kinda cute. What are these things?"

"They're called dribbles, and—God damn it," shooting one that kept hitting his face.

"RICK!" Morty yells, "How can you do that!?" grabbing the one hitting his own face to protect it.

Rick says, "Well with no eyes, face, hands, or remotely recognizable human emotions, it's pretty easy to disconnect all empathy for them."

"But they purr—They're—They're—" it was getting harder for Morty to not get intoxicated by their cuteness, "They're like kittens!"

"Toxoplasmosis, Morty. A brain parasite in 30 to 50 percent of human beings that forces you to like cats. Seriously, it does exist readers, Google it... But not now! Rude!"

The woman was petting one, having a memory return, "Hmm, yeah, I remember it evolved in rats to make them not fear cats, and someone used that to engineer a new strain, then put it in perfume that made men not fear me..."

"You mean for your spy shit," Rick states.

She shrugs, "I guess, I don't know. But I showered this morning, so..." looking for a poop hole on these things.

Rick just rolls his eyes and continues what he had started, looking among the dribbles, for a particular one, "Help me find a solid black one, it has a data chip I need, for something."

"What do you mean," Morty asks, petting two dribbles, "like—like—awww," feeling one with his face, "—like in its pocket or something?"

"No, inside it. God! Only vermin in video-game-RPGs have pockets for the money 'n' shit they drop. The chip is inside these things because their hypnotizing makes them impossible to kill, unless you have no empathy, or the awareness and skill to shut it off. And, that way if someone ripped out the chip, I'd know I was working with a complete and utter psychopath. Someone evil. Cap-i-tol E."

It takes Morty a moment to process what he said, "Inside it!? That's—That's horrible Rick! Yeah and there's an infinite number of psychopaths out there, and they all have portal guns." The dribbles all drown Morty even more, as if attracted to his outburst. "Ohh, aww, haha."

Rick looks beyond Morty to see the woman squishing a dribble with her foot as she says, "Their guts are so blue..." digging with her shoe. Oh no, that rhymes.

He glares at her but then keeps looking, then Morty grabs a hold of one of the few pure white ones, "Aww! It's all white, like—like—aww—like Pearly—Pearl, aww."

Focusing almost entirely on finding the dribble, and barely paying attention to what Morty even said, Rick replies, "Like that cat you were obsessed with when—" 'Fuck,' and he shuts up, hoping Morty didn't hear. "Do either of you see a black one or what!?"

Maybe two words of what Rick said sink into Morty's head, but it was enough, "How—How'd you know about Pearl? I was like, eight—Aww Pearly..." petting his white one.

"(Your mom mentioned it or something)," Rick mumbles. "I thought you learned from your alien bastard not to name shit anymore. You know we have to leave it here."

"What, why!?" Morty whines. "Why can't I take her home?"

"How else am I supposed to profit off them, upload video to YouTube? Next to the billions of kitten and baby owl vids? That'd depreciate their value." He kicks a dribble and swats some from his face frantically, sooo done with this place.