From: Amethyst
Subject: submission:  ALIENATED (Parody) 1/1
To: amy@chaos.x-philes.com
Cc: 
Date: 

Title:        ALIENATED
Author:       Amethyst
Email:        amethyst4@rocketmail.com
Category:     Poem, parody, humor
Spoilers:     Everything
Feedback:     Yes, please! 

Disclaimer:   Forgive me Chris Carter, for I have sinned.  The 
X-files aliens are yours.  I promise to bring them back in good 
condition.  I'll even say 5 hail Mulders if you won't sue me.  
This is not for profit. 

          ALIENATED
             by
          Amethyst
                                
I think that I shall never see
an alien that makes sense to me.

The greens are gray Reticulans
evolved from oily pathogens
lying dormant underground,
sunk in the Norwegian sea,
waiting for someone to drown
or wander by and set them free,
so they can digest you and me.

They're born with claws and filled with rage,
but hey--that's just their larval stage.
They shed their skins in warm reactors,
emerge with close-encounter eyes,
sharing our genetic factors,
instruments of our demise--
I am confused, but not surprised. . .

Now I'm told the date is set
and FEMA is the real threat,
and if I'm not a hybrid clone,
a viral plague will seal my fate,
the White House will be overthrown,
we'll all be slaves--but wait, but wait!
Gibson can communicate. . . 

So tell that gray amphibian,
who's suddenly our distant kin,
to ask his friends in arctic wastes
not to gestate in us, please.
They can acquire other tastes.
Now, as for the dread disease--
I'm hoping Gibson talks to bees. . .

Despite the Sam-clone's good intentions,
the morphing man I hate to mention
could not be killed by Mulder's PLAM.
I'm guessing that he cannot die,
unlike the Crawfords and the Sams.
I doubt I'll ever find out why,
And if I do, it'll be a lie.

And, by the way, those clones looked fine,
the Sams and Kurts who undermined
the planned destruction of their mothers,
the doctor clones, the drones we see
on the farm with all the others.
A question, then, perplexes me--
what was wrong with Emily?

The first oileans (but what do I know?)
brought our Rat Boy to the silo,
slithered out his eyes and nose
and mouth, attempting to get home, 
did not gestate, did not grow
into EBEs unknown--
Is this confusion mine alone?

Surfer-Dude, your twisted plots
have tied my ganglions in knots.
Still I watch and do not switch
the channel every Sunday night;
but you must dump that Fowley bitch.
Rattle doorknobs, do it right--
she vanishes in alien light.

And I'd be happy just to see
one alien that makes sense to me.