Beyond the Black Hole

Which one of you puny pieces of crap phoned the coppers?

The worker is still busy trying to suck all that nasty contaminated bio-matter from the armory room and I have nothing to do until he completes his job. I am still giddier than a Gixtonian Goat full of ganji-grass from a full day of having to sniff those damn farts that seem to keep blowing out of whatever end of him is pointed in my direction. I have not had the energy to do more than scan that big monitor in the main room watching the activity going on among your puny species while I while away my hours awaiting my chance to annihilate your kind as originally planned, when the door bell rings. It was these two idiots from the Federal Bureau of Investigation who wanted to ask me all these stupid questions, like why did I look the way I looked and why did I smell the way I smelled. I took about as much abuse from this Agent Scully and Agent Mulder as I could before I felt the undeniable urge to crush the life out of them both in my tentacles. Your species is so fragile and I believe my expending of physical effort was quite minimal to have snuffed the life out of two of your fellow beings. I suppose I could continue my conquering activities by crushing you each, as well, individually, but the thing I like best about the use of the ray gun is that in addition to ending the life within the body, it also leaves nothing of that body behind except a very small pile of ashes. However, in my case, I am now stuck with these two lifeless bodies and they are taking up valuable space in my front foyer. If any amount of luck was ever going to fall my way, that big farting galoot in there cleaning up the mess from yesterday's cheese ball attack will accept those dead bodies as a gratuity.