The X(mas) Files

Mulder: We're too late. It's already been here.

Scully: Mulder, I hope you know what you are doing.

Mulder: Look, Scully, just like the other homes: Douglas fir, truncated,
mounted, transformed into some sort of shrine; halls decked with boughs of
holly; stockings hung by the chimney, with care.

Scully: You really think someone's been here?

Mulder: Someone or some THING.

Scully: Mulder, over here -- it's fruitcake.

Mulder: Don't touch it! Those things can be lethal.

Scully: It's O.K. There's a note attached: "Gonna find out who's naughty and
nice."

Mulder: It's judging them, Scully. It's making a list.

Scully: Who? What are you talking about?

Mulder: Ancient mythology tells of an obese humanoid entity who could
travel at great speed in a craft powered by antlered servants. Once each
year, near the winter solstice, this creature is said to descend from the
heavens to reward its followers and punish its disbelievers with jagged
chunks of anthracite.

Scully: But that's legend, Mulder -- a story told by parents to frighten
children. Surely, you don't believe it?

Mulder: Something was here tonight, Scully. Check out the bite marks on this
gingerbread man. Whatever tore through this plate of cookies was massive
-- and in a hurry.

Scully: It left crumbs everywhere. And look, Mulder, this milk glass has been
completely drained.

Mulder: It gorged itself, Scully. It fed without remorse.

Scully: But why would they leave it milk and cookies?

Mulder: Appeasement. Tonight is the Eve, and nothing can stop its wilding.

Scully: But if this thing does exist, how did it get in? The doors and windows
were locked. There's no sign of forced entry.

Mulder: Unless I miss my guess, it came through the fireplace.

Scully: Wait a minute, Mulder. If you are saying some huge creature landed
on the roof and came down the chimney, you're crazy. The flue is barely six
inches wide. Nothing could get through there.

Mulder: But what if it could alter its shape, move in all directions.

Scully: You mean, like a bowl full of jelly?

Mulder: Exactly. Scully, I've never told anyone this, but when I was a child
my home was visited. I saw the creature. It had long white strips of fur
surrounding its ruddy, misshapen head. Its bloated torso was red and white.
I'll never forget the horror. I turned away, and when I looked back it had
somehow taken on the facial features of my father.

Scully: Impossible.

Mulder: I know what I saw. And that night it read my mind. It brought me a
Mr. Potato Head, Scully. IT KNEW I WANTED A MR. POTATO HEAD.
Scully: I'm sorry, Mulder, but you're asking me to disregard the laws of
physics. You want me to believe in some supernatural being who soars
across the skies and brings gifts to good little girls and boys. Listen to what
you are saying. Do you understand the repercussions? If this gets out, they'll
close the X-files.

Mulder: Scully, listen to me: It knows when you are sleeping. It knows when
you're awake.

Scully: But we have no proof.

Mulder: Last year, on this exact date, S.E.T.I. radio telescopes detected
bogeys in the airspace over twenty-seven states. The White House ordered
a Condition Red.

Scully: But that was a meteor shower.

Mulder: Officially. Two days ago, eight prized Scandinavian reindeer
vanished from the National Zoo in Washington, D.C. Nobody - not even the
zookeeper - was told about it. The government doesn't want people to know
about Project Kringle. They fear that if this thing is proved to exist, then the
public would stop spending half its annual income in a holiday shopping
frenzy. Retail markets will collapse. Scully, they cannot let the world believe
this creature lives. There's too much at stake. They'll do whatever it takes to
insure another silent night.

Scully: Mulder, I -- Scully: On the roof. It sounds like . . . a clatter.

Mulder: The truth is up there. Let's see what's the matter...
 
 

Barbie's Letter to Santa

Barbie
c/o Mattel, Inc.
El Segundo, CA 90245

Santa Claus
North Pole, North Pole
December 23, 1996

Dear Santa:

Listen you fat little troll, I've been helping you out every year, playing at
being the perfect Christmas Present, wearing skimpy bathing suits in frigid
weather, and drowning in fake tea from one too many tea parties, and I hate
to break it to ya Santa, but IT'S DEFINITELY PAYBACK TIME!

There had better be some changes around here this Christmas, or I'm gonna
call for a nationwide meltdown (and trust me, you won't wanna be around to
smell it). So, here's my holiday wish list for 1997, Santa:

1. A nice, comfy pair of sweat pants and a frumpy, oversized sweatshirt. I'm
sick of looking like a hooker. How much smaller are these bathing suits
gonna get? Do you have any idea what it feels like to have nylon and velcro
crawling up your butt?

2. Real underwear that can be pulled on and off. Preferably white. What
bonehead at Mattel decided to cheap out and MOLD imitation underwear to
my skin?!? It looks like cellulite!

3. A REAL man...maybe GI Joe. Hell, I'd take Tickle-Me Elmo over that
wimped-out excuse for a boytoy Ken. And what's with that earring anyway?
If I'm gonna have to suffer with him, at least make him (and me)
anatomically correct.

4. Arms that actually bend so I can push the aforementioned Ken-wimp
away once he is anatomically correct.

5. Breast reduction surgery. I don't care whose arm you have to twist, just
get it done.

6. A jogbra. To wear until I get the surgery.

7. A new career. Pet doctor and school teacher just don't cut it. How about
a systems analyst? Or better yet, a public relations senior account exec!

8. A new, more 90s persona. Maybe "PMS Barbie", complete with a
miniature container of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream and a bag of
chips; "Animal Rights Barbie", with my very own paint gun, outfitted with a
fake fur coat, bottle of spray on blood and handcuffs; or "Stop Smoking
Barbie," sporting a removable Nicotrol patch and equipped with several
packs of gum.

9. No more McDonald's endorsements. The grease is wrecking my vinyl.

10. Mattel stock options. It's been 37 years--I think I deserve it.

Ok, Santa, that's it. Considering my valuable contribution to society, I don't
think these requests are out of line. If you disagree, then you can find
yourself a new bitch for next Christmas. It's that simple.

Yours truly, Barbie
 
 

With the number of airline disasters lately, the FAA now sends an inspector
to the North Pole to check out Santa Claus's sleigh before allowing him to fly
on Christmas eve.

The inspector arrives and checks the reindeer and they look good, he checks
the harness and it looks okay, he checks the sleigh and it is also okay. Then
he says, "Santa, lets take it up for a check ride and if everything looks good
I'll certify you to fly."

Santa hitches the reindeer up and taxis onto the runway and just as he's
starting his takeoff roll he looks over and notices the inspector has a pump
shotgun on his lap. "Hey! Whats the shotgun for!?" Santa yells.

The inspector says, "Well, Santa, I'm really not supposed to tell you this, but
there is going to be an engine failure on takeoff."