Title: The Addams Family Author: EnCat Rating: PG Genre: H/R Summary: This story had no plot whatsoever...so live in fear of what may come about. At best it is summarized as "bad." Disclaimer: Pendrell and Scully belong to the ruthless and trigger-happy Chris Carter, 1013, Frank Spotnitz, et al. Dead Uncle Sasha and sister-in-law Lily are my so-called "creations." Bwahahahahaha! --- There were two things Pendrell was afraid of. He never could admit the third to himself - fear of that glassy-eyed over-stuffed green giraffe with a huge grin on its face and a robotic laugh that never stopped once you pulled its tail - so as long as Pendrell lived he was horribly afraid of two things. Rather unfortunatly he was cursed with immortality, but that was the way the cookie crumbled. Pendrell hated cookies. Pendrell's dead Uncle Sasha, a short man with a strawberry-blonde afro, a grey goatee and a Pince Nez perched lop-sidedly on his fat nose, always given Pendrell cracked and starchy cookies when Pendrell was five. For years Pendrell was haunted by a memory of dead Uncle Sasha's fleshy paw hurling his petty cookies at a fleeing Pendrell, and this terrific happening was scratched high on Pendrell's short list of phobias. The other admitted fear Pendrell carried with him rested in the fact that dead Uncle Sasha wasn't actually dead, wasn't an uncle, and in fact was his sister-in-law named Lily. Lily, a tall woman with a Cousin Itt of hair, a little chin and a pair of red-rimmed glasses, gave Pendrell advice that changed his life for huge grin on its face and a robotic laugh. "Pendrell," she had hollered, "Pendrell. Pendrell. Pendrell. Pendrell. Pendrell. Pendrell. Pendrell." "STOP SAYING MY NAME!" Pendrell had screamed, involved in the misery of expectation. "AND GIVE ME THE DAMNED ADVICE!" "A'right...Pendrell. Pendrell. You know that felt purple bowtie my husband gave you for your apocalyptic birthday last year?" Pendrell had gulped, and nodded, still sweating in terrified anguish over the cackles of the green giraffe. "Well," Lily continued, "wear it tomorrow." --- So here he was. Sitting on the floor struggling with a felt purple bowtie his sister-in-law Lily's husband had given to him for his apocalyptic birthday the year before. The bowtie was a massive affair, adorned with lace and beige polka dots and plastic flower growing from a corner of the fabric. Pendrell was in love with it, and when he had parked his pink bike at the stoop of the FBI building, put on his white labcoat, and had brushed his teeth, he looked just like a orange toad. He croaked in pleasure, and proceeded to strut. Agent Scully, strutting in a new indigo bow made of rubber tied-up in her hair, slammed right into the strutting Pendrell and thus dislodged the strutting two of them. Scully arose from the turmoil with a plastic flower sprouting from her nose and a beige polka dot on her neck. Pendrell arose from the turmoil with indigo rubber bow behind his ear and a strip of lace around his collar. "Scully," he said. "Scully. Scully. Scully. Scully. Scully." "What?" She said. Pendrell glanced from plastic flower to beige polka dot to Scully's face and then back at the beige polka dot. "Have you been smoking again? Because Nicorette obviously isn't working for you." Scully paused. "Uh, Agent Pendrell, I'm, uh, um, um, uh...a...medical doctor?" Pendrell paused. "You are! How dare I forgot that! I'm such a goon!" "Goon? Noooo...Pendrell, you're a *scab*. You know that Comox character? He is out on strike with his fellow Commie comrads; he says that the wages the FBI give him are too low for someone who investigates mysterious things lodged in the back of my neck: nine-hundred and fifty bucks per look! You're just replacing him until the FBI's knees buckles and they give in to those wiley Reds and those devious Stalinites. When that happens Comox and his Commie comrads will come back to the lab and bash your head to a bloody pulp." Pendrell started to sob. "I'mi'mi'mi'm a SCAB? A scab. A scab. A scab. A scab. A scab." "STOP SAYING MY NAME!" Scully screamed. "Yes, Pendrell, I will go out with you. Now stop wearing my name out." Pendrell grinned and plucked a kiss on Scully's plastic flower. "Oo, I made a punny!" He cried, and danced down the halls. --- "Pendrell...will you shush about your dead Uncle Sasha already?!" Scully cried in disgust. "I don't *care* if he had a strawberry-blonde afro!" Pendrell looked up from his meal of spaghetti. "You-you-you're not Scully." He stammered. "You're dead Uncle Sasha!" "Yeah. I'm Lily." "Wow. I'm having an affair. Me! Pendy-boy! LabBoy! Loser! Low-life! Having an affair!" "You're not having an affair, you doof. I'm not married. Never have been. In fact, who the heck *did* give you that felt purple bowtie for your apocalyptic birthday last year?" "Uh." Pendrell stopped and put down his spork. "Your husband?" "That's right! My daughter!" Pendrell frowned. His sister-in-law Lily sneered. "For the record, Pendrell. This is supposed to be a romance story. So kiss me." And he did, but he still got pasta sauce on his shirt. --- "Oh, screw. Pasta sauce." "Pasta sauce?" Lily said. "That's what's been in the back of my neck all this time? Pasta sauce?!" "Er, no. I have pasta sauce on my shirt." "Oh. Cool." Silence. "Hey!...you're not my sister-in-law named Lily! You're Special Agent Dana Katherine!" "Yeah, I'm dead Uncle Sas...er...Scully." --- The End. All comments: enragedcat@aol.com