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| No... ITCH NOT! Thank you Sean Connery! |
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| Moulder stood stealthily yet irresistable in his Old Navy painters pants and fleece vests that only an annorexic would be jealous of. He looked about, his well toned muscles and abs in full blossom and wealth as he breathed in and out slowly, so as not to rupture his perfect humanitarian lungs of justice and obediance. He then gave a few steps forward, almost shyly, as he pulled out a wad of notebook paper. He cleared his throat majestically shifting comfortably yet platonically in his leopard heels, he giggled. "I wrote a song that clearly states the obvious. This song is about Craig's forces..." Moulder drawled southernly, yet sounding like Sean Connery and Rosie O' Donnel all in one, as if he were their defected birthchild of agony. He giggled and pivated, as if to say he was going to start the song. Which he was. He farted around the room and began to sing. "What would you expect? From filthy little heathens? Here's what you get when the forces are diverse! Their skin's a flaky red they're better off as dead and here's what's worse they are... SAVAGES! SAVAGES! Barely even human! SAVAGES! SAVAGES! Killers at the core! They're different from us which means they can't be trusted... we must sound the drums of WAR!" Moulder bellowed heroinely, farting around the room as if he owned the joint. And he did. He motioned to Billy to chime in. And he did. Billy began to sing, using his tongue in all holy glory and sanctions, "Now it's up to you men! We must sound the drums... of... WAR!!" Moulder bowed, not minding the tear in his pants as he did. Now he truly had a place where his fart-force could flow freely. He smirked toothily and checked his complexion of holiness in his compact mirror, using the mirror to check out Billy's ass, who was standing behind him. He nodded enthusiastically, he's seen the ass before, and my how he loved it. He sniffed the air, smelling it's lovely yet cunning smell from within his butt of a thousand tunnels. "I understand." "But first, everyone who wishes to join my fort, or if you already have joined, please state your name and stand at attention. This is what the French call a roll call," Moulder told them ironically, as he swiveled his head around so that his locks of luscious fidelity would wave freely in his fart wind. "Just state your name and whatever so I know who is all on my side. Now go!" ---------------------------------- "Skully? Let's just say," Moulder paused for dramatical flair and conjunctions of beans and oats, he lowered his head as if it were a scandal, or perhaps a shame, "She is no more." ---------------------------------- Moulder stepped up to the front, wearing his lucky blonde wig Erika Christiensen style and a beautiful 'Miss FBI Agent' sash, that glittered and sparkled like diamonds in the rough. He cleared his throat of dismay and looked about into the crowd, eyes ablaze with love for Godric Griswald, yet his nose flaring wildly, smelling in everyone's essences that he would soon later taste for his own purposes amd warmth, tis what made him live, and to live, he must. "Join my Fort. I will give you money, food, dignity, pride, my sex, and everything that you will need. We must defeat Fort Margaret, this Craig Nicholls, I do not like." Moulder's nostrils flared to twice their original size as he mentioned the dark side's ring leader Craig Nicholls. "He has pissed off the abyss and the abyss will not be pleased. Do not me alarmed, there is a growing abyss of opportunities in my pants and the mother of all abyss is in the sky, the aliens... are coming." Moulder grinned like a mad fool high on orthotricyclin, the birth control of all brith controls. He twirled a lock of Erika Christiensen wig and giggled, "My God, it's so stifling in here." He said, lip quivering in all quivering theory, his forehead shiny from alien sex secretion acne treatment, and leopard heels pointed out to the crowd as if beckoning them forth. "So join my squad, Fort MOULDER!" ---------------------------------- "If we win this war.... I will give you all a copy of my signed breakout album, for when I become a recording artist." Moulder replied darkly, his face enlightening the room in all holy gratitude. "That and anything else you want." ---------------------------------- Moulder farted his way over towards Oz and Voldemort JR. "You both joining my fort?" He asked sincerely yet gruffly yet like the savior he was and whispered uncannily like Cruella DeVil. "It would be a treat if you joined with me." He fingered their stubbly chins, feeling a lot like Jeremy MacDuff's bald stubbly head of poserness, and that caused him to giggle. "Well, handsome?" |