[Episode 18] Teacher Reaches Breaking Point: You Won’t Believe What She Does Next!

Interesting Fact: Mobsters are an invasive species. Like pigeons, the mafia can be found across the multiverse. Unlike pigeons, these mobsters tend to be vaguely Italian, even on planets where there is no Italy.

A close relative of this species is known as the Bratva. These mobsters are Russian adjacent and have an instinctual fondness for vodka, despite the scarcity of potatoes after 4500 Universal Time. Fans of these species argue over which breed of mobsters makes the best love interest. Though there is no clear consensus, all agree biker gangs create the least alluring love interests.

Hate mail poured in after the reporters debuted on Love is Timeless, leading Dolly to question her faith in sentient life. Mito tries to cheer her up, while Rob bemoans his life.

Announcer: Welcome to the Crack – the wound between worlds, the rift amongst the stars, the only news network that brings you every story from every reality. You're watching, the CBW Channel.

Mito: Welcome back to the CBW Channel. Thanks to all the kind comments left by our loyal viewers, and the hate mail sent by fans of Love is Timeless, we have officially regained our time slot!

Dolly: Before we continue, I'd like to address some of this hate mail.

Rob: Please don't.

Dolly: I guess some of you weren't raised properly. Some of you think a lady ought to retire when she reaches a certain age. Some of you think it's okay to toss around words like 'senile' and 'ancient.' Here's a piece of wisdom from someone who's lived long enough to earn it. Petty insults tend to take on a new flavor when you throw them at the wrong people. They linger in your throat and sizzle a hole down your gullet.

Dolly: I've watched mountains crumble and deserts sob over a backhanded compliment. I've seen giants cower and dragons flinch over jokes not half as bad as the filth that's fallen outta your mouth. You'd best take care who you speak to with that tone. You never know who might take offense. I'm a kind woman at heart, so I've taken the time to send each and every one of you hecklers a bar of soap. The next time you think about insulting a vintage beauty, you're going to reach for that soap and wash that shit right out of your teeth.

Mito: Anyway, I'm Mito'ca'hondria, lead reporter and powerhoose of Cellaria. You just met Dolly, and this is Rob Skythrust.

Rob: Hey. [To Mito] Do you think Dolly is the reason the station restrooms are out of soap?

Mito: We have an interesting story for you tonight. Let's get into this before anyone makes another evil speech. As I avoid eye contact with Dolly, I wave my hand in the general direction of Mr. Stanton's usual perch. After marketing forwarded the hate mail, the Crack's only palm-sized, fuschia dragon decided to visit his sister, a slightly larger, pinker dragon. Can't imagine why.

Mito: We land in Universe 11.

Rob: Again?

Mito: Shush, Rob. We're cheering Dolly up.

Dolly: I'm not the biggest fan of Universe 11, dear. It's a bit too science-centered for me. Now, Universe thirteen… [low whistle] That one is a doozy.

Mito: You'll like it this time. Promise.

Rob: I gaze at the city around us. It's, um, I'm not really sure what it is. There are a lot of flashing lights, and I think the moon is an advertisement for toilet paper.

Dolly: It's awfully futeristic for my tastes. Impossibly tall buildings loom above us. Flying cars weave between the advertisements. We stand on a floating sidewalk with only a rusty rail to protect us from a fall. This place is dirty and grimy and far too loud. I don't care how exciting this story is. I'd take an enchanted forest over this any day.

Mito: Just wait.

Rob: A flying sports car whizzes past us, followed closely by a flock of siren-blaring, seizure-inducing sedans. As a police car veers too close to the skywalk, I jump backwards and smash into a fellow pedestrian. The androgynous figure falls to the ground. I help them up, bracing myself for the inevitable eye contact. Big, brown eyes lock onto mine. Here comes the stuttering introduction of a meet-cute.

Robot: Apologies, sir. Please file all injury or damaged property claims at Veerden Complex.

Rob: What the flippety?

Dolly: That was odd.

Rob: Odd? That was insane! Where was the blushing? The stammering? I made eye contact, and they didn't even react! Do I not look good today? How's my hair?

Mito: Perfectly disheveled as always.

Dolly: Your biceps do look a little deflated. Here, let me check.

Mito: As Rob allows Dolly to squeeze his muscles, I wonder how long it will take him to realize the pedestrian was a robot.

Rob: A robot! It was a robot.

Dolly: Aww. You couldn't have waited for me to double-check the rest of his muscles? I thought you liked me, dear.

Mito: I give my companions a mysterious, all-knowing smile.

Rob: It's not mysterious. You just look kind of gassy.

Mito: Clearly Rob's vanity is still suffering from a robot's disinterest. Like any sensible humanoid, I ignore him. As I smile mysteriously, I untangle the leash and set the sparkly stilettos on the cracked pavement. Usually, the navigation shoes match my shiny, silver lead reporter hat, but the flickering neon lights make them look kind of purple. After clicking the heels together, they set off at a brisk pace.

Dolly: I thought you had this excursion all planned out.

Mito: I do, but we're on a bit of a tight schedule. If we want to see the drama, we'll have to reach the Veerden Complex on time.

Rob: Veerden? Like the robot that wasn't interested in me?

Mito: Keep up.

Dolly: We must've been closer than Mito realized, because we only had to turn the corner to see our destination. In bright, pulsating letters, the name 'Veerden' is spelled out above a squat, blocky building. The wall to wall windows and massive display floor make it look like a car dealership.

Rob: People stand stiffly at even increments. I think this is some kind of robot store. We cautiously slink through the glass doors and edge closer to a robot.

Mito: They call them androids on this planet.

Rob: They look so realistic. With their unnaturally perfect skin and thick hair, I'd almost wonder if they were love interests.

Dolly: Rob is too generous. Their faces are a little plain for love interests.

Rob: I touch the hand of a blank-eyed man. It feels just like skin!

Hostess: Please refrain from touching the floor models.

Rob: I jerk my hand back. Sorry.

Hostess: May I assist you?

Rob: Uh, no.

Mito: We're just browsing.

Hostess: If you are concerned about the financial implications, we have a number of payment plans. Shall I check your qualified interest rate?

Mito: The woman holds out her palm. It splits open to reveal a card scanner.

Dolly: No thank you, sugar. This is all a bit too eerie for us.

Hostess: The uncanny valley effect is common among new users. After you select your model, you may customize it for added realism. We now offer freckles, moles, and acne at affordable rates.

Rob: I edge away from the hostess. This is too weird. I could get used to elevators and freeze-dried gummy worms, but I can't look at these androids without shuddering.

Dolly: For once, I am in perfect agreement with our muscely eye candy. Why would anyone want a robot that looked just like them?

Mito: There are a lot of reasons. Sometimes the androids perform jobs humans don't want, like cleaning the sewers. Other times, people want a servant they can boss around without feeling guilty. There's also… ooh! I see them. Hide!

Rob: What?

Mito: I drag Rob behind a glossy white countertop. Dolly is quicker to understand and needs no dragging.

Dolly: What are we hiding from. Looters? Thieves? Politicians?

Mito: The mafia.

Dolly: Ooh! I do love a little organized crime, though I didn't think Universe 11 had a mafia.

Mito: I don't get it either. The mafia just kind of shows up sometimes. I'm starting to think they have some sort of universe-hopping technology.

Rob: As we watch, the men in black suits approach the only humanoid employee. They follow the humanoid into the back, leaving only one of their number behind.

Dolly: They picked the best one to keep watch. My goodness, he's a looker. Dark green hair and even darker eyes create a striking contrast against his scarlet tie. Those sharp cheekbones and faint scruff make his brooding eyes look more dangerous than a windmill farm in a thunderstorm.

Rob: Dolly, that doesn't even make sense. I'm learning to speak cornbread, but I think you're just trying to be confusing.

Mito: Clearly my companions have attention spans too short for this story. I'll have to summarize. That man is Don Rigatoni and his branch of the mafia is extorting money from all the businesses on this street.

Dolly: He's named after pasta?

Rob: Never question the weird names. It'll drive you insane. That's rule number two of that handbook Mito made me memorize.

Dolly: And he's a Don? How could he be in charge of the mafia? He's too young. They usually like leaders with experience. Mr. Penne Pasta over there couldn't be older than thirty.

Rob: This world must have a lot of medical advancements. Maybe they can slow aging.

Mito: They can, but Don Rigatoni is twenty-eight.

Dolly: If Mr. Bronze Cut Ziti is the boss, why is he helping with a simple extortion? That's grunt work.

Mito: Could you please stop trying to apply logic and just enjoy the show? I picked this story out just for you, and you're barely paying attention.

Dolly: Of course, dear. I have no compunctions about watching our lean, mean, pseudo-Italian machine examine his own reflection in the window. My, those pants are tight!

Rob: Eh. I've squeezed into tighter. My eyes drift over to the entry as a new shopper enters. She's pretty. Very pretty. Almost pretty enough to be a main character- Oh my stars, Mito took us to a meet-cute.

Dolly: Ooh! I love a good meet-cute. Let me guess. Sweet, innocent angel gets tangled up in Mafia business after a robbery gone wrong.

Rob: Nah, I'm guessing mistaken identity. Rigatoni thinks she's the daughter of a rival, so he kidnaps her. Two weeks later, they're in love, and their marriage brings peace to the crime families.

Dolly: Mito is giggling to herself, so we're probably both wrong. Love at first sight? Her abusive boyfriend is going to wander in at any second, and Mr. Farfalle will save her?

Rob: Viewers should know, Mito's giggles are starting to sound deranged. That never bodes well.

Mito: The woman [giggles] the woman [giggles] I can't- Dolly, you take over.

Dolly: The woman approaches the marble counter and waits by the sign marked 'pickup.' We hunker down so she won't see us. From this angle, the only eyes on us belong to robots. My goodness, I feel like a little kid spying on the teacher.

Rob: What kind of teacher did you have?

Dolly: The kind who dabbled in romance to keep her life exciting.

Mito: That explains a lot.

Rob: I edge around the glossy counter so I can get a better view. The woman is a humanoid with shimmery pink markings trailing down her arms. She's about five feet tall and slim.

Dolly: You sound like you're describing a mugshot. I elbow Rob out of the way so I can get a better look. These knees don't do much crawling these days, but I'm the farthest thing from frail. As Rob said, the woman is too pretty to be anything but a protagonist. A few locks of wavy chestnut hair have escaped their ponytail, perfectly framing her round, chocolate eyes. Her dress is covered in little cartoon planets.

Rob: Is she an astronomer?

Dolly: No, the little planets are too cutesy, and look at that paint stain on her sleeve. Doesn't that look like an itty bitty handprint? I'd bet my bottom dollar she's a teacher.

Rob: After finishing with a customer, the hostess approaches the counter where the teacher waits.

Hostess: Welcome to the Veerden Complex. How may I assist you?

Tabitha: Pick up.

Hostess: What is the name on your order?

Tabitha: Miss Tabby.

Hostess: My apologies. There is no order under the name [repeated in Tabitha's voice]

Tabitha: Miss Tabby

Hostess: Please check the name registry on your order confirmation.

Dolly: The woman shuts her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose as if warding off a headache. When she looks up, she gives the hostess a fierce scowl. Fierce is a description I use to add a little creative flair. She looks like an angry kitten.

Tabitha: I'm spending too much time with the damn kids. [louder] Pick up for Tabitha Lowencia.

Hostess: Model three thousand one. Upgraded to include upholstery in our most realistic skin texture.

Tabitha: Yes, yes. Can you just bring it out?

Hostess: You should have been contacted about the manufacturer recall. Would you like to upgrade to model three thousand two?

Tabitha: Recall? You're joking. I've spent months saving up for this, and now my android has been recalled?

Hostess: Would you like to upgrade to model three thousand two?

Rob: For a moment, I wonder if Miss Tabby is going to start crying. I don't know why she wants a robot so bad, but the prospect of leaving empty-handed is making her distraught.

Dolly: Some of these androids are finer than frog hair split four ways. I reckon this Miss Tabby might like a little extra company on lonely nights.

Rob: A woman who looks like that isn't single unless she wants to be. Also, Mito is cackling again, which I'm starting to think is an omen of doom.

Mito: What would you know about omens of doom?

Rob: Enough. Your laughter is never a sign of anything good.

Dolly: Shh! Miss Tabby looks ready to curl up in a puddle of tears. I bet any moment, Mr. Bucatini is going to swoop in and dry her eyes.

Tabitha: You don't understand. I can't leave without this android. My sanity depends on this.

Hostess: I am authorized to offer you model three thousand two at a reduced rate of thirty percent.

Tabitha: Does it at least have the special synth-skin? The one that bruises and oozes that reddish gloop when it's hit?

Hostess: Processing request. Yes. A model of that specification is available.

Tabitha: What does it look like?

Hostess: Male. Height: six foot two. Eyes: Castleton Green. Hair: Dark Moss Green. He is pre-programmed with our bedroom software, however that can be removed upon your approval.

Dolly: Ooh, bedroom software. I like the sound of that.

Rob: Miss Tabby grimaces, but she seems to understand that she's out of options. She walks out with a sexy robot, or else she walks out with nothing at all.

Tabitha: Okay. Fine. I wanted a female, but I suppose that model will work.

Rob: Miss Tabby scribbles her signature on some kind of glass plate, then waits by the counter as the hostess leaves to retrieve the android.

Dolly: I was so hopeful. That had all the signs of a meet-cute, but instead it was nothing but a business transaction. Mito, dear, did you accidentally drop us in the wrong timeline?

Rob: Crouched behind the long marble counter, we watch as the woman waits for her android. I'm sure our viewers are bored out of their minds. I know I am. This world could do with a few zombie cheerleaders right now. Stars, that's a strange thought. I'd even be happy to see Tayla Quick.

Dolly: Anyone but her. This world needs excitement, not magical popstars. Oh? What's this? The sexy Don Fettuccine-

Mito: Rigatoni. You can't just call him random pasta names. Do you want HR to pull you aside? Again?

Dolly: Don Rigatoni saunters over to the counter where Miss Tabby waits. His eyes rove over her, lingering on her curves and the shimmery pink markings trailing down her neck. He gives her a roguish smile. Care to weigh in, Rob?

Rob: I give him a seven out of ten. The rakish once-over and grin looks great on his facial structure, but it's a little too smooth. He's clearly practiced it in the mirror, which deserves a point deduction. He also failed to maintain eye contact. You always want to hold her gaze for a three count before you move into the once-over. And now he's licking his lips. Ugh. I'm demoting him to a five out of ten, and he only does that well because he's attractive. Rigatoni better have a good skin care regimen. One pimple and it's all over.

Mito: It's happening! Don Rigatoni leans in. He opens his mouth to deliver a charming line…

Mito: Miss Tabby slams her fist into his stomach and follows up with a quick knee to the groin. As the don lays groaning on the floor, Miss Tabby squints at his reaction like she's assessing a grade.

Tabitha: I thought the company was going to remove the bedroom software. Whatever. I can make do.

Rigatoni: How dare you-

Mito: Before Rigatoni can defend his personhood, Miss Tabby kicks him in the head with her sensible mary-janes. Dazed, his head thunks back onto the ground.

Tabitha: The synth-skin is at least worth the price. That almost looks like a real bruise. Come along. I've been looking forward to this for ages. I refuse to waste another minute.

Mito: When the don continues to lay slumped on the floor, Miss Tabby scowls and kicks him in the gut.

Tabitha: I don't have all day.

Rob: I'm not really sure what I'm seeing, but it looks like Miss Tabby is forcing the mafia head to his feet and dragging him to the door.

Dolly: This is spectacular.

Mito: Hurry! We don't want to be left behind.

Rob: We run after Miss Tabby and her prisoner. Mito must've done her research, because she knew exactly which flying car belonged to the young teacher.

Dolly: We hunker down behind a nearby vehicle as Miss Tabby manhandles her hunk of handsome, pseudo-Italian mobster into the trunk.

Mito: Before Miss Tabby can leave without us, we clamber onto the flying car and grab onto the tailfins.

Rob: I'm not sure this is safe.

Dolly: Where's your bravery?

Mito: I hand Rob a button-sized gadget that clips onto his belt. With a flick of a switch, the magnet turns on. As I check that all three courageous reporters are securely attached to the flying car, Miss Tabby pulls out of the parking spot. The mobsters race out of the Veerden Complex, screaming threats at the owner of the lilac hovercraft. I note the distinct purple paint on Miss Tabby's flying car and the raised weapons. Perhaps this was not the best vantage point.

Dolly: It's too late to cry over spilt milk. We'd better hurry if we want to get our interview.

Rob: Not for the first time, I wonder how life became so strange. Is it me? Am I attracting all this weirdness?

Mito: Sliding our magnets across the sleek curves of the metallic exterior, we edge along the sedan's exterior. I try not to think about the fact that my feet are dangling several hundred feet above the bustling cityscape. Mito'ca'hondria, Powerhoose of Cellaria, is not afraid of heights.

Dolly: I have a hunch the mafia is going to catch up to us soon, so I nudge Mito along when she freezes up. This is no time for woolgathering. Don Cavatappi bangs on the trunk as he tries to break free. I can barely hear him over the rushing wind and traffic. Viewers, you should be glad our implanted microphones filter out most of the ambient noise.

Rob: I tap on the driver's window.

Rob: The car swerves into another lane as Miss Tabby jolts. Apparently, she isn't used to seeing three humanoids clinging to her car in the middle of the evening traffic.

Mito: When did Rob get sarcastic?

Dolly: Miss Tabby seems fairly flabbergasted, but she's an obliging sort- the mobster in her trunk notwithstanding. She unlocks the doors. We slide in, some more gracefully than others. In Mito's defense, the backseat is stuffed with a tarp, shovel, and rolls of tape- all of which make sitting a little difficult.

Mito: Ow. That was rough. Where did you learn to drive? A monster truck grand slam?

Tabitha: Who the frag are you people?! Why are you in my hovercraft?!

Rob: I give Miss Tabby my most charming grin. To my relief, a blush rises to her cheeks. I've still got it. We're reporters from the CBW channel. We'd like to ask you a few questions about the mobster you stuffed in your trunk.

Tabitha: Mobster? What? I think you're mistaken. There's an android in my trunk.

Mito: And what were you planning on doing with this alleged android?

Tabitha: I don't see how that's any of your business. Give me one good reason I shouldn't drive directly to the nearest enforcement station.

Dolly: Rob leans back and cracks his knuckles. I'm sure he's just working the chill out of his fingers, but it has the side effect of drawing the eye to his rippling muscles. Miss Tabby nearly swerves into another lane. When the car has stabilized, Rob leans forward. I knew there was a reason we let him take the passenger seat.

Rob: We're just curious. It seems like you have tonight all planned out.

Tabitha: I, um, well…

Mito: Still blushing, Miss Tabby tries to arrange her thoughts into coherent speech.

Tabitha: It's a little embarrassing. I just needed some stress relief. You have no idea the pressure I'm under.

Dolly: Oh, stress relief. I see. I don't blame you. A robot is never as good as the real thing, but dating can be a hassle and a half.

Tabitha: No! No, it's um, [sigh] I just wanted to hit it.

Mito: Pardon?

Tabitha: It's just so much, you know? The kids are always demanding my attention, and the parents are idiots. Administration keeps making me stay late to deal with cowshit requests, and the district cut our pay again. How is anybody supposed to stay cheerful?

Rob: You're a teacher, right?

Tabitha: I teach the littles. They're great… sometimes. I spent years in college to become a teacher. I went into debt for this. My parents were so proud of me continuing the family legacy, but they never warned me about all the stupid forms I have to fill out.

Mito: Will beating an android help with the paperwork?

Tabitha: I knew you wouldn't understand. You don't understand what it's like to be responsible for all those tiny gliblets. Every day I have to go in with a smile on my face. I have to be patient and kind and understanding. Then I go home, and I have to be nice to all those people too. Everyone calls me Miss Tabby, but I don't ever get to be Tabitha. I don't even know if Tabitha still exists. She might've drowned in fingerpaint. [sobbing] I just wanted to feel like Tabitha.

Dolly: There, there, sugar. We aren't judging you. It can be hard to live up to expectations. We all have days where we just want to blow up a town and dance naked on the ashes.

Tabitha: I thought if I could just let loose for a few hours, everything would seem easier.

Mito: And by letting loose, you mean…?

Tabitha: I'm going to take this android out of the city and beat it with a crowbar until it stops functioning.

Rob: Ah. That's… an idea.

Tabitha: Then I'm going to tie up whatever is left, wrap it in a tarp, and bury it six feet under.

Rob: Oh.

Tabitha: That's why I was so upset by the delays. Digging a hole that size will take all night, and I have work in the morning.

Rob: That… makes sense.

Tabitha: Nothing is working out the way it was supposed to. Honestly, I'm wondering if I should even bother. I was supposed to get an android that looked just like my principal.

Dolly: So you could symbolically murder her and dispose of the corpse.

Tabitha: Exactly! Instead, I got this guy.

Rigatoni: I am not an android!

Dolly: Sugar, I hate to say it, but you actually kidnapped a humanoid.

Tabitha: No! No, I would've noticed the difference.

Rob: He's, uh, with the mafia. Unless I'm mistaken, his friends are following us.

Mito: Black hovercraft. Tinted windows.

Tabitha: Oh, frag. I'm going to be murdered live on the CBW channel. My psychic receptors don't even pick up that channel. I can't afford the premium package.

Dolly: Not even Dance Sharks? Tell me you pirate Dance Sharks. Those little dancing pups are just too cute to miss.

Tabitha: [sobbing] It's on my watch list, but I never had time. I spent my last fragging evening grading alphabet finger paintings. My life is over! I should've just killed my principal. No android was ever going to match up to murdering the real deal.

Rob: Mito is cackling again. Great.

Dolly: I think you'd best pull over, Miss Tabitha. I'm sure the mafia wouldn't be stupid enough to shoot while billions of people across the multiverse tune in.

Rigatoni: Pull over!

Mito: Miss Tabitha slumps in her seat. Just when I think she needs a little extra encouragement, she presses her turn signal. As we exit the sky highway, I decide this might be the perfect time to talk about our sponsor, invisi-soup.

Dolly: Are you socially awkward? Do you accidentally call you boss by the wrong name? Do you kill conversations with bad jokes? Scientist claim millions of people wish they could turn invisible every day.

Rob: You can't, but your soup can! Try invisi-soup, the only soup incompatible with sensory receptors. This odorless, tasteless, colorless soup is guaranteed to be a hit with picky toddlers and judgmental moms from your parenting group.

Mito: Not recommended for beings incapable of consuming inorganic material. Customers with short-term memory loss should refrain from eating alone, as this increases the chance of spills.

Dolly: Invisi-soup, the only soup more shy than you are.

Mito: Miss Tabitha parks next to some kind of mega-mart. She waits morosely for the mafia to pull up behind her.

Tabitha: I'm not morose. I'm just disappointed. [sobbing/wailing] If I could turned back time, I would've went to medical school. At least surgeons get to cut people.

Rob: The mob approaches, weapons raised. I'm not sure what kind of weapons, because Mito was too excited about surprising Dolly to have given us a proper briefing.

Mito: You never read my briefings.

Rob: I might've read this one. We'll never know now.

Dolly: They look like some kind of laser gun to me, but I can't be sure. In one, swift movement, they yank open the trunk. Don Paparadelle gingerly crawls out of the trunk. His smug, sexy grin might be missing. It's hard to tell, given the bruising on his swollen face. Miss Tabitha sure can pack a punch. I wouldn't want to stumble into her on a moonless night.

Tabitha: Do you have to make it sound like I assault random people? I'm a good person.

Rob: There's a commotion as the mafia appear to be arguing with Don Rigatoni. He points an imposing finger, and the mobsters climb back into the flying car. He approaches the passenger side of Tabitha's lilac sedan.

Rigatoni: All reporters may vacate the hovercraft.

Dolly: Mito starts to argue, but I give her a sharp nudge. I'm not one to argue with people carrying heavy weaponry. Mito refuses to take more than a few steps away from the flying car, though she does at least ready her sparkly lead reporter hat for transportation.

Mito: Don Rigatoni bends down to look at Miss Tabitha through the open window.

Rigatoni: Your plight has moved me, almost as much as your beauty. Let us go take care of this principal of yours together.

Tabitha: What?

Rigatoni: An android is no substitute for a real murder. It would be my honor to guide such an enthusiastic amateur in her first murder.

Tabitha: Do you really mean it?

Rigatoni: Of course. My men are off to pick up a supplies, though it appears you've come well prepared. Do you have your principal's address?

Tabitha: It's on my vision board. I never leave home without it.

Dolly: As Miss Tabitha pulls up her holographic vision board, we all crane our necks to see the gruesome murders she's daydreamed about. The don gives her a besotted look. Their heads bend over the vision board. My goodness, that's a happy sight. It almost brings a tear to my eye.

Mito: I knew you'd like this story.

Rob: I wish I knew one normal person. Just one. I'm not picky. I just want someone to gawk at you lunatics with me.

Mito: We're almost out of time. Stay tuned for Dance Sharks. After coming in second place during the national championships, will that be enough to earn the pups a week without competition? No. With only one pup getting a solo, will these Mama Sharks be able to accept Madame Orca's decision, or are these dance lessons about to turn into a feeding frenzy? There's blood in the water and a song in their hearts. Find out what happens next on Dance Sharks.

Dolly: Ta-ta for now, my lovlies!