It was warm and cosy in the Budget rent-a-car as Mulder and Scully staked out the massage parlor in San Francisco's Chinatown.
Some local offshoot of the Wu-Tang clan was employing underage illegals in their brothels, outfitting them with exploding
ben-wa balls in some kind of bizarre spontaneous combustible seppuku. Mulder found it oddly titillating and drifted off as
Scully voraciously sucked down another latte.
Mulder sat on a dais looking below at a sea of desks, each inhabited by the same, Sailor-besuited Japanese adolescent,
each one staring up at him in open adoration. My god, it's true, he thought in a moment of clarity, they all DO look alike,
except for the one doe-eyed looking blond in the front row, ponytails cascading down from twin lumps on the top of her head.
Must be a Swedish exchange student, Mulder figured, and automatically turned his back to the classroom.
"OK..." he began furiously scratching out hieroglyphics on the looming blackboard in front of him, "today
we are going to study cold fusion, then we will have an open discussion as to why the round-eyes in the United States haven't
figured out high definition television yet." As he covered the surface with Japanese characters, he marveled at how his
lips were still moving when there was nothing coming out of his mouth. Wow, really bad dubbing, and Mulder turned back around,
noticing that the blond chick was opening her round lunchbox and starting in on her sashimi.
"Hey, uh...Miss Tsukino!" He looked down at the seat assignment on his desk. Evidently she had attracted his
attention in the past because he had starred her desk and drawn a stick figure with big boobs. She looked up in bewilderment,
mumbling, "Whut, Mulder-san?" as rice rained out of her mouth.
"Can that wait til lunch?" He stepped off the platform, gathered up the opened bento box and stuffed it in his
drawer, along with a collection of box cutters, Pokemon cards and rolling papers amassed from previous student appropriations.
"But I'm hungry NOW!! I slept through breakfast." The feisty little chippie MUST be an exchange student, Mulder-san
concluded, for no other Asian kid would dare question his authority. Her classmates were studiously ignoring her, rummaging
around in their knapsacks and briefcases for writing implements while the Swedish Bikini Team member just sat there looking
perplexed and hurt. Hmm...he could see that she was in need of a little discipline, and he was just the right Papa-san to
administer it. <Hey, hadn't he seen some surgical tubing in that drawer next to her half-eaten lunch.> The lightbulb
blinked on in the pederast portion of his brain, and he smiled.
"Well, I guess you'll be eating lunch afterschool in detention," he proclaimed, thinking "that's not ALL
you'll be eating" as he sat down hurriedly before his erection became more noticeable. There was a momentary rumble of
alarum from the rest of the class and a gasp from cutie honey, then silence reigned as Mulder put his tongue on automatic
and droned on with the lesson.
The last bell of the day rang, and Mulder sat back in his chair, sapped of strength after having taught 5 classes of physics,
Haiku, ceremonial tea-pouring, assembly language and a colloquium regarding Bill Gates and Rosie O'Donnell (whose head was
bigger). He'd had the same set of students, so the peroxide-lightened hussy had spent most of her time glaring at him hungrily
over her textbook/tea service/calculator, depending on the subject matter. The other students filed out of the room in an
orderly, ovine-like manner, bowing respectfully to his presence at the podium/desk while Miss Meatball Head (an epithet he'd
heard bantered about by other classmates to her chagrin) remained seated, kicking the desk in front of her impatiently. The
rhythmic "thud-thud" echoed the beating of his heart as he envisioned how his upcoming "after school special"
would play out. As soon as the door closed behind the last student, Mulder walked over to lock it then threw the round lunch
box he was holding in her direction. "Hey!" she exclaimed as rice and other staples of the Japanese diet scattered
about in all directions. Mulder sat back down at his desk, looking grimly pleased.
"Make sure you get it all," and he smiled as she scrabbled about on her hands and knees, locating a few edible
morsels which she enjoyed under a desk. Mulder was enjoying this scene so much that he had to undo his pants under his table
and let his wee willy spring free. "When you're done with that, c'mon up here and we'll talk about some ex..extra credit."
She looked up at the slight elision in his voice; damn, he was shuddering at the prospect of having her sit on his lap, that
nubile asscheek encased in dimpled babyfat pushing down upon his swollen member. Ahhh...almost as pleasurable a prospect as
having a nubile young boy sitting in her stead. God, if his hand wasn't so tired from writing Japanese characters for 2 hours
straight he might've whacked himself off right there. He couldn't wait for her to finish licking scraps off the floor when
she could be gobbling his godzilla. "Hey, let the janitor clean up that mess; I saved you some goodies for lunch right
here," and he pretended to extricate a smorgasbord of delicacies from a desk drawer, "ah! Here's some shrimp-flavored
gummi bears and a can of delicious soy beverage with your name on 'em." In an instant, she was standing next to him,
breathing down his neck in Pavlovian excitement. From the confiscated drawer, he instead pulled out a can of huffable gold
spraypaint, then grabbed her roughly by one of her 4-foot-long pigtails.
"Bwa-ha-ha...I'm going to have my evil way with you, my Aryan nymphet of lurve!" Mulder-san exclaimed, grabbing
at the red bow that tied the front of the schoolgirl sailor suit. But before he had a chance to even cop a feel, the classroom
door was kicked open and a young boy dashed in, covering the distance between the doorway and dais in one graceful leap. They
must have been brother and sister because this kid was blond too and before Mulder-san could ponder the odds of that, the
little bastard had pushed his chair (with him in it) off the mini stage and onto the El-Mo which still projected the images
of Mr. Microsoft and Ms. Muff-diver on the back wall.
"Usagi, are you OK?" squeaked the pre-pube male, who flicked his Dorothy-Hamill retro wedge-cut out of his eyes
as he pulled the little vixen to him. She nodded, kissed him briefly on the lips then hopped off the dais to stand over Mulder,
his head now blocking out the 2 Ugly Americans with his own blown-up and bruised visage. "You better back off, you perv,
or I'm gonna haveta tell my boyfriend about you; and Mamoru would just love to kick your little lactose-tolerant candy-ass."
Before he could remonstrate that he did have an issue with dairy products, she whipped out the can of spraypaint, gave him
a shiny new haircolor, then turned to the other kid, who was solicitously collecting her bookbag and Hello Kitty organizer,
and said, "Let's boogie, Haruka," whereupon the two skipped merrily out of the room, Mulder watching them go with
a dazed, yet oddly malignant look.
"Heheh...this won't be the last time we'll be together..." he moaned, inhaling deeply from the Old Gold aroma
permeating his locks, "after all, tomorrow's another schoolday...bwa-hahahah..."
By the time Mulder got to his fourth floor walk-up in one of the seedier sections of Tokyo he was tired and starving.
"Probably all I got in here to eat is a frozen shar pei and some tofu," he whined, pulling open the teeny-tiny icebox
door...which contained a goodly selection of condiments but nothing substantial to put them on. He slammed the micro-fridge
door in disgust, wondering if Domino's Pizza delivers or would he have to wend his way back through the sludge of humanity
on the sidewalk below in search of edible fast food. As he prepared to head back out the door, he heard the sound of running
water in what was presumably the bathroom and curiously popped his head in. He was met with a top-heavy trollop with long
green hair who was scrubbing her hands with the assiduousness of a brain surgeon, clad in a strapless lycra dress dyed to
match her hair and stiletto heels. She slowly turned around and regarded him down the length of her nose.
"Ohhh...YOU must be Mulder-san," she said laconically, staring him down briefly before pushing past him through
the doorway. "Let's go before Jack n the Box closes," and she was out the front door and down the stairs before
he could mumble a "what the hell." He caught up with her about a block down the street; she was preparing to blithely
jaywalk through an intersection infested with trucks, golf-cart-sized cars and mo-peds. As he screamed, "Hey!!"
a chartreuse baby Miata attempted to mow her down but crashed into some nonexistent barrier and obliterated itself in grinding
metal and shattered glass as she continued onward. Mulder leaped over the driver who'd been flung out of the vehicle and was
writhing in a bloody mess among the remnants of his window.
He eventually caught up with her at the entrance to Chez Jacques in a Box; she opened the door, which suddenly had no
hydraulic and slammed painfully into his nose and outstretched arm. He picked himself up off the sidewalk and followed her
up to the counter where he was confronted with a poor drone wearing a giant ping-pong ball on his head.
"Yess...we'd like 2 Jumbo Jacks, 2 Large Fries, 2 Large orders of Jalapeno Poppers, 2 Large Strawberry Shakes..."
Mulder was about to demur regarding the so-called dairy "shake;" she fixed him with a withering glare and he slinked
away to a corner to find a seat and extra napkins. Seconds later, she came back with a tray laden with every artery-clogging
food known to mankind and proceeded to unpackage the greasy items.
"So, I guess you've met Usagi...alias 'Sailor Moon' already....eh?" she began, stuffing fried jalapenos slathered
in ranch dressing down her throat while Mulder managed a sheepish nod, wolfing down a couple of tacos. "Yeh, she's been
a real thorn in the side of the Negaverse...her and those damnable Sailor Scouts...'specially the dyke, Haruka." Mulder's
ears pricked up at the familiar name. "Hey, wasn't that the boy who..."
"That was no boy, asshole," she scolded, cramming a fistful of fries between her magenta-colored lips, "that
was the butch member of the gang." She sighed and looked put upon, rolling her eyes for effect. "Don't you watch
children's cartoons?" He looked at her with the blankest of stares. "I mean, after all, aren't you a pedophile?"
He shook his head in great agitation that such an accusation could be levelled at him, and this time her eyes rolled so far
in back of her head that they didn't appear for the time it took her to finish off the second order of jalapenos. "C'mon,
Mulder-san," she spat out his name derisively, "for this little fantasy, it's apriori that you're Chester the Molester,
so cut the shocked and outraged routine...we ain't buying it." He groused a bit then settled down with his "shake,"
already feeling the little bumps traveling across his back as the microscopic milk products hit his bloodstream. "The
plotline so far, douchebag, is that you are the evil substitute teacher at Crossroads' Junior High School recruited by the
evil minions of the Negaverse to take control over any or all of the Sailor Scouts...and you're doing a shitty job of it so
far, so I suggest you get with the program, dickhead." Nonplussed, Mulder sighed in resignation, shrugged his shoulders
and belched. "Oh, that's nice...so like a man." The green-haired goddess stretched her leg across the aisle, and
a platoon of American tourists fell like dominos at her feet. "God, why do Americans all look alike?" she wondered
aloud, surveying Mulder's features dismissively before continuing.
"So, your job, Mr. Mulder, is to ingratiate yourself to one of the aforementioned tartlets...perhaps go to one of
your usual haunts, the video arcade, where you can win the favors of a child for a smile and a quarter." Mulder feigned
surprise at such a suggestion, and the villainess waved him off with a "hmmph." She arose from the littered table
of wrappers and sauce containers, towering above him in her fuck-me pumps. "No excuses, ferretface. You snag me one of
the Sailor sluts by tomorrow night, or I send you off to some FBI outpost in bumfuck Iowa....capische?" and she vanished
into the crowd before he could ask her name. As if in answer to his silent question, the word "Emerald" reverberated
through his head and was as quickly gone, leaving him to consider his next doomed-to-failure move.
It was about 10 PM; Mulder had been wandering aimlessly through the streets since being ejected from the grease pit by
2 employees sheathed in weather-balloon-sized heads. A slight drizzle commenced as Fox ducked under a kiosk selling a heartening
medley of magazines featuring Philippino-mail order brides and/or 12-year-old hookers from Bangkok. He grabbed a variety of
reading material and made himself comfy against the back wall until the rain let up. Moments later, his predatory antennae
detected the prescence of a young girl with green hair (what were the chances of encountering all these unique, yet matching,
hair colors in one day!) huddling just inside the entrance to the kiosk, clutching a violin case to her chest. Intrigued,
Mulder sidled up next to her and tapped her shoulder; she turned around with a start.
"Hel-lo, there!" Fox began, in his best imitation of a hetero-sexual, red-blooded American male (weak, at best).
She wasn't more than 15, though, so it had its chance at working, and Fox gamely continued. "I see you're stranded in
the rain, as am I..." She smiled shyly and looked off into the pouring distance. "Perhaps we could chat a while
until this awful storm lets up." She regarded him summarily, then focused her gaze on her violin case. "Oh, I see
you're a student of the violin..." (Brain fade: he didn't know a damn thing about the violin; the last time he'd heard
one was on that Metallica album done with the San Francisco Philharmonic.) "Hey, did you hear that great album Metallica
"Yes," she squealed, instantly animated with the quickness of a speedball injection. "Oh, I just love what
they did with "Sandman'..." and without missing a beat (for once that day) Fox linked his arm in hers and suggested
they head out to an all-nite Sake bar and discuss what a difference a string section would make to the music of Pantera. I
will have her by the time this night is over, Mulder determined as they headed out down the neon-coated sidewalk. "And
your name is....?"
"Michiru," she whispered softly as they ambled along, skirting falling rain gutters full of water and ducking
under awnings as much as possible. Mulder smiled, Buddah-like in his contentment.
Minutes later, a nondescript mo-ped with a rainbow sticker on its tiny bumper screeched up to the curb, and a lithe, athletic
looking fellow appeared. Or WAS it a fellow? The blond took off her helmet, swept her slightly damp wedge haircut off her
forehead and questioned the newsstand dealer as to if he'd seen a green-haired girl with a violin case hovering about. The
answer caused her to jam the helmet onto her head then speed away in a volley of grease and various mild epithets.
They ended up closing the sake bar, and Michiru obligingly offered to go home with him as her mother worked the swing
shift at Sanyo inserting V-Chips into HDTV's for the round-eyes and would probably think she was staying over at Haruka's
pad anyway if she called to check in. By this time, Mulder had the lowdown on the going down between the two galpals, which
only seemed to excite him at the prospect of a tete a tete back at his loveshack. So they staggered on home.
Meanwhile...Haruka had summoned all the other Sailor Scouts, headed by Usagi, and they assembled at Rei's Temple for a
conference. "I think some dirty, damn knuckle-dragger has my beloved Michiru, and I mean to snuff the bastard,"
screamed Haruka, pacing back and forth agitatedly. Ami, the brainiac and the only scout without a definite personality, politely
suggested they check out the new substitute teacher's flat as he had been "acting oddly towards Usagi-san afterschool."
Usagi smacked her across her Dutch boy bowl cut hairdo, shrieked, "Have I ever told you how much I really hate you, you
overachieving cunt!" then strode out of the Temple Compound's gates before Miss Priss could reply, "Why, yes you
have, countless times, but that's not important right now," smugly clutching a printout of directions to Mulder-san's
apartment. The other girls rushed out after the upset blond, Ami doggedly trailing behind.
As soon as they got inside the door to his place, Mulder grabbed the luscious lesbo, thrusting his tongue so far down
her throat he thought he struck tonsils. Instead of gagging, Michiru reciprocated with her own tongue lashing, and the pair
collapsed on the tatami mats in his living/dining/bedroom. Upon hitting the floor covering, all Mulder could think of was
the opening scene in Kung Fu when the Chinese guy with those weird contact lenses would say, "When you can cross the
rice paper without leaving a mark, it is time for you to leave, grass-hoppah." Well, they'd be leaving a lot more than
footprints on the floor after harvesting the cherry on this little blossom, but he was going about this much too hastily...and
he was starting to lose his erection. He needed to add a little perversion to the mix, so he excused himself to "slip
into something more comfortable."
Moments later, he returned from his walk-in closet (a la Mary Tyler Moore), clad in full geisha-wear, complete with white
face make-up, a bouffant, highly lacquered wig impaled with chopsticks and a red satin kimono with the obi tied in front as
the prostitutes did for easier access. Michiru gasped in pleasure, much more accustomed to this role-playing than the stud
action he'd been simulating up til then, and nimbly whipped open the futon. Mulder lay back on the thin mattress, watching
with interest as the young girl began undoing her school uniform in a studied strip tease, whittling her clothing down to
a beautiful royal blue satin teddy which Fox's eyes rivetted themselves upon in covetous daggers of delight.
"Take that off immediately; I must have that for myself!" he declared, lunging for the silky garment. Michiru
dodged out of his way, ducking behind the futon and hissing, "No, Mulder-san, this is not yours to have; it is from my
dear lover Haruka and is not meant to be worn by the likes of you."
Bristling at the slur to his asexuality, Mulder puffed out his tapestry-covered chest and shrieked, "I will not be
denied this clothes fetish!" Before he could drag her out from behind the flimsy bedframe, the door flew open and the
Sailor Scouts entered the room.
"Take your grubby paws off my cherished Michiru and her fine undergarment, you damned hairy ape," screamed Haruka,
about to aim a flying kick to his obi-draped crotch area. "Wait, Haruka, you must first transform into Sailor Uranus
to defeat this Negaverse creepazoid!" counseled Ami wisely who was dealt a surreptitious glancing box on the ear by Usagi.
"Shut your fucking trap, bitch; I am so goddamned tired of your constant shit about how we gotta do this, and how
we gotta do that. As leader of this fuckin gang, I get to call the shots, so I say we transform..." but before Usagi
could start her pirouette and metamorphose into a super senshi heroine, Mulder blew away the whole room of schoolgirls with
the service revolver tucked into the arm of his kimono.
<"Fuckin'A, Mulder! What the shit did you just do!!?" Mulder looked up blankly from his stakeout position
in the car. Scully was standing at the car window on his side, the contents of her now empty cup of coffee decorating her
"Britches of Georgetown" navy suit. She pointed at the smoking gun that lay cosily in his lap then looked over at
the scene across the street where a study group of Japanese schoolgirls lay sprawled in various stages of bloody dishevelment.
Mulder looked from the gun to the tableaux across the way, finally his gaze resting on the soiled and pissed off agent.
"But Scully, they presented a clear and present danger to me..."
"Clear and present danger my ass," she scoffed, approaching the window to hiss into his ear, "Look, I don't
know what sick, paranoid fantasies lurk in that intermittently-functioning brain stem of yours, but I am NOT going to soft
soap this little episode to Skinner. YOU'LL be the one with the 'splaining to do," and before he could protest that his
brain stem was functioning just fine, thank you very much, Scully hurried over to the crime scene, calmly instructing the
snap-shooting tourists to, "Move along, you looky-loo's, there's nothing to see here.">