Muffy ran her fingers longingly over the console, tracing small circles around the smooth plastic protrusions.
They were on an endless, shimmering stretch of open highway, and the eighteen-wheeler seemed to have a mind and diesel pulse of its own as the summer sun beat down on the cab. Muffy began to perspire.
"Some music would help pass the time. Maybe one of these buttons is a radio," thought Muffy.
The highway took them through a desolate stretch of the Catskills, and reception was poor. Finally she found an AM station that came through loud and clear. But it didn't seem to be a music station.
"Hi, and welcome back to Yankee Stadium, everyone, this is Agent Mulder..."
"And this is agent Scully..."
"...sitting in for your regular crew, for reasons that will become apparent very shortly, I believe. So, we're all tied up at one run apiece, top of the third, and a big crowd on hand for a great giveaway, that's right, folks, it's "Alien Implant in the Back of Your Neck Day", brought to you by Marlboro. Marlboro, come to where the flavor is, Marlboro."
"Agent Mulder, as you know I'm relatively inexperienced in the ins and outs of most sports, baseball included, but during the first two games -"
"Innings, Scully, they're called INNINGS."
"OK, innings, anyway, did you notice several unusual and unexplained phenomena? Those men down there, the ones on the grass. What did you call them? Players? They seem to be chewing some disgusting pathogen of vegetable origin, I've never seen anything like it. What's your explanation? Have these men been genetically altered, or could they be suffering from some type of mental illness that would explain such irrational and nonsensical behavior?"
"Scully, I'd love to tell you there's a logical explanation for all this, but...wait a second, how 'bout this folks, the Principal Owner has stopped by the booth! Sir, would you care to say a few words to all the folks out there in Radioland? Do you believe in the existence of extraterrestrials, Sir?"
"Who the fork are you clowns? Who let a forkin broad in here? Castanza, get in here! Where are my regular radio people?"
"Oh my God! It's you!!! You're in on it! You're one of THEM! You're one of the people who abducted me! You put that THING in my neck! You killed my sister!"
"Hey, lady, take a chill pill! I never put nuthin in nobody's forkin neck, and...hey, look out, he's got a gun!"
"Sir, I'm Agent Mulder with the FBI, I suggest you have a seat or I will be forced to use this. I have clear and irrefutable evidence that will implicate you and your organization in a massive conspiracy against the American people. For example, take the affected turtleneck sweater that you wear at all times. Roll it down! Right now! Don't make me use this! I think we will see that, just below the hideous epidermis of your neck..."
Muffy had never cared for professional sports, and all this baseball talk was beginning to bore her, so she reached out to the dashboard, hoping to find another station… |
