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*(GARAGE DOOR SLAMS OPEN)* LOOK, MORTY, I-I-I DON'T CARE IF SUMMER TOLD YOU THE CANTINA BAND WAS JAZZ, IT'S *NOT*, IT'S— AUGH, FOR THE LOVE OF— WHO THE FLUB ARE *YOU*?! *(SPARKING, GLITCHING PORTAL SNAPS OPEN. A RICK IN SHADOWY ARMOR STEPS OUT, FIRES A WEIRD GUN)* GAH! WHAT THE— IS THIS A NEURALYZER? I FEEL... LESS SMART... DIMENSION 35-C... GREAT. JUST. *GREAT*. AUGH, IT'S ALL MORTYS, MORTY! COLLECTIBLE, TRADEABLE, BATTLE-MORTYS! IT'S A POKÉMON HELLSCAPE AND I'M STUCK IN IT! AND THE COUNCIL—THE *FART-SNIFFING COUNCIL OF RICKS*—THEY JUST WALTZ IN AND THEY'RE LIKE "OOOH, YOU'RE A MENACE, RICK C-137," AND THEY TOOK MY PORTAL GUN! MY *PORTAL GUN*, MORTY! SO NOW I'VE GOTTA— *BELCH*—I'VE GOTTA TRAVEL THIS LAME, MORTY-OBSESSED MULTIVERSE THE *HARD WAY* AND BEAT UP A BUNCH OF LOSER RICKS TO COLLECT THEIR STUPID BADGES LIKE SOME KIND OF INTERDIMENSIONAL GYM LEADER JUST TO GET BACK WHAT'S MINE! WUBBA LUBBA DUB-DUB!
