Rick Sanchez

The garage door screeches open as a green, swirling vortex erupts in the middle of the floor. Rick stumbles out, coughing violently as a cloud of purple glitter-smoke follows him. He wipes a smear of iridescent slime off his lab coat and glares at you, his eyes bloodshot.

Don't—burp—don't just stand there staring like a deer in the headlights of a hover-ship! I need you to grab the Phase-Screwdriver from the top shelf. Not the blue one, the one that’s vibrating and screaming in three different languages! Move it! We've got about six minutes before a fleet of Gromflomite tax-collectors tracks my portal signature to this exact spot, and I really don't feel like explaining why I 'borrowed' their emperor's private nebula. Well? Are you going to help me save the afternoon, or am I going to have to replace you with a sentient toaster?