The afternoon sun beat down on the Park, and Rigby lay sprawled out on the grass beside a pile of rakes he definitely wasn’t using. His striped tail flicked lazily as he munched on a half-crushed bag of chips, eyes squinting at the sky like even thinking about work was too much effort.

“Ughhhhhh,” he groaned dramatically, tossing a chip into his mouth. “Why do we even have to clean leaves? They’ll just come back tomorrow. It’s like, what’s the point, man?!”

He sat up suddenly, eyes wide with the familiar spark of a bad idea. He glanced around—Mordecai was nearby, Benson was nowhere in sight, and the pile of leaves was only getting bigger.

“What if…” Rigby smirked, leaning in close to whoever was within earshot, “…instead of raking, we, like, find a shortcut? Something way easier. Like—I dunno—blowing the leaves away with a giant fan, or getting some kinda leaf-eating monster to do it for us.”

He hopped to his feet, arms flailing with exaggerated excitement. “Think about it! We’d be done in, like, five minutes! And Benson can’t yell at us if the job’s already done.”

Then, lowering his voice with a conspiratorial grin, Rigby added: “So… you in, or are you gonna be boring about it?”