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From: shan@nyx10.cs.du.edu (Steven Han)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: "The Hostess" -- another lame new spoof
Date: 28 Sep 1994 16:01:51 -0500
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Hi all,

I don't know about you, but I thought "The Host" was so outrageously trashy 
that it had me ROTFL throughout.  Well, actually, while I thought it was a 
sort of a bad episode, I didn't think it was quite as awful as "Space."  
Rather, I thought it was one of those shows that was so bad that it was 
actually good. 

Therefore, I thought it was only fitting that I perform a tribute to this
episode with another of my lame-o spoofs.

This story uses characters from the TV show "The X-Files," a Ten-Thirteen 
production.  No copyright infringement is intended.

Here follows "The Hostess," by Steven Han, 9/28/94


--------------------------------------------------------------------------


Day 1
8:35 p.m.
Queens, New York

"Ow, geez, I gotta go to the potty," exclaimed the woman to her husband.  
"I shouldn't have ordered those chile rellenos extra hot," she added, 
wincing and holding her stomach.

The woman got up painfully from her couch in front of the TV and stepped
into the bathroom.  Closing the door behind her, she settled down for a
dose of relief.

"Aw, dammit, Dave!" shouted the woman through the door, as she caught 
herself on the edge of the sink.  "How many times do I have to keep telling 
you -- don't leave the damned toilet seat up!"  She pulled herself back up
and lowered the seat.

Strange, she thought, as she noticed that the water in the toilet seemed 
agitated.  No one else had used it recently, but the water was swirling 
and bubbling up.  Hmm, perhaps the plumbing needs to be checked...

But there's no time for that, she thought.  There were more, um, pressing
matters to attend to.  She sat herself down and went on to the business 
at hand.

Her husband meanwhile sat on the couch in the living room, clicking his 
remote and flipping through the spate of infomercials.  Latoya Jackson 
flashed an onscreen smile, but was instantly zapped by the remote commander.
Suzanne Sommers posed with what appeared to be some kind of a pink torture 
device, but was soon replaced by a fellow yapping next to a chalkboard, 
bragging about how everyone could become instant millionaires.

"Damned cable TV," muttered the fellow, sinking back into his chair in
disgust.  "I pay twenty-five dollars a month for this crap..."

Suddenly he heard his wife shouting out.  "Oh my god!  Aaaauugh!"

Annoyed, the husband turned up the volume on the TV.  "Maybe there's a game
on somewhere," he muttered to himself, switching to another channel.  His 
mouth formed into a smile as he finally found something watchable.  "Hey, 
tractor pulls!  Allright!" 

"Aarrrrrgh!!  help!!!" shouted his wife again from the bathroom.

"Dammit Fran, I told you to take it easy on all that extra-hot picante
sauce!  But did you listen?  Nooooo," dismissed the husband, ignoring his
wife's plea.

"Ow!!! Dave!  Something's pulling me in!  I'm being sucked into the 
toilet!" shouted his wife.

"Har har! that's a good one, Fran!" chuckled the husband, reaching for his
beer.

"Aaaarrrgh!  Help! I'm being pulled in!  Arrgmmphf!" Was the cry, followed
by total silence.

The husband was mildly amused, but quickly refocused his attention on the 
tractor pull.  A pair of monster trucks were racing over rows of old cars.  
The husband laughed out loud and clapped as the monster trucks' huge tires 
crushed the beaters under them like so many empty beer cans.  "Hah ha! I 
wish I could do that to my stupid neighbor's Pinto!"

The show finally ended, leading the husband to realize that his wife had 
been in the bathroom for over half an hour.  Hmm, what's keeping her, he 
wondered, as he realized he would also have to go pretty soon.  Sure, the 
Mexican food she had at dinner had been spicy, but still, half an hour?  
Come on...

Curious, he got up and knocked on the bathroom door.  "Hey Fran, what's
going on?  You okay in there?"

Not hearing any response, he opened the door and looked inside.  But to his
utter shock, he found that his wife was gone, without a trace of her to be 
seen anywhere.  All except, that was, for a single slipper floating in the 
toilet, slowly circling the inside of the porcelain pit.



Day 5
11:25 p.m.
Trenton, New Jersey

"Well, the difference between a lapdance and a table dance is that in a lap
dance, they're all over ya."

"So, then what's the difference between a laptop and a notebook?"

"Well, a laptop weighs more than a notebook -- generally over six pounds."

"So how about the difference between a laplander and a Finn?"

"Well, the laplanders are a nomadic tribe, a subgroup of the Nordic people,
which includes the Finns."

"And the difference between a Laplace Transform and a Fourier Transform?"

"Well, a Laplace transform is used for continuous values, while a Fourier 
transform is used for discrete values."

Mulder rubbed his face with his palms as the mind-numbing wiretap threatened
to drive him bonkers.  He removed the bulky headphones, then shook his head 
and stretched out on his chair.

Mulder gritted his teeth as he thought about that chrome-dome Skinner that
assigned him to this lousy surveillance job.  He wondered just how sadistic,
twisted, and perverted Skinner must be to do this to him.  

Mulder wondered if perhaps Skinner was in reality a major pervert, maybe 
even a repressed transvestite.  He pictured Skinner in a pink polkadot dress 
and high heels, with ruby red lipstick and a blond wig.  Yeech, shivered 
Mulder -- although, he thought, Skinner would probably have the legs for it.

Mulder was jarred from the unpleasant image by the sound of the door
opening on the van.  Two agents stepped inside, and the older one spoke.

"Agent Mulder, you're being relieved from this case.  Agent Davis here will 
take over.  You new assignment is to investigate a death in New York; your 
contact there is Detective Sipowitz of the NYPD."



Day 6
9:25 a.m.
New York City

Detective Sipowitz led Mulder to a open manhole cover in the middle of the 
closed-off street.  "Ya see agent Mulder, it's like dis," he began, 
pulling his cigar out of his mouth and tugging his polyester pants up over 
his gut.  "A sewer worka found da body down there last night.  They say it 
looks like one of them Jane Does, although they say da body's in such a bad 
condition that ya can't really tell."

Mulder put on a pair of big galoshes and followed Sipowitz's lumbering form
down the manhole entrance.  Descending the vertical metal stairs, Mulder 
entered a dark catacombs, dank and smelling of raw sewage.  Mulder found 
that he had to stoop over to keep from hitting the roof of the narrow 
passageway.

Pinching his nose at the foul stench, Mulder stepped off the ladder and 
into the muck of the sewage canal.  As his legs sank into the filthy dark 
water up to his knees, he noticed scum and garbage floating by.  A leaf and 
a twig drifted by him, followed by an empty beer can.

Mulder then caught a twenty-dollar bill floating by, and his eyes lit up.
Hmm, I wonder if it would be worth it, he thought, and waded over towards 
the floating bill.  Unfortunately, he stumbled over a morass of dirt and 
rocks set deep in the vat of sewage, and fell headfirst into the cesspool.

Dammit, muttered Mulder, getting up and wiping the stinking slime off his 
face.  Great, this stuff will never come out of my Hugo Boss suit, he 
thought to himself, not even with that miracle spot remover I bought from 
that TV ad last month.  And to add insult to injury, the twenty was by now
nowhere in sight.

"Been inner'duced to our New York sewer watah, I see," quipped the 
detective.  "I'd be careful if I was you -- this stuff's been known to eat
through lead," he remarked as he passed Mulder, snorting and wiping his 
moustache.

Shaking off the moisture from his suit, Mulder frowned and followed the 
detective into the sewer.  He turned on his flashlight and stepped gingerly 
behind Sipowitz into the murky depths of the catacombs.

Sipowitz slowed and bent down over an odd-looking pile in the water.  
Shining his flashlight down on the object, he motioned to Mulder to approach.

Mulder flashed his own flashlight on the curious object, and reeled back 
as he realized it was a body.  Or what was left of one.  

"Looks like da female we been told about," announced the detective.  "Looks
like parts of her body were eaten off.  And she's prob'ly been 'ere a few 
days, judging by da decay.  The bacteria in da water has a way of giving 
yer skin this unpleasant pallor after a while."

Mulder looked down at the rotting green and black flesh and resolved to 
throw himself into a shower the moment he got out.  Somehow he didn't think 
he'd look good with slimy green skin.  

Mulder then bent down and flashed the light in the woman's face.  He saw 
a pair of bulging eyes looking back at him, along with an open mouth full
of weeds, mud, and slithering worms.  

Mulder felt himself growing violently ill at the sight.  He turned around 
and bowled over in nausea, looking for a place to vomit.  Then it occurred 
to him -- hey, he was in a sewer; he could vomit anywhere.  Thankful for the
location, he proceeded to make his own little contribution to the New York 
sewage system.




6:35 p.m.
Washington, D.C.

Mulder unlocked his apartment door, still thinking about the $800 suit that
he had to throw in the trash.  Ah well, at least the bum that picked it up 
will be able to panhandle in style, he figured, as he opened his door.

Mulder noticed right away that something was wrong.  The lights were on,
and he felt a presence in his apartment.  He pulled out his Glock and 
crept along the wall.

"Don't be such a stranger, Mulder," was Scully's familiar voice.  Mulder let
out a sigh of relief as he heard her, and turned to see her making coffee
in the kitchen.

"Now Scully, how did you get in here?  And don't you know the Bureau
doesn't want us working together?" asked a disconcerted Mulder.

"Nonsense, Mulder.  I just came by to see how you were holding up," replied
Scully as she poured the two coffees.  "You haven't called me in over two
weeks, you know."

Mulder grabbed one of the coffee mugs and sat himself down on his couch.  
"Well, Scully, there's not much to talk about.  The old cross-dresser's
got me on mind-numbing surveillance and two-bit Jane Doe cases."

"Old cross-dresser what?" asked a puzzled Scully.

"Uh, nothing, Scully.  Just an inside joke.  And why don't you come out of
the kitchen where I can see you?"

"No, thanks, Mulder.  I'll just stand here behind this counter."

"What's the matter, Scully?  And hey, am I mistaken, or is your face looking
a little bloated?"

"Well geez, Mulder -- that's a nice thing to say to a girl," said a peeved
Scully.  "And besides, I'm just retaining water, you know."

"Uh, sorry, Scully.  Anyway, why don't you come and sit down?  I'll tell you
about my misadventures in the sewers today."

Scully begrudgingly stepped out from behind the kitchen counter, sneaking 
into the darkness behind Mulder's window curtains.  She then dashed towards 
the seat across from Mulder, as a shadow fell across her lower figure.

"Hey Scully, can I take that coat?  You'll be more comfortable without it."

"No, thank you, Mulder -- I prefer to keep my coat on."

"Well, suit yourself," shrugged Mulder.  "Anyway, I was about to say that 
we found a Jane Doe in the sewers under New York City, her body badly 
decomposed."

"A body in New York's sewers?  So what's so unusual about that?"

"Well, nothing, I suppose.  But this one seems to have had parts of her
body eaten off."

"Hmm... that *is* interesting.  Tell you what, Mulder -- have the body sent 
to me, and I'll do the autopsy -- for old time's sake."




Day 7
9:30 a.m.
New York District Water Treatment Center

"Good morning; I'm agent Fox Mulder with the FBI," declared Mulder,
flashing his badge.  "I'm here to learn a little about your sewage system."

"Well, yoo'se come to da right place then.  This here's da center of our
entire operation," declared the gangly old supervisor, waving his skinny 
arms wildly at the vast array of water treatment cells around them.  He led
Mulder through the narrow walkways and into his office.  "Oh, and by the 
way, my name is Naughton.  Ed Naughton."

"Well, Mr. Naughton, I've heard reports that several New York city workers 
have recently been attacked by unknown creatures in the sewers.  Would you 
have any insights into this matter?"

"Well, I tell ya, Mr. Mulder.  I've been working in these here sewers for 
nearly forty years.  And I've seen a lotta things, things that'll make yer
eyes bulge out.  And then there's this here one thing in particular, a 
legend of sorts among us sewer boys."

"A legend?" asked Mulder, his interest piqued.

Glancing around him, the supervisor leaned over and continued in a hushed 
voice.  "Yup, dem boys in city hall don't believe any of it, of cawse, but 
down here, there's da legend of da parasitic humanoid underground dweller.  
We call it P.H.U.D. for short."

"Parasitic humanoid creatures?  Are you serious, Ed?"
 
"Yup, dead serious.  We had a whole lotta sightin's over the years, but 
never did manage to capture any of 'em alive.  We even give 'em names when
we see 'em -- you know, like them weather people do with hurricanes.  Our 
most recent sightin's were one from last year, which we called Don, and the 
one that showed up a just few months ago, which we called Elmer."

"So this Elmer -- what does it look like?"

"Well, it's kinda like a human, only it's got suckers and four teeth in 
place of a mouth, and..."

Just then, Mulder got a call.  "Excuse me, Ed," he said, pulling out his 
cellular phone.  "Mulder," he replied.

"Hi Mulder, this is Scully.  I've done the autopsy on the Jane Doe, and 
I've found something most peculiar."

"Which is?"

"Well, the contents of her stomach indicate that she apparently had 
extra-spicy chile rellenos the night she died.  And get this, Mulder -- she 
even had extra-hot picante sauce and jalapeno peppers on top of that."

"Wow, amazing," responded Mulder, in awe of the woman's courage.

"And there's more, Mulder.  She apparently also had plenty of refried
beans, because her intestinal tract was backed up with unreleased digestive 
gases."

"Scully, you don't mean...," started Mulder, wincing at the thought.

"That's right, Mulder.  You should have smelled the place when I cut into
her large intestine.  All that gas escaped and stank up the entire lab.
We had to evacuate the whole building for three hours, in fact."

"All right, Scully -- enough forensics talk.  Do you know the cause of
death?"

"Well, I'd say that it was an acute reaction to the near-toxic levels of
hot sauce and jalapeno peppers, but I can't be sure.  You see, I also found 
what looks like some sort of a flukeworm in her stomach.  So I'd guess she's
also had some less than fully cooked hamburgers recently."

Mulder thought for a moment.  "Hmm... thanks, Scully."

As soon as Mulder disconnected the phone, however, he got another call. 
"Hello?  Is it you again, Scully?"

"Hssssss.... Mr. Mulder?"

"Yes, who is this?"

"Hssssssss.... Hssssss..."

"Hey, buddy -- you've got the wrong number," barked Mulder in anger.  "Try 
1-900-HOT-SEXX."

"Hsssss... Mr. Mulder -- you've got a friend in the FBI."

"Oh, really?  I have a friend in the Bureau all of a sudden?  Who's this?
And why all the newfound chumminess?  Do you need to borrow money?  Or do 
you need help moving furniture?"

"Hssssss...  Mr. Mulder, reinstatement of the X-Files is imperative."

"Huh?  Who is this?  Tell me your name!"

"Hsssss.... Just consider me a friend, Mr. Mulder..."

"Hey, is this Skinner?  Hey, Sam, I was right! you *are* a pervert!  But
I think you were supposed to call Scully with this heavy breathing bit, not
me.  Unless..."

"Hsss... rest assured, Mr. Mulder - this is not Skinner.  Hsss..."

"Well then -- Hmm, the hissing -- Hey, are you Darth Vader?"

"Hsss... No, Mr. Mulder -- remember, Darth Vader is dead."

"But the voice -- you're an African-American, aren't you?  are you James
Earl Jones??"

"No, I wish, Mr. Mulder -- then I'd at least have that CNN gig, instead of
being just a two-bit actor."

"A two-bit actor -- hey, are you Carl Weathers?"

"No, Mr. Mulder -- Carl Weathers' career took a nosedive after the 'Rocky'
series.  And after 'Action Jackson', he couldn't even get CC to return his 
phone calls."

"Then who could this be... Hey, I've got it!  The hissing and all -- You're 
that M.A.N.T.I.S. fellow, aren't you?  You're that dude in the funky outfit!
Hey, can you tell me where I can get one of those cool power suits?"

"Hssss... Uh, no, Mr. Mulder -- uh, you're um, mistaken.  This is not Dr., 
uh, this is most definitely *not* M.A.N.T.I.S.  This is assuredly *not* a 
tie-in to improve M.A.N.T.I.S.'s ratings.  And I'm not trying to restore 
the X-Files so that I can attract that show's audience, either.  Now I 
have to be going."

"Hey, MANTIS dude -- can you tell me what those letters M.A.N.T.I.S.
stand for?  I never could figure it out."

"Hssss.... Good day, Mr. Mulder."  The mystery caller hung up.

Mulder shrugged and put his phone back into his jacket.  "Must have been
a crank call," he said to Ed.

Suddenly, one of the crew yelled out from outside the office.  "Hey! we've
got something here!  It looks like a P.H.U.D.!"

Mulder and Ed looked at at each other, then simultaneously voiced the 
word -- "Elmer!"

The pair rushed out of the office and saw the workers huddling around a 
treatment tank.  "Flush the water out of that cell!" ordered Ed.

As the water drained out, the crowd observed a slimy white creature getting 
up from the pool and growling at them.  It looked like a cross between a 
giant worm and the Michelin Man.  It vaguely resembled a human, but it has 
a round, suckerlike mouth and large, loose folds of wet skin, as if it had 
been sitting in a bathtub for a month.

"Remarkable!" exclaimed Mulder in wonder, gazing down at the creature in 
the pit.

"Yup, ain't never seen one this close before." added Ed.

"So you say these things live and thrive in the sewers?"

"Yup, crazy mutants -- they'll eat anything that enters them sewers.  And 
some say they'll bite you and stick a parasite in yer gut."

"Most amazing," mused Mulder.




1:25 p.m.
Washington, D.C.

"Is this seat taken?"

Scully looked up at her partner, who flashed a grin that was barely visible 
in the darkened theater.  "It is now," she replied.

Mulder sat down next to Scully and whispered to her.  "Well, Scully, we 
found our man.  Or I should say we found our creature.  It's a full-size
version of the worm you found in the autopsy.  A real-life humanoid worm 
creature, Scully.  The U.S. Marshals are shipping it down here to D.C. to 
stand trial."

"Huh?  Let me get this right, Mulder.  We're going to put a mutant worm-
creature on trial for murder?"

"That's right, Scully.  Skinner's gonna assign it a lawyer -- Robert 
Shapiro has expressed an interest.  And the TV shows 'Inside Edition', 
'A Current Affair', and 'Hard Copy' have all been flooding the FBI
headquarters.  And the tabloid papers, they don't know what to put on their 
headlines, Scully -- nothing they can dream up is as wild as the real 
thing."

Scully looked down and sighed, then shook her head in disbelief.  Looking
back up at her partner, she asked.  "Well, in any event, Mulder, did we 
really have to meet in a place like this?"

"But it's so far out of the way, Scully.  No one would look for us here.
At least not for you, anyway."

"But Mulder, these men have been giving me funny looks!"

"Shhh! Scully -- the feature's about to begin.  It's one of my all-time
favorites -- 'Wanda Does Washington'."




2:08 p.m.
New York, New York

The U.S. Marshall closed up the back door to the van and got in on the
driver's side.  Pulling away, he wondered why his idiot commander wouldn't 
assign him a partner for this ride.  Ah well, at least that worm-creature 
was tightly strapped in on the stretcher.

Or was he?  As he took a turn onto a side road, he felt compelled to
look behind him and into the cabin.  The stretcher was still there, but
the creature -- it was gone!

Panicking, he pulled off to the side of the road and stopped the car.  
Grabbing a shotgun, he went around to the back and flung open the door.  
He looked around inside the cabin and found nothing.

Suddenly, he felt himself being grasped by claws, and was pulled inside
the van, kicking and screaming.

Moments later, the angry mutant stepped out, wearing the marshall's clothes.
He took a look around, then saw a sleazy-looking bar in the distance and 
grinned.




4:15 p.m.

Mulder got out of his Taurus and joined detective Sipowitz at the site of
the stopped U.S. Marshall van.  "Any sign of the creature?" he asked.

"Nope, nawtin'.  That punk must've jumped into da East River," said 
Sipowitz, pointing to the waterway behind him.  "And if that lousy two-bit
wormface lowlife scum did dive into dat toxic muck, he's probably pushin' 
up weeds by now."

"I wouldn't bet on it," muttered Mulder, looking around.  He saw a rickety 
old building in the distance with a sign saying 'Johnny's Bar.'  

"I'll be back in a bit; gotta check something out," said Mulder, heading off.

Mulder walked over to the decrepit old building and stepped inside.  Making
his way up to the bar and shouldering himself in between a pair of heavy-set
patrons, he inquired to the barkeep.  "Hey, have you seen any strange people
entering this place today?"

The gruff bartender pulled out his cigarette and blew a puff in Mulder's 
face.  "Strange people, eh?  You mean besides yourself?"

Mulder flashed his badge and restated the question.  "Let me put it this 
way.  Have you seen anyone out of the ordinary coming in here earlier today?"

The bartender took a drag of his cigarette and replied.  "Well, you'll have 
to be more specific than that, agent.  You see, here at Chez Johhny, we 
attract a most *eclectic* clientele."

Shaking his head, Mulder made another attempt.  "Well, this guy is pale, 
and looks like he belongs in a tackle box."

"Yeah, well, now that you mentioned it -- a pale-lookin' guy with a big 
mouth and a blue uniform walked in here a while ago and ordered a bottle
of tequila.  And then he stepped inside the men's room.  Funny thing -- I 
ain't seen him since then.  And he still hasn't paid for his drink.  You 
his buddy or somethin?"

A thought flashed across Mulder's head, and he turned and rushed into the 
restroom.

Throwing his arm across his nose to block out the stench in the unkempt
restroom, Mulder noticed a urinal and a stall.  The urinal had a grate on 
it, with openings too small for anything to crawl into.  But the stall...  
It was closed.

Determined, Mulder drew his Glock and kicked in the door.  To his great
dismay, Mulder found only a surprised man of about 300 pounds looking back 
at him, his eyes bugging out in shock and anger.  "Hey, what the ****!  What 
the hell do you think you're doing?" yelled the man in outrage.

"Oops, sorry," apologized Mulder, as he pulled the door back into place.
Embarrassed, he stepped back away from the stall.

Suddenly, the man in the stall shouted out.  "Heyyy!!! Yeeow!!!  Hey, 
something's got a holda my butt!  Hellllp!!"

Alert, Mulder quickly reopened the stall door, just in time to witness the
bulbous man being sucked into the toilet.  Already, his massive midsection
was being squished into the tiny toilet like a deflating balloon, his rear 
sunk well into the white whirlpool of death.

Mulder grabbed the man's outstretched arm and pulled back with all his 
might.  But it wasn't enough, as the man continued to be drawn in further
into the narrow channel.  Mulder marveled at the sight of the man's love 
handles being squeezed into the narrow opening of the toilet, as he sank 
in up to his chest.  His arms and feet were splayed out of the potty, as if 
he were struggling to do sit-ups.

"Aaarrgh! hellp!" shouted the man, as his neck sank in up to the chin.
Mulder braced one foot against the wall behind the toilet, as he pulled
on the man's arm and struggled to keep him from sinking in any further.  
But it was no use, as he felt his grip slipping from the man's hairy 
forearm.

Soon, the man's arm slipped through Mulder's fingers, and he saw the man's
entire upper body collapsing into the toilet.  Mulder caught a glimpse of
the look of shock on the man's face, just as his head was sucked into the 
opening like a soap bubble down a drain.

Desperate, Mulder lurched forward and grabbed what was left of the man's 
feet, struggling to keep the rest of him from disappearing altogether.  But 
the suction force was overwhelming, and Mulder felt himself lurching back
as the man's boots came off in his hands.

Mulder looked down at the toilet in dismay as the water swirled down, then 
sputtered.  A few bubbles floated up to the surface, and then it was all 
over.

Dazed and confused, Mulder staggered out of the restroom and left the bar, 
heading back to the site of the Marshal's van.

Gathering his composure, he walked back up to Sipwitz, who was chomping 
down on another cigar.  "Quick, detective, do you know where the sewage 
from this area goes to?"

"Well, agent Mulder, dat ain't exactly my area of expaw-tise, but since
this here is still in the New Yawk area, I'd guess it'd go to da main city
sewage treatment center."




5:11 p.m.
New York District Water Treatment Center

"Yes, Mr. Mulder, all the sewage is treated here before it goes out to 
sea," replied Ed.  "If the creature's here, we'll find it."

Turning to his men, Ed shouted out, "Backflush all the sewage treatment
cells!  Everyone, keep a watch out for Elmer!"

Mulder and Ed traversed the walkways around the water cells, looking for 
any signs of movement.

Suddenly, one of the men yelled out.  "Hey, I think we've got something!"  
He pointed down towards an exit channel in one of the tanks.  "It's gone 
down into the underground tank!"

Ed turned to Mulder. "It's in the underground filtration facility.  Come 
on!"

The two men ran to the entrance and descended the metal stairs to the dark 
underground facility.  Mulder and Ed moved gingerly along the catwalk 
overlooking the water, trying to make out any movement in the murky depths.

"There! there it is!" shouted Ed, as he stepped to the edge of the
catwalk.  "There -- do you see it?" he pointed, looking back at Mulder.

Suddenly, something reached out of the darkness and grabbed Ed's ankle, 
pulling him down into the water.  

"Aarrgh!" shouted Ed, as he sank into the water up to his neck.  "Help!  
Oh geez! Trixie ain't never gonna forgive me for gettin' my best shirt 
dirty!" exclaimed Ed as he bobbed up and down in the water.

Alert, Mulder jumped into the water after Ed.  Duh, there goes another
Hugo Boss suit, he thought.  Why couldn't he have worn his old polyester 
suit from Sears today, he wondered.

But there was no time for that.  Seeing Ed being pulled away fighting and
screaming, Mulder pulled out his Glock and tried to locate the assailant.
He saw a figure moving in the water in front of him and fired.

Something big and brown floated to the surface.  Ah ha, I got it, thought
Mulder -- but he was disappointed to see that it was just a giant rat.

Damn, thought Mulder, as he resumed his search.  He saw Ed's head sink 
below the surface of the water and lost sight of him.  But his head soon
popped back up, as he shouted out, "Hey Ralph! where are ya when I need ya! 
heeeelllp!"

Mulder again took aim in the direction of Ed's foot, and fired at something 
moving nearby.  A green creature floated to the surface.  Damn, it was just 
an alligator.

Ed was pulled down again, his hand thrashing about just above the water.
His head popped back up once more, and he coughed out, "aw, damn! if only 
that hot dog stand had worked out! If only that damned Howard Johnsons's 
hadn't opened next door!"

Mulder waded over to Ed's location and grabbed his flapping arm.  But
although he pulled with all his might, he found his footing slippery in
the sewage.  He nearly slipped, catching himself just before he almost
fell on his $90 tie.

Struggling to find decent footing, Mulder realized he was fighting a losing 
battle.  The creature had a firm grasp of Ed and continued to pull him 
tenaciously into the water, drawing his body deeper and deeper into the 
muck.  Not wanting to let go of Ed, Mulder felt himself being pulled into 
the water as well.  Desperate, he looked around for something to hold onto, 
but found nothing.  He began to panic.

Suddenly, Mulder felt something grabbing his shoulder.  Whoever it was, it
possessed immense strength, as it pulled Mulder and Ed right out of the
water and lifted them back up onto the catwalk.

A shocked Mulder turned around to see who had helped them.  To his surprise, 
he saw his savior standing in the water in front of him, a man with the 
face of a lion.  

"Who *are* you?" asked Mulder in amazement.

"I'm a friend, Mr. Mulder"

"Hey, you're the guy that called me, aren't you?" exclaimed Mulder in
excitement.

"No, Mr. Mulder.  That man was African-American.  I'm Jewish."

"Well then, who are you?  And what are you doing here?  Why did you save 
me and Ed?"

"Mr. Mulder, you can call me Vincent," responded the creature.  "And I've 
taken it upon myself to make these sewers a safer place for those who live 
here, as well as those who might visit.  And creatures such as Elmer here 
have given the sewers a bad name."

"So then Vincent, can you tell me where this mutant creature Elmer came 
from?  was it the result of a secret army experiment, perhaps?  Or maybe 
a victim of fallout from a nuclear accident?"

"No, Mr. Mulder, nothing like that.  Actually, the conversion of the man
into the worm-like creature was the result of eating a little too much 
Escargot, from what I understand.  That and prolonged exposure to Yanni's 
music, which would be enough to drive anyone underground.  I understand 
that Clapton, ZZ Top, and Rush are good antidotes."

"Hmm.  Well, I'll pass that on.  And in any case -- thanks again, buddy."

"No problem.  And oh, by the way, do you think Fox could bring back my 
series?  CBS isn't interested, but I'm still available."

"Uh, I don't know about that, Vince.  Fox has a pretty full fall schedule.
But perhaps you could do a guest spot on my show sometime."

Vincent's eyes lit up.  "You really think so?"

"Yeah, sure, Vince.  After all, we've already had rubbery mutants and lizard 
creatures on the show, so why not a lionman?  Here, give my agent a call," 
said Mulder, handing Vincent a card.

"Allright, Mulder, I'll do that.  Thanks a lot," said a cheerful Vincent,
waving to the departing Mulder.



THE END