The Lone Gunmen's
Midnight
 
 

Yep.  I'm still up even though Frohike and Byers packed it in hours ago.  I will too, soon as I get this patch configured to shore up the firewall.  'Sides, I like bein' a night owl.  I get most of what I gotta do done without Doo-hickey askin' me every five minutes if I've got my stuff done.

He's a royal pain in the you know where sometimes.

How *this* packet monkey ever scoped enough to trash my fu; breaking through my brilliant defense has still got me bummed, man.  Bummed to the ultimate max.  Thought I had my rigmaroled baby sealed tighter than a welded steel drum.  Oh, well.

Live and squirm.  Which is just how I'm gonna make it for the next worm who tries crackin' into my vault for the goodies.

Boom--you fail, pain in the net.

He sipped more coffee, draining the cup, and wished he'd succeeded with his not so inventive endeavor of trying to add the microwave and the Mister Coffee Machine to the LAN so he'd always know when his coffee was perked and his Pop Tarts toasty.  All he got for his trouble was both devices chanting in mechanical, mind-searing pedantic unison, "Burn, baby, burn.  Burn, baby, burn...burn. . ."

The latest barraging sysvirus weaving its tangled, infectious web via the Net.

Okay, right, so it wasn't one of my better ideas.  Ya don't gotta rub it in, ya know.  I'll hash it out and get it right one of these days.  Nose to the grindstone. . .yada, yada, yada.

Wish . . . .

Wish; right.  Wish I would have had the chance to make 'em 'stead of freakin' Mulder; Mista 'I wish for world peace' Noble.  The Fibbie with a conscience.

D'OH!!

Talk about deeply lame.  The jin's three were wasted on that dude.

Wishing for world peace right off the bat like that.  Give us a break.  Like askin' for never tellin' a lie--ever.  Oh, sure; like that'll never happen again.

Then, no sooner did he wish for WP, he had to unwish it 'cause she zapped all of us out of existence.  The gospel according to Mulder.  What a weirdness trip!

Like that old Twilight Zone where the bank dude's the sole survivor after they drop the H-bomb cos he'd hung out in the vault during his lunch hour.  So now he's got all the time in the world to do what he loves best.  Read.

For me it'd be D&D into eternity.  Maybe I'd wish for my gaming buds to come back though.  Those twerps got losing through the nose down to an exact science.  We'd have gobs of fun gamblin' to our greedy little hearts' content.

Only thing, maybe it'd get kinda old.  We'd be the last souls on Earth and have all the bread anyway.

. .  . But the sorry loser's glasses in that TZ get broken, and what the heck's he gunna do with all his free time now?

Yeah, we'd all get bored sooner or later.  Probably wind up tryin' to kill each other.  Isn't that what it usually comes down to?

Forget the gamblers.  I'd wish to get By' and Fro' back.  With them I'd be better off bein' mentally-stimulated 'stead of fanning the flames of my avaricious streak.  I kid you not.  I got a humongoid one.

Leave it to Spook.  Mulder all alone by his 'I'll contemplate my navel' lonesome.  Like the guy ain't needy enough as it is.

Uh, well, like maybe I shouldn't talk.  Huh?  I get real lonely too, but least I got my weirdos in the chats, the D&Ders.  And the guys.  Yeah, By' and Fro' are family--no they're better.  I got to pick 'em.  Kinda, and I don't even think of Byers as such a narc that much anymore.  I didn't get stuck with those guys like I did with the lameazoids who adopted me.

Ma and Pa straighten up and fly right ex-Air Forcers.  Or, was that enforcers with all their tired preachin' about my becomin' a flyboy?  Hate planes, man.  Hate regimentation even worse.

Who's Spooky got, though?  Nobody that's who.  Well, could be us, but lately he's been acting spookier than just everyday.  Course, his whole family's wiped out.  I'm hip.  He should've wished for gettin' 'em back.  Least his sis.

NO--bag that.  Bad, bad idea there, since the jin told Mulder what happened when the trailer dude's brother asked for his BFTD.  Smelly and loud and freezin' cold; not the ideal wish come true.

Sure we all know what Mulder should've wished for, if we're all on the same page.  Bein' all snugged up with Scully, 'cause I seriously doubt they've yet to get it on.  Yet.  Dude must be waitin' right before he gets abducted.

*That* should have been Wish 'Numero Uno,' man! I know if it had been me, that's what I would've wished for.  Not wishin' it be with Scully, natch.  She's got it bad for ol' Spooky stamped all over her.  And I ain't a musclin' in kind a guy, anyhow.  That's anathema, man.

Nah, nah.  I would've wished for my dream girl first.  Xena; or, or.  Or?  Uh . . . cripes I got too many to choose from.  S'kay . . . well, maybe I'd have to get back to the jin on this one.

Laura Croft?  No.  Too butch.  She'd really hurt me.

Buffy?  Maybe, but she'd have to lose the stakes.

Pam Anderson-Lee.  What's the name of the chick she plays on V.I.P.?  Val--yeah, that's it; Valerie Irons.  She'd have to lose the pink outfits though.  Yeech!

Maybe her team's tech support girl?  What she call herself?  I forget.

We'd probably have a lot in common.  Hey, we both wear specs, we're both blonds, and technology's our passion.  Most likely we'd fight a lot 'cause she'd probably think she knows more than me.  Which's just plain ridiculous.  Okay, the techy maven's out.

Vampira?  Negatory.  Wears too much black.

Doctor Beverly Crusher?  An older chick could be cool, as long as she doesn't treat me like I'm a kid.

Xena f'sure.  She rocks in her leather, and maybe she'd let me throw her double 'shock.'  I'd know how to make her happy.  I'd stipulate that in the wish.

Like who am I kiddin'?  Wish or no wish, the warrior princess would walk all over me and then beat the crap outta me.

Ya know about Mulder's first wish, it's funny.  Me and the guys never noticed us bein' gone.  The jinnie must've worked it like a time warp or spatial anomaly kind a thing like in the last five epis's of ST Voyager.

He had to type furiously then, hammering out the next installment of the algorithm before the precise window altered itself, and he'd have to begin again.

After a bit more tweaking with the script, he grinned, satisfied.  He hit Enter and then wrestled with the next mathematical piece of the subsequent equation.  His wizardry mojo was at full tilt.  Waiting while his computations did their conjunctive jelling thing was the hardest part.  All looked as though it was going well.

Exceptionally well, he congratulated.

So, where was I?  OH YEAH--so like he wasted wish two on yanking back olive branch waving WP.

I want peace just as much as the next guy.  This world sucks, anybody with any kind of feelings knows that.  I say so all the ad nauseam time.

But, c'mon.  Just one man bringin' it on?  Don't think so.  The hubris is mind-blowin'.

And the kicker:  He didn't even ask it right.

Oxford's poster boy; the paranormal's answer to cream chipped beef!  Sheeesh!

And then what did Mista Genius do?  He frees the jin babe so she can sit in Starbucks with an overpriced cup of mud java, gawk out the window to watch the friggin' world go by.  Like great, big fat lamest deal.

Now, if it had been me, wish 'numero dos' would've been--uh-ah--not wishin' for all the stupid bread in the world.  What a waste of a wish.

Well, no.  Hold up.  The first trailer park loser didn't wish for that.  He wished for invisibility, according to what the jin told Mulder.  Fusin' his boss' big mouth shut was his first.  So the jin told.  Trailer boy was certifiable.

Langly groaned audibly.

Gimme a break.  Invisible?  That's how I feel sometimes when a righteous babe shows up, and I'm as big as life, but she couldn't care less.  Wonder if I should stick making a wish for better 'looks' in my line-up of must haves?

Oh, what the he--there's *nothing* wrong with the way I look.  Scully called me 'cutie' twice.  Right?  I got witnesses.

Hmmmm, but she was rollin' on that mind control crap when she did.  Afterwards then, when Frohike told her she had, besides calling him a, 'liar,' which he said she didn't mean that, she kept givin' me these off the wall looks till we all got back to D.C.

Okay, so Brad Pitt I'm not, but nix wishin' for bein' more handsome.  I ain't buggin' over it.  I'd just be wasting a good wish on vanity.  No need.

'Sides that pretty, skinny chick at the Mickey Dees near the strip mall was beatin' me black and blue with her eyes last time I had a Big Mac attack, and jonesin' for a fries fix.

Girl's got gorgeous eyes and righteous dimples in those blemishless, soft lookin' rosy cheeks of hers.  She knows she's lookin' good, but she don't act like it.

Fact, she took my order day before yest', and super-sized the fries when I'd only ordered large. Threw in two golden apple pies too.  Said it was on her.  I wouldn't mind havin' me on her.

She works the later afternoon shift.  Yeah, she does.  What's her name?  Darly?  Darby?  Kimmy?  Ally?  No, dorkweed, it's Sally.  Yeah. . .Sally.

Salleeeee, the amazin' chick with the hypnotic blue-green eyes to match her flowin' dark auburn hair, which she's highlighted, I'm guessin', but it doesn't make her look cheap.  Just the opposite effect.  She's totally funky.  She lookin' good to me.

Yowza!

Today's Friday.  After I pick up more coax, I should swing by there.  Should check her out for real.

Maybe . . . . I mean she was decent to me.  Didn't treat me like a friggin' no-chance, don't waste my time loser when I asked her name.  She told me in a snap after she handed me my change.  Told me with a smile; an honest one.
A long one.

Wonder if she'd go out with me?

Well, if you ask her, genius, she might.  Don't wish about the girl--do somethin' positive!

I will...

But, gettin' back:  Loser number two's stuck in a motorized cart and he's having trouble what to wish for?  Gim*me* a break!

That's where those two losers blew it, from what Mulder said, straight dope from the jin.  They were terminally mentally-challenged men, man.  Blew it, oh yeah.  That dweeb's brother blew it big time.  Bite me; the irony's way too sweet.

I'd wish for perpetual success for our e-commerce ventures.  But, then maybe it would be better to wish for the eternal, ever-expanding dominance of the Web to insure that, and then make success for the e-commerce ventures the third wish?

His mind started to whirl.

He blinked as the notion cloyingly struck that the wishing business was a little more tricky than it felt.  What would've been his third wish had nothing to do with everlasting financial gain.

. . . . And Mulder had said that this jin was the kind that was a witchy stickler for the precise.  If you didn't specify in clear, certain totally unambiguous terms, you'd live to regret what you'd wished for.

Or, die. . . .

Venus flytrap, bay-bee!

My third wish was gonna be never gettin' old, but then--whoa hold up!  Never gettin' old.  Immortality?  From what Mulder said, I'd wind up bein' a jin too.

Would I wanna be a jin?

Well, would I?  At first thought, it feels cool, but takin' requests from NAKs unhappily ever after?  Ringo Richard Gregory Langly a bozotic's 'I Dream Of Jeannie?'

Before he could answer, his script demanded his undivided attention for as many times.  Formulating code was a universe unto itself, far removed from the world of make-believe.

Cerebrally-hatched permutations flowed in unison with relentlessly nimble fingers as his digits plunked and jived over his keyboard, which was as familiar and reassuring to him as his family forged by conspiracy theories, and his gaming-gambling buds.  Despite his gripes lodged against the two starkly different camps sometimes.

He'd been born for this.  The VR love affair would never end, and in ways wholly inarticulate, that even he wasn't conscious of, this species of love filled his life with a satisfaction that eclipsed the sensual.  Any conceivable dimensions of, 'I wish for . . .'

He sighed contentedly.

A loving relationship?  Could be one day, if I ever shake my tail feathers and get some serious moves on.

Mind-boggling success and vast fortune?  Sure, it could happen.  The vid games we've patented so far are starting to sell.

In the meantime, this was good.  This was all, and yes; life was so very good, its setbacks and trials nothwithstanding.  The bitter with the sweet, with its not being mostly all bitter.

He was a fortunate man.  Perhaps one might even go as far to say, blessed, if the spiritual plane were invoked.

Finally, the fruit of his toil was coming together.  His head hitting the pillow wouldn't be a wish much longer.  Neither would another skeeved infiltrator's hinky inability to gain infuriating access to his precious server to boot.  It was a done deal.

Yeah, yeah, uh huh, uh huh.  He bopped a bit longer, getting an euphoric buzz off his gloating.

That oughta hold 'em!

Who needs three, or three kazillion wishes?

Who wants to be a millionaire. . .or,

An obnoxious jin?

It's good to be the Sysguru. . . .

Amen.

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End . . .