Deep within his towering fortress, Chris Carter, creator of The X Files sits on the Gothic throne that he bought from IKEA. As he sips cool champagne a crystal goblet, a small door opens into the throne room and a T.V. executive crawls in, covered in rags.

"Oh, exalted one, forgive this disturbance but I must converse with you." Chris looks over his goblet.

"Yes what is it, you snivelling wretch?."

"Its about your scripts for series 3 of The X Files." He produces a paper napkin covered in biro. "We don't think they're very good." He recoils awaiting the wrath of Carter.

"Hmmm. In what way, pray tell?"

"Er umm... well the opinion among the cast and crew is that you've obviously run out of ideas. In this series you do that 'alien abduction - oops sorry it's just the government' plot almost every week. We really think it's wearing a bit thin."

There is the sound of drumming fingers of stone.

"Heh Heh. Er.. We also get deja vu from the other programs. Subliminal messages; you've done that before. Strange serial killer; oh, that's new. Government Conspiracy; don't make us laugh. Have you been sapped of all original thought?

"And come on, the newer storylines require the suspension of disbelief with a crane. I mean, robot cockroaches?? Did you do too many drugs during the seventies..oh dear."

Carter is now staring with evil red eyes. The T.V. executive becomes aware of two men wearing black suits, holding his arms.

"Dispose of this heretic." Carter waves his hand and the exec is dragged away, screaming. As the sound dies, a strange grey figure emerges from the shadows behind his throne.

"Ah, Zargle. You see our plan to brainwash the Earthlings goes well. Even the poor quality of shows will not prevent the suckers."

Large alien eyes blink.

"Soon all humans will be under our control. Conspiracy? Ha, the fools cannot see what is directly in front of them."

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