You were sitting at the kitchen counter, resting your forehead on the cool surface it provided. There were three FBI agents in the kitchen, berating what to do Mulder: What's the prob, dawg? You: pointing at the other two agents groaning I don't even know what HD is and BOTH my doctors keep telling me I've got 80 of 'em. Scully: chuckles Reid: I just came up with a sick theory, Mulder. Mulder: Oouh, I'm listening.