From: Scully4946@aol.com
Date: Sun, 3 Jun 2001 15:50:38 EDT
Subject: Behemothic Creatures
Source: direct

F.B.I. Headquarters
12:03 p.m.

Special Agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully were in the midst of their ongoing 
squabbling. You know, where Scully is constantly insistent on proving 
Mulder's theories wrong (even though we all know that he is right 99.9% of 
the time) and Mulder starts going into his historical research and using all 
of these big words that only Scully seems to understand. Anyway, I'll just 
let you witness it firsthand.....
".....it is scientifically impossible to ratify the existence of a behemothic 
creature living inside of a slice of Papa John's pizza."
"What do you base that assessment on?" Mulder asked, annoyed.
"First of all, the gigantic proportions of that specific creature would 
exceed the confined and limited space of the pizza segment. Besides, just to 
humor you, if such a thing truly existed, what redeeming value would it have 
for the X-files?"
Before he could answer, they both heard a giant BOOM!!! outside of their 
office door. Curious as to what the source of the noise was, the slowly crept 
up to the door and opened it carefully. Just as Mulder's brilliant mind had 
abruptly concluded, there was a pack of vicious, rabid wolverines snarling in 
the confines of the hallway. Surprised that the security guards didn't notice 
these quite thunderous animals charging through the building, not to mention 
through the metal detectors, Scully took out her special, handy-dandy 
Tinky-Winky doll and pulled the string in the back.
"Tinky-Winky wants to play!" the catastrophic object blared out from it's 
voicebox. As would any living creature that didn't understand it was an 
inanimate being, the wolves started howling in utter horror, raced for the 
elevator, and were gone in five seconds flat. As soon as they were gone, the 
phone on Mulder's desk (not like there is any other desk for it to be on 
*grrrrrrrrrrr*) rang.
Once Scully picked it up, a voice on the other line said in a mysterious 
tone,"Meet me at St. Mary's Bridge. 9 p.m. sharp. Tell no one and don't even 
try tracing this line. It will be disconnected as soon as I hang up the 
phone." Then the line went dead.
"Mulder, trace it!" Scully yelled.
"Ok! I'm right here. There's no need to yell!" After a few silent moments of 
clicking around on his cell phone, he said,"3735 Maplewood Grove. Harrisburg, 
Virginia. 40908. Clark Gerald-Bernard Spender residence. Gee, that was tough. 
Hey, wait a minute! CGB Spender!!!!! His name is Clark?! What kind of gay 
name is that?!

Clark Spender residence
3:47 a.m.

Quietly creeping up to a window of the house, Scully loudly bashed it in with 
a baseball bat. "That kind of defeated the purpose of quietly creeping up to 
the house, you idiot!" Mulder yelled. Laughing, Scully hopped through the 
window and shot the first moving object that she saw. Fortunately, it was 
merely the t.v. The Smoking Man (hey, I'm never gonna get used to "Clark 
Spender". It's too weird. Besides, the names sucks. No offense to anyone 
named that=)) hopped up from his chair.
"What the freaking golly-gosh is this?!" he yelled. Mulder couldn't help from 
laughing at his quite odd choice of words.
"Well, CLARK," Mulder over-elaborately emphasized. "It seems as though you 
called us recently and we wanted to know what you wanted."
"Then why didn't you meet me and the friggin' bridge like I told you too? I 
mean, I had to wait there for a really long time and I got a huge cramp in my 
leg. Also, the police got really suspicious of my unnecessarily long and 
black limo just sitting underneath a bridge. Just so you know, you have both 
damaged my reputation!"
"Hey, Scully, why did we come to his house in the first place? It was kind of 
pointless, wouldn't you say?" But Scully was in another world, staring at a 
lovely display of china patterns.
"Where on Earth did you find these?" she asked the Smoking Man. "They are 
absolutely sinful!!!!" 
Rolling his eyes, Mulder asked,"So, what did you want to talk to us about?"
"I dunno. Just felt like pretending I was important," he answered. "You have 
no idea how boring it can be when you have no more threatening information to 
blackmail people with."
"Rrrrrrright. Well, I guess that this was just another meaningless case in 
which we found out nothing and made people wait a whole week just to realize 
our writers are in a serious need for a vacation."

The moral of this story is that if you want to become an F.B.I agent, you 
must learn that if you shoot someone or something, you should have a 
legitimate reason for doing so. Also, I don't really believe that the writers 
are doing a bad job. Just felt like writing it for some strange and 
classified reason.