Left with seven days to act, the full council of the UN was summoned and immediately began bickering and refusing to co-operate. They spent four days debating sanctions against the aliens, then another phrasing a strongly worded letter to the Winners which never got past the first paragraph, and on the sixth day the council was so desperate that a bill sarcastically proposed by the Russians involving a puppet show that taught the true value of friendship gained serious traction. Then, at the last minute, they did what all world leaders learn to do whilst cheating their way through "higher education"; they quit procrastinating and got down to the actual work.

After fifteen minutes of terror-filled shrieking, they agreed on a way to find the best negotiator on Earth. Every world leader would write down the name of the person who'd ripped them off the most during their career and hand in their nominee. The notes would be anonymous, so no one would have to be embarrassed, but it would give them a working list.

This method proved to vastly simplify things, since in more than half the notes the name written was Dirk Sanchez. When those two words were read aloud, shudders echoed around the room. You see, Dirk Sanchez was the slimiest, most crooked, most effective, absolute best negotiator on the planet. He could sell dirt to dirt farmers and in fact had already done so. He ran a dirt supply company that focused entirely on selling to dirt farmers. Most of his clients weren't even aware they were farming dirt when they first met him. They thought they just owned homes with large yards and hadn't maintained their lawns, but after a meeting with Dirk Sanchez they became determined to dominate the non-existent dirt farm market.

It took the UN another hour of debate, which can be described more honestly as semi-coherent yelling, to agree to bring Sanchez onboard. The leaders who had been ripped off before feared he would betray the world to turn a profit, but eventually common sense won out: there was very little profit in being enslaved.

Five minutes later, every world leader began calling every phone number they could find for Dirk Sanchez. Unsurprisingly, most of those numbers had been disconnected, as Dirk tended to vacate business empires rather quickly, but eventually the Prime Minister of Canada, Janus Farkle, got through. People assume Canadians are kind and caring, but in fact, Canadians love hearing tales of their rivals being embarrassed. As such, the Prime Minister had been a long time drinking buddy of Dirk Sanchez. In exchange for hearing Dirk's stories, Janus allowed Dirk to quietly rob most of Quebec. This was a mutually beneficial arrangement, since very few people cared about Quebec, not even the majority of Quebecers.

Dirk picked up his phone in the middle of a room jam-packed with Hello Kitty merchandise. He was in the process of photographing an exceedingly drunk dictator from a small African nation named Meeso Jones who was vigorously kissing a Hello Kitty plushy. Dirk was in the process of buying several diamond mines from Meeso for DIMO Corp, and his payment would consist of every dollar he negotiated down from the maximum approved purchase price of 50 million dollars. DIMO Corp believed this was a great scam as the mines were worth 100 million dollars. Dirk believed this was a great scam because the diamond mines were actually salt mines and with enough Hello Kitty photos Meeso Jones would give him the mines for free, netting Dirk the full 50 million.

"Hello?" Dirk's voice was deep, rich and made everything he said sound very smart. He was a fit man in his late 30's with a slightly outdated haircut that cost a great deal to maintain and a penchant for suits modeled after Miami Vice-era Don Johnson.

"Sanch, it's Fark." Janus Farkle considered Dirk a close friend so he constantly abbreviated both of their names. "Have you seen this alien business?"

"Yes I have. Doesn't seem like there's much profit in it." Dirk took another photo of Meeso Jones, who had put on a Hello Kitty schoolgirl outfit and was making a peace sign with his fingers while giggling to the camera.

"Sanch, normally I'd agree, but there's no profit in getting enslaved. So how about you come negotiate for us."

"What's in it for me?"

"We'll pay you a boat-load of money."

"How much money?" This was always a question Dirk asked and was always a question those hiring him dreaded. Dirk was so good he always came out on top, even in salary negotiations. Janus Farkle, however, felt especially good about his terms, because it was likely the aliens would kill Dirk Sanchez and this would all prove to be an exercise in futility. Janus Farkle liked to look on the bright side.

"We'll pay you a hundred billion dollars and give you France."

"I don't want France. I don't speak French. I want Brazil. Now there's a country!" Dirk Sanchez had vacationed there once and, though he'd experienced an explosive variety of food poisoning during his visit, it was the mildest form of food poisoning he'd experienced anywhere else. Dirk had a very sensitive stomach and he had suffered from food poisoning in every country on Earth, so Brazil held a special place in his heart.

As the Prime Minister of Canada, Janus Farkle was quite happy to give away a country that wasn't his own. "Deal." The two mimed shaking hands, as they were talking on the phone countries apart, and Janus turned Dirk over to his assistant to sort out travel arrangements.

When he hung up, Dirk showed the general's aide, a small man named Pancho with only one eyebrow, the photos he had taken of Meeso Jones. Meeso himself had passed out on a pile of Hello Kitty umbrellas. Panicked, Pancho helped Dirk wake Meeso Jones up enough to sign over the mines to DIMO Corp. Assistants, you see, are often murdered alongside the dictators they support, so Pancho was thoroughly interested in seeing that Meeso wasn't embarrassed and summarily executed.

After placing the signed transfer of property into a sealed envelope and dropping it off at the local FedEx office (they really are everywhere), Dirk jumped on a private jet and flew directly to Las Vegas, Nevada. On the way over, he reviewed his preparatory materials. The UN had sent him everything they had: a recording of the Winners' first message, a picture of the burned up remains of Area 51, a map of the world showing the placement of the ships in orbit and an artist's rendering of what the best minds on Earth imagined the Winners looked like based on the sound of their chosen voice. This image was a surprisingly well-executed portrait of Wallace Shawn.

Normally Dirk would have listened to the Winners' speech three times to take in every part of it he could, but after ten minutes on the virtues of Colm Meaney's performance in Con Air Dirk turned it off. He knew all about Colm Meaney, as he was a fan of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine. This was another sign that Dirk was a terrible person, because DS9 is by far the worst Star Trek series. Though it's worth noting that Dirk, as is true of all humans, didn't count Star Trek: Enterprise since it's best not to think of anything that terrible. Dirk knew that a nap would leave him better prepared for the coming meeting, so while the rest of the world panicked, Dirk Sanchez fell asleep.