From: AnasaziBB@aol.com Date: Sat, 31 May 1997 18:22:25 -0400 (EDT) Subject: Submission I was previously DMScully@aol.com, then I switched my address to SamiLane@aol.com, and now I am AnasaziBB@aol.com I am re-submitting my stories, because someone requested this, and said it would be easier than to switch the names around. The first story, which is attached to this one, is "Hey, It Could Happen!" The information about title, author, spoilers, etc. is contained at the beginning of the story. Could you please delete everything contained under the author's name "DMScully"? Thank you very much. S. Sanger :) Title--Hey, It Could Happen! Author--S. Sanger (AnasaziBB@aol.com) Rating--PG Classification--H Spoilers--"Avatar" Summary--A strange story about an experience with our future president [;)] and a dancing cow. Scully’s Aparment July 21, 1997 3:00 pm "Hurry up, Scully, we’re going to be late! If there’s anything left of me at all to go to the picnic. Honestly!" Mulder shouted, swatting at the fly that was dive bombing his head. "Just a minute, I’m putting the last of my makeup on." "Aaaack!" shouted Mulder, again, as the fly came up to his face, and went "Bzzz-bzzz-bzzz!" almost up his nose. "Since flies are about three hundred times smaller than humans, you would think it would be in their best interest not to annoy us. But nooooo--" Mulder ducked as the fly came in for another pass. "I swear, this fly is TRYING to make it up my nose!!" screamed Mulder, batting at the fly, in the process nearly jamming his finger up his nose. Scully poked her head out from the bathroom. "Why don’t you sit still, and when it lands, try to swat it?" "All right. But I wish you’d hurry up." Sulkily, he said, "I wouldn’t *be* in this position, if you hadn’t agreed for us to go as a couple to the ‘1st Annual Government Picnic’." Mulder sat down on the couch again, as still as he could. "Who would you want to go with, Bambi?" "If it meant I didn’t get assaulted by a fly, yes. And I think that Frohike would have been glad to take you." "Yeah, right." "What are you doing? Major reconstructive surgery on your face? This is outdoors, you know, and who knows what our new president has cooked up for us this time." "Just as long as it’s nothing like the noodle fight we had at the ‘Appreciation of Overworked Agents’ banquet last March." "I’ll say." Just then the fly landed on the leg of Mulder’s dress jeans. "Oh, I’ve got him now!" Mulder picked up the old newspaper that was sitting on the table, and hit his leg as hard as he could. The fly escaped. "That’s it!" shouted Mulder, standing up. He was about to go on a wild rampage around the room until everything was smashed up, or the fly was dead (probably the former, rather than the latter, given his experiences in the last few minutes) when Scully walked out. "I’m ready to go." She said, pulling him out the door. The fly neatly escaped through the doorway. ********** Bob’s Road July 21, 1997 5:23 pm "They’re stalking me!" Mulder shouted. "They want me dead!" "Mulder, you’re being paranoid. Now, open a window and let the fly out, then get the roadmap out again, I think we’re lost." Scully’s hands gripped the steering wheel. "Aha, I have you now!" Mulder smashed the fly all over the dashboard of the car. "Good thing this is a rental." "Thank you. Now would you get out the map?" she sighed. "I can’t believe I voted for this guy. I thought he would be a welcome change. Who knew he was insane and decided to have company picnics out in the middle of nowhere?" "You voted for him? So that’s how he got elected! I was wondering. I, personally, voted for the Republican. I figured that’s what everyone else was going to do, but I was wrong. I mean, he didn’t get elected four years ago." Mulder pointed to a place on the map. "I think this is where we are. Just turn off at this next road, and go a little ways, and we’ll be there." "There it is--" she cut her words off as she stared ahead at the picnic spot. "I knew an FBI picnic was a bad idea." ********** FBI Picnic Grounds July 21, 1997 5:30 "So, ya’ll enjoyin’ y’selves?" asked the President of the United States. "Yes, Mr. President. It’s an honor to meet you. I did vote for you, you know." Scully smiled sweetly, and held out her hand. "Oh, don’t be so formal! You can call Ross. Just don’t call me late for supper!" He emitted a great, chuckling laugh, very uncharacteristic for a man of his size. "Have you tried the chocolate ice cream, it really quite good, you should have some. Here, I’ll get you some." Mr. Perot went off to the dessert table, where he picked up two bowls of ice cream. Before Scully’s unshaken hand dropped to her side, he plunked one of the bowls into it, and handed the other one to Mulder. "Nice meetin’ ya!" He left to go mingle with the other guests. "That man is bizarre." said Mulder. Just then, there was a loud commotion across the yard. Two agents were beginning to throw punches at one another, because of a dispute over who had actually won the three legged race. The president rushed over to them. "Now, men, we don’t need to fight, just have some ice cream!" "I don’t think bizarre is a strong enough word, Mulder." ********** They walked around, talking with other guests, some of them FBI agents, some of them senators, and some of them that didn’t look like they belonged here. Mulder spotted Skinner across the yard, and began to make his way through the hordes of people standing around the yard, pulling Scully behind him. He had almost made it though the crowd, when he bumped into a man that looked like a reject from Woodstock. "Oh, excuse m--" Mulder stopped dead. "Have we met before?" The man stared up at him with orange-yellow eyes. "Maybe. You look very familiar, but--" "Nah." They both said at the same time. Mulder turned to Skinner. "Hello, sir." "Since we’re all in a very strange situation, I think that we can dispense with the formalities right now, Mulder. Please. Call me Walter." "Okay, Walter, but you’ll have to excuse me if I don’t ask you to call me Fox." "I understand completely." It was beginning to get dark as Sharon Skinner grabbed her husband by the arm, and squealed, "Egg Roll, honey, they’re going to have a line dance, and the president is going to teach us! Won’t that be great?" It took Mulder a few seconds to realize that ‘Egg Roll’ was Sharon’s nickname for Skinner. "Egg Roll?" whispered Scully to Mulder. They both giggled. Suddenly, Mulder realized something else. "If those invitations we received from the president said, ‘Bring a date’ where’s Mr. Perot’s date?" Feeling a sudden urge to do some investigating, Mulder snuck over to where the president was standing, which didn’t take much doing. The Secret Security guards were too busy doing the "Boot-Scootin’ Boogie" to notice much else. "Now, for this nex’ one, I want every body to find a pardner." Ross said. "Bessie!!" He shouted, across the lawn. Mulder craned his neck above the crowd to try to see Bessie. "What sort of a name is Bessie?" asked Scully. "That’s the sort of thing you name--" A cow came ambling through the crowd of people, and immediately stood up on her back legs. Much to Scully’s and Mulder’s amazement, the cow began to line dance even better than the president. "This is getting more than bizarre, Mulder. This is getting absurd." "Next he’s going to be asking us to--" "Excuse me, are you Special Agent Mulder?" Mulder turned around and saw the man that he had bumped into earlier. "Yes, I am." "I thought so." For a few seconds, the man looked as though he didn’t know what to say. Then, "I am so mad at you." Mulder’s eyebrows arched into the air. "I’m sorry--" "Look what you did to me!" shouted the man, holding up his prosthetic left leg. "You smashed it! You thought you killed me, but, hahahahaha! You didn’t. I would be dead, if it wasn’t for that wonderful twist of fate that brought me to get out alive. You *wanted* to kill me. I can’t believe that you *wanted* to kill me! Me, a creature of pure instinct!" The man continued babbling, as Mulder shot Scully a look. "He must be related to the president." Scully nodded. Mulder continued, "Doesn’t he look familiar to you, though?" "You’d better believe it, buster!" shouted the man. "Hey, that was neat," he said surprised. "Better believe it, buster. Better believe it, buster. Better believe, buster. Better believe, buster." He suddenly realized what he was doing. "Anyway, *I* am Eugene Victor Tooms, aka the Liver Ripper Outer. And *I* am about to rip out your liver. Yours is the only one that I need to complete my cycle before I go into hibernation. And yours is the only liver that I want." Mulder began backing up. "I will have my revenge, finally!" A split second before Eugene reached out to take out Mulder’s liver, there was a weird flash of light overhead. Everyone looked up. They watched the spaceship land, as a hush fell over the crowd. The door unlatched. "Samantha?" asked Mulder. Everyone craned their necks toward the spaceship. The door opened up. A woman stepped out. She opened her mouth. She said. "Coffee, tea, or can I interest you in an alcoholic beverage?" "Huh?" said Mulder, sitting straight up in the seat on the airplane. "Coffee, tea, or can I--" "No, nothing." The woman left. Mulder blinked, as he looked around the plane, confused. What happened? "There was the picnic, the new president, and the dancing cow. There was Eugene Victor Tooms, and the spaceship. There was--" Wait a minute, he had been asleep. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, and turned to see Scully looking at him strangely. "Mulder, are you alright? I told you, Chinese airplane food probably wouldn’t agree with you, but did you listen? No." Mulder stared at her for a minute, before replying, "Scully, I had the strangest dream. The strangest part was, the president was Ross Perot! And YOU voted for him!" ********** The End