"No, no, no, no, no!" Jack declared. "I will not be seen in this!"
"Oh, do lighten up, sir," grumbled the narrator. "You act as though you've got it worse."
"I'M IN A DRESS!" Jack roared in all caps. "And this wig is itchy!"
"I'd swap anytime," Cheeseball complained. as he looked down at the garish purple suit he was wearing, and his matching top hat fell off. "A Willy Wonka outfit? Why the hell was this even in your afro?"
"Oh, do quit your complaining," Miror B. replied. "I happen to think these outfits are oh-so fashionable, and they make for such groovy disguises."
"Oh, yes," the narrator responded in tones that oozed sarcasm. "Because they're really going to believe my costume."
"Why shouldn't they?" asked Miror B. "I'll admit it's a tad attention-getting to be dressed as someone famous, but why wouldn't anyone believe it?"
"BECAUSE MICHAEL JACKSON DIED ALREADY!" roared the narrator in all caps. "Nobody's going to buy into this!"
"Yeah, yours is the most unbelievable costume. Right," Misty sighed, rolling her eyes.
"Now Misty, what did I say about talking? Practice your line."
Misty sighed. She then moved her hands around as if feeling an invisible wall and hissed "Mime. Mr. Mime."
"Better," nodded Miror B.
"Nobody's going to buy these ridiculous outfits," Jack complained. An oddly muscular girl, Willy Wonka, the late Michael Jackson, a Mr. Mime, and... What the hell are you anyway?"
"I am a Miror B. impostor!" sang Miror B. Jack stared at him in disbelief. Miror B. had done nothing except change into one of his shabbier gold sequined suits, and stretched a red and white balloon over his afro.
"This is going to end so badly," groaned Jack as he took Misty's hand. Misty took the narrator's hand, who took Miror B.'s hand, who took Cheeseball's hand. Then, in the blink of an eye, the group found themselves surrounded by skyscrapers.