The Outer Limits (1995–2002): Season 6, Episode 10 - Down to Earth - full transcript

[ crashing ]

and so we welcome you,

no matter what
part of the galaxy you're from,

to the 10th annual
north American ufo convention.

I believe.

Oh, please!

"The aliens did this to me.
The aliens did that to me."

You keep telling
the same stupid story

year after year.

When the hell
are you going to get over it?

Around the same time
you stop dressing up



like a Jolly green Giant
sex toy.

At least I've had
a close encounter.

I think you liked
having that probe up--

I told you,
they didn't probe me.

I stopped them.

Oh, that's what you'd
like us to believe.

No, no, no!

The meconia were very
clear on that point.

Did you not read
my last book?

No. Did you read mine?

I couldn't even find it.

Carl sagan was meconian.

Sagan was a pod person.

I've got the evidence
right here.



The only thing in there
is your lunch.

It's not
the
--Alien finger.

I'm not going
to carry it around

everywhere I go.

But you promised me, Gunther,
when we, you know...

that I was going to
experience the finger.

You will. You will.

I want it now!

I want the finger.

I don't want a rotten carrot.

It's not a carrot!

You lied to me,
Gunther.

You lied...

for Pete's sake,
boo, what kept you?

This printer screwed up
our press release.

No, no, no, no.
I took care of it.

It's fine.

As usual,

it sounds like
world War iii in here.

Everybody,

can I have your attention,
please?

Everybody, listen up.

Damn it,
I said listen!

Well, um...

I hope everyone
enjoyed their fondue.

Like I always say,
it's food you can trust.

Well, before we get on
with tonight's business,

I have a personal statement
I'd like to make.

I couldn't help noticing
that certain of you

have chosen
to disregard my request

that tonight's
planning committee soiree

remain apolitical.

I sound like a broken record,

but this constant bickering,
it's...it's insufferable.

There is no way
the rest of the world

will ever
take us seriously

and respect us

if we do not respect ourselves.

Now, when the convention
starts tomorrow

and the press arrives,

I want us
to be civil to each other.

The moment one of us breaks Rank
and starts bashing the others,

the press will jump right in,

and they'll make us all
look like

a bunch of
silly, disorganized lunatics.

Which is why
Ike asked me--

Hi, everybody--

To come up
with a theme

that sort of captures
the zeitgeist of our message.

Don't you roll your eyes at me,
Gunther Van Owen.

You're one of the first
the tv crews'll head for.

Damn right--

Me and the rest
of the Fifth Column.

Bunch of thugs.

We've got something to show...

something big.

Oh, you mean

that piece
of rotten carrot

you've been carrying around?

It is not a carrot.

Whatever it is, it's disgusting,

and it has
nothing to do

with reality.

Our extra-Terrestrial friends

are beautiful,
diaphanous creatures,

not toads like you.

Diaphanous?

The creature
that impregnated me

was definitely reptilian.

You say that

about all creatures
that impregnate you.

Yeah?

Come over here
and say that.

Come on.

Stop!

Back off, everybody.

You people
are incorrigible.

One of reasons
I joined this group

was because of the fellowship
it provided.

We know
that we are not alone here

on starship earth,

and whether you look at aliens

as a malignant fungus
or e.T. In a tutu,

we need to stand together
and say,

in one united Voice,

two very simple words...

"I believe."

We hunger for a sign

that our faith
is the right faith,

and, for me,

these two words are a statement
that we have seen things,

and that the truth
has been revealed to us.

"I believe?"

I believe
that slogan sucks.

That's what
I believe.

Yeah, me too.

It would have been
way better in silver.

What is wrong
with all of you?

Don't you want
to be taken seriously

for once in your lives?

If you want
to be taken seriously,

you'll need
more than a t-Shirt.

You're going to need
what I have in this box.

I'm sorry, sir,

but this is
a convention-Planning meeting.

If you have
something to sell,

there'll be a consignment table
set up on Sunday.

Do I look like
I'm selling something?

I've been driving in circles
in the desert for three days

trying to figure out
what to do with this.

What is it?

The stuff
your dreams are made of.

[ ♪ ]

there is nothing wrong
with your television.

Do not attempt
To adjust the picture.

We are now controlling
the transmission.

We control the horizontal...

and the vertical.

We can delude you
with a thousand channels

or expand one single image
to crystal clarity...

and beyond.

We can shape your vision

to anything
our imagination can conceive.

For the next hour,

we will control
all that you see and hear.

You are about to experience
the awe and mystery

which reaches
from the deepest inner mind

to
--The outer limits.

In an age of doubt,

there is nothing more powerful
than the need to seek answers,

but what happens
when the cloak is lifted

and those answers
suddenly revealed?

I hope I haven't made a mistake
showing this to you.

Is it real?

What kind of starcruiser
did it come from?

Show it to us again.

As head of convention security,
I say we 86 this guy right now.

We're not going
to 86 anyone.

We don't know anything
about this guy

or that...thing.

They could both be radioactive.

For all we know,

that thing could make us glow
Like bonzerian zot-Worms.

I assure you,

the fragment
is harmless.

Tell that to
the cancerous lump

growing on
my spine, rummy.

I'm going to ask
you and the box

to leave Nicely.

I ask again,
we're going to tussle.

Please, just
listen to me.

For 22 years, I was
a civilian accountant

at nellis
Air force base.

That's area 51.

Check the noncom
work records

if you don't
believe me.

You'll find
my name there.

Max Buford?

Buford.

Two weeks ago,
I was assigned to audit

the construction of
an underground storage facility.

I found a discrepancy.

When I went to inquire about it,

I saw this strange craft

being disassembled
by military personnel.

Pieces of the ship
were being placed into boxes

in preparation
for being hauled away on trains.

I was told to forget
everything I had seen,

and though I tried to ignore it
and simply do my job,

I found I could not.

Betraying the trust
that was placed in me,

I stole
one of the smaller boxes,

put it into the trunk of my car,
and drove away.

That box is before you now.

Wow.

That is an amazing story,
Mr. Buford.

It's the truth.

Our government is conspiring
with the creatures

that built
that craft.

The world needs to know.

The government know
it's missing?

Probably. In which case--

They'll kill you.

Dead.

Hell, I knew a guy
who knew a guy.

That guy crossed the feds
just like you did.

10 years later,

he's eating
at the Jolly troll smorgasbord--

In Billings?

That's the one. Bang!

He goes face Down
into his tater tots.

Turns out a motherhumping
heart attack

Just rocked his world.

Coincidence? I think not.

Why would you tell
a story like that?

I think it's truly courageous
of you to come here,

and I think
I can speak for all of us

when I say thank you
from the bottom of our hearts.

Well, I ain't
thanking him.

His story's
a load of crap.

That fragment didn't
come from area 51.

There are
no train tracks

going into that base.

Apparently,
the hair goo

has infected
your brain.

He's referring to

their cold-Fusion
underground rail system.

Shut-up.
There is no underground system.

The damned photos
are on the internet.

What if aliens sent him?

The meconia
have always been willing

to share their
technology with us.

The meconia have got
nothing to do with this.

This kind
of technology...

it's vortid
all the way.

What if the fragment
isn't stolen?

What if the government
sent him here

as part of some
disinformation campaign?

Anyone
think of that?

Well, if the fragment is real,
where's the disinformation?

Maybe they just want us
to think it's real.

Or the aliens wanted us
to see the fragment

because they need
to tell us something.

Yeah! Like, maybe
it's a distress signal

from their base station
on the ocean floor.

You're all missing the point.

Think of all the
grainy photographs

and half-Baked stories

we've hitched our wagons to
over the years,

trying to grab onto
something that proved

our belief in Aliens
was justified.

We have it now.

This fragment,
it's our holy grail.

Is that what you believe,

you, with your hoity-Toity
college education?

It's what I believe, too.

Ike pilchard,

transit system
coordinator.

And me,

Tyler buttram,

with my advanced degrees
in portuguese literature,

animal husbandry...

ditto, except for
the degrees part--

Although I am certified
to work as an x-Ray tech.

Mr. Buford,

we've already set up
a press conference for tomorrow,

and with your permission,

I'd like to reveal the fragment

to the world.

Are you high on the crack?

The feds'll be on him
like maggots on Roadkill.

Look,

you're a relative Newcomer
to these conventions, boo.

Trust me,

there's a lot of things
that you just don't know about.

Well, there's one thing
that I do know.

With Mr. Buford
and the fragment

out in the open,

the government would be stupid
to do anything.

Even you can see that, Dale.

Boo is absolutely
right, Mr. Buford.

Really,

it's the only way
to save yourself.

I just want you to know
I appreciate what you're doing.

Well, Mr. Buford,
I assure you

the feeling
is mutual.

I know that
some of us

may seem
a little extreme,

but, for the most part,
we're good people.

Can I
tell you something?

Tonight, you have
renewed my faith

that aliens exist
here on earth,

and for that,
I'm really grateful.

This is your room.

Page me if you need anything
and I'll be here in a flash.

You're safe with us.

I've got one man

eyeballing your car
from the roof,

another will be outside
this door all night.

Really?

You think that's necessary?

A little information
can get a guy killed.

Enough said.

I think a Little information
can be uplifting.

Now, remember what I said,
if you need anything...

Yeah.

Are you trying
to be ignorant

when you say things
like that?

What? What'd I say?

You said there'd be
men watching him.

Correct me
if I'm wrong,

but you're our only
security, right?

Do you think he'll
feel safer

knowing the entire FBI
is out to Ruby Ridge him

and I'm the only thing
standing in the way?

The FBI doesn't
know where he is.

Wake up and smell the cheese,
honey.

The walls have eyes.

Any one of the people
in that room tonight

could be FBI in
Deep-Cover assignment.

Oh, sure, you're saying
Dale's all buggy and paranoid...

but I've made inquiries
into certain people,

and it wouldn't surprise me
one little bit

that it comes back

that they're not
who they say they are.

And who exactly
are you referring to?

Well, when I get the facts,
you'll be the first to know,

but only because I like you.

Now, some ignorant Types
May think my kind of a job

is a nowhere road
to dead endsville,

but to me, parking-Lot security
is the first line of defense.

Say, do either of you ladies
like Cable?

Dale!
Dale, I've got to talk to you.

I'm talking
to some ladies.

These aren't ladies,
Dale, they're men.

I was attacked
in my room.

Ah!

Dale. Dale,
they're gone.

Don't be too sure.

Describe them.

Um...
flat nose,

bulbous eyes...

vortids.

Stinking vortids.

Consider yourself
lucky.

Vortids have been known
to mutilate a body

faster than you can say
seti alpha five,

but if our government
taught them one thing,

it's how to get
in and out quickly.

In other words,

sometimes in their hurry,

they leave a little
something behind.

It may be nothing more

than a Flake of skin
or a bead of gooey-Green sweat.

Dale,
there's nothing under there.

But what about this?

Oh, what is it?

I think you wounded one
during the struggle.

Could be a hunk of skin tissue,

some kind of blood,
maybe even...

hair gel.

Admit it, Gunther.

You and your
digit-Worshipping friends

attacked me
in my room.

Digit worshipping?
Ooh, that hurt.

These are serious charges,
Gunther.

If you and the Fifth Column
were involved...

why the hell
would I even waste my time?

To Make boo look foolish maybe?

She doesn't need any of my help.

She's foolish enough already--

Not to mention
gullible and simple-Minded.

Fess up, Gunther.

You left your calling card.

All right,
all right.

Fine!

Fine.

It was us.

We were just trying
to make a point.

If she's stupid enough
to believe

a bunch
of cheesy-Looking aliens

could attack her,

who knows what else
she could buy into, huh?

Like, say,

a floating
metal fragment.

Good example.

The girl's a Flake,
just like the rest of you.

Hell, this was supposed to be
my year, damn it--

The Fifth Column's year.

Why couldn't you
believe in this?

Bingo.

Smoking gun and all.

Look what we found
in Mr. Monty's dumpster.

Got that hair squidge
all over it.

Polk's rounding up
the last of it.

I have never
been so disgusted

in All my...

Gunther, pack your bags.

As president

of the north American
ufo convention,

I hereby suspend you
and the rest of the Fifth Column

from any further participation
in naufoc events.

Incoming!

Screw you and your convention.

You can't deny us
our right to be heard.

Go ahead and try.

The finger will not be silenced.

[ door slamming ]

that Gunther--

I'd always thought
he'd go too far some day.

Sure you're okay, boo?

I'm good.

In fact,
I'm better than good,

because with Gunther
out of the way,

this press conference

is really
going to soar

on the wings
of an eagle.

When you say hanging there...

we will say,

"There are
things in the universe

"That we don't understand,

things the government
is afraid to share..."

boo...

"But we have
discovered something

"That will change all of that,

"something that
we're willing to share with you.

Call it what you want,
but we call it the truth."

Boo!

We've got a problem.

What is it?

Duct tape,
some wires,

conductive tubing...

tell it again
from the beginning.

Like I said,

the busboy was poking around
at the air vent with a Broom,

and Ping, it opened,
and all this stuff fell out.

Of course.

What do you mean "Of course"?
of course what?

What are you talking about?

Mirrors and wires
and Gerry-Rigged remote control.

Probably holograms, too,
and animatronic sock puppets.

That floating fragment

was nothing
but a piece of theater.

And we fell for it,
hook, line, and sinker.

People, for all you know,
it could be Gunther's handiwork,

or maybe it's been
up there for years.

I bet my bippy,

if you stick a few
magnets in this

and tape it
to the ceiling--

Fine. Where are the magnets?

Mr. Buford pulled
a fast one on us.

It's alien autopsy
all over again.

We are so stupid.

But why? Why would he do this?

Maybe we're just
jumping to conclusions.

She's right.

For all we know,

the government
put Buford up to this.

Right. The government.

To make us look bad.

Come on, everybody,

sometimes, a piece of tubing
is just a piece of tubing.

I looked into Mr. Buford's eyes,
and he was telling us the truth.

Mr. Buford?

It's only us.

We just want to talk.

Really, uma,
this is so unnecessary.

Then why isn't he
answering the door?

Got it.

Mr. Buford, sorry to Barge in
like this...

I think Max is gone.

Telling us the truth...

yup. Just like we thought.

Mr. Buford's gone
and So is his box.

Not to mention
everything in the mini-Bar.

Damned hotel better not
try charging us for it.

Hey, some towels
are missing,

and so's
the rubber bath mat.

What a weirdo.

Nobody up front
saw him go,

but we scoured the parking Lot
for his car,

and it definitely isn't there.

How could he just
leave us like that,

without
saying anything?

Maybe there's
a perfectly logical explanation.

Yeah. Like maybe he knew
the feds were closing in.

The government
didn't know he was here.

What if the government
did know he was here,

because somebody
told them about it?

You mean, like Gunther.

Yeah, Gunther.

He had a motive.

Could be Gunther,
could be somebody else.

Yeah...like...

like...

like nobody.

The man bolted

because this
whole thing's a lie.

Maybe we were wrong
about Mr. Buford.

Maybe we're wrong
about a lot of things.

Boo?

Boo, where are you going?

Thought I'd
find you here.

Have a drink.

Looks like
you need one.

Sex on the beach.

How'd you know
that was my drink?

You'd be amazed
what you can learn about people

if you do a little surfing.

Do you mind if
I, uh, sit down?

You okay?

Oh, yeah,
I'm great...

considering
this feels

like the worst day
of my life.

I should have
listened to you

when you said how
complicated things are.

You wanted that fragment
to be real in the worst way.

I'd rather not talk about it.

Funny thing is,
I know how you feel.

Boo, can you keep a secret?

Sure.

You know, uh...
that story I tell

about when the aliens,
you know...

Oh, my god.

Dale, are you saying
that that actually happened?

Huh?

No, no, no.

I mean, it never happened.

I made it up.

You've got to
believe me,

I wanted it to happen.

I wanted to see aliens,

I still do,

but just because
you want something to be True...

Dale...

I understand, really.

I do.

I know there are aliens
out there and all.

God, I know how desperate
that must sound.

I just wanted
to be accepted,

you know?

I mean, all the people here
at the convention...

they're like my family.

They accepted me
when nobody else would...

and it's all based on a lie.

Can you ever forgive me?

Of course I can.

Thank you.

Wow.

You were great, boo.

Now, I've been with
a lot of women,

not that
I'm bragging,

but...wow.

You are...

and that was...

wow.

You didn't think it was wow,
did you?

No, it was fine, Dale.

It was just what I needed.

It was?

It was real. It happened.

There's no denying it.

That's one way
of looking at it, I guess.

You and I just had sex.

That's a fact.

It was way better for you
than it was for me.

That's another fact.

Now, wait a minute.

Just because
I wouldn't stick my tongue--

Dale, I'm not passing judgment,
okay?

[ Telephone ringing ]

it's just that

I have never been
more confused or tired

in my whole life.

Hello?

Listen to me
carefully--

Mr. Buford?

Try and understand
what I'm saying.

It's all about John, okay?
John.

His life is going
down the drain.

Who?

What the hell
are you talking about?

Listen, it's nothing personal,
Mr. Buford,

but you sound
like you've been drinking.

Boo, please,
listen to me carefully.

I'm not trying
to turn you on

or turn you off.

I'm...I'm venting, okay?

I'm venting.

Actually, Mr. Buford,
I'm in the middle of something.

Dammit, boo,
you've got to listen to me.

Oh, my god.

Boo, you've
got to help me.

I'm in a phone Booth
outside Kyle plastics,

you got that? Kyle plastics.

The nerve of that man.

After all
that he's done to me,

to call here at this hour...

where did Buford say he was?

It doesn't even matter.

He's drunk and he's probably
feeling sorry for himself.

Maybe,
but if I've learned anything

from my experience
in the security field,

it's that nothing
is ever as it seems.

The man called you for a reason,
boo.

We need to find out why.

I could've told you

this was
a waste of time.

Mr. Buford?

Mr. Buford,
are you here?

Oh, my god.
There he is.

Is he...

he's dead, all right.

It's sad.

It's so sad.

Something
is not right here.

Dale, please, you saw
all the bottles.

He was inebriated.

Obviously,
he hit his head,

and he fell down
and he bled to death.

Sure, he seemed drunk,
but was he?

150 ccs of government-Grade
sodium pentathol

would have exactly
the same effect on him.

The government
did not do this.

I'm not saying
it was the government.

Could be
the Fifth Column,

or the masons,
or the illuminati, maybe.

Where's the damn fragment?

That's what I want to know.

Well, obviously,
the government got it back,

ooh, or maybe
it was the aliens.

Except that's not
what this picture says.

Tell you
what I think--

Government guys
follow him,

think they've found their prize,
discover they're wrong,

get a little carried away

demonstrating
their disappointment.

Or--Have you thought of this?

Maybe it's just
what it seems to be--

Mr. Buford
was a lonely drunk

who thought
he could have a few laughs

pulling a fast one
on a bunch of social outcasts.

That's exactly
what they want you to think.

Look,
when it comes to ufos,

the government's agenda
never changes--

Discredit, disavow...

disinform.

Now, what you see is real,

but it's
a little more complicated.

A spaceship
looks like a spaceship,

hell, it may even be
a damned spaceship,

but it's not really
a spaceship.

You ever wonder how
much work it would take

the people who come up
with these plans

to actually
come up with them?

That's why
the government

has whole agencies
dedicated to this stuff--

Fema, atf, cia,
the trifab commission.

The what?

You haven't heard about
the trifab commission?

Probably better that way.

Oh, yeah, much better that way.

You're sounding like me--
Doubting everything.

Maybe I'm just wising up.

[ Mr. Buford ]:
it's all about John, okay?

It's all about John.

Who the hell is John?

His life
is going down the drain.

His life
is going down the drain.

I'm venting, okay?
I'm venting.

I'm venting...

that smart son of a bitch...

he kept it wrapped up
nice and tight

to keep in
the light.

So, I guess
it is real.

Maybe.

I still want
to believe in it,

but I want to believe

because I know
intrinsically what it is.

Obviously,
it's no ordinary hunk of metal.

Well, yeah.

I mean, it floats.

But do we know why it floats?

No.

Does the fact that it floats

mean that it comes
from outer space,

and that's
the only possible explanation?

I'm not qualified to say
and neither are you.

Still, the fact
that it does what it does...

it's got to be

from an alien
technology.

Or maybe it's just
a really clever magic trick,

and we haven't figured out
how they're doing it.

If you want
to drive yourself crazy

thinking up all these what-Ifs,

go right ahead.

Personally, I think it's time

to look what truth I do know
squarely in the face.

You want to know
why I believe in aliens?

I believe in aliens
because I needed to.

When I was in college,
I met this guy, Winton,

and we had
a little daughter

named Krishna.

One day,

we're all heading to this ashram
in oregon.

It was Winton's idea.

He was always very spiritual.

We stopped
at this little cafe

out in the middle
of nowhere

so I could go
use the bathroom,

and when I came out,
they were gone.

They just drove off without you?

They never showed up
at the ashram,

and they never went back
to our little apartment,

and when I called
Winton's family

to find out what had happened,

they said no.

I mean, as far as they knew,

Winton and Krishna
had just vanished.

Maybe
they weren't telling the truth.

Well, I'm sure they weren't.

I guess
I got really carried away,

because the next thing I know,
I'm locked up in this hospital,

and I'm looking out the window,
day after day,

thinking to myself,
"Where'd they go?

Where'd they go?"

and then, one day,
another patient wanders by,

and says, "maybe
the aliens took them,"

and I thought to myself,
"Well, why the hell not?"

I mean, I could live with that.

Funny thing is

that's when I started
to feel better.

Sounds like his family
talked him into leaving you,

and taking
the baby with him.

I guess
I need to look in to that, huh?

So, what do we do
about This?

We tell the truth.

What is with
all the mystery, Ike?

We really need

to get down
to the convention floor.

I've got a Booth
to finish setting up.

Look, everyone,

I know This
is inconvenient,

but I promise
it's important.

Oh, boo,
come on in.

Okay, you all remember

how we searched

Mr. Buford's hotel room
yesterday?

Well, we missed something.

You found the fragment?

Well done, boo.

I knew it would turn up.

I thought we all agreed
it was fake.

Funny, I don't remember
anyone agreeing to anything.

Why don't you, uh,
check the ceiling tiles?

Go ahead and rip up
the carpet, if you like.

My god!

I told you it wasn't fake.

No, I told you.

What are we
sitting here for?

Let's take it downstairs.

No, no, no, no.

Everybody, hang on
just a second.

Wait a minute, okay?

Now, we have to be very careful
about this.

Ike says he wants us
to be taken more seriously,

and that's what has to happen.

You don't think
they'll take this seriously?

Are any of you a metallurgist?

Maybe a physicist?

How about

your plain old
scientist?

I didn't think so.

Which means,

that as interesting
as this thing is,

we don't know
what it is,

therefore,

we are going to present this
to the world as a mystery,

and we are going
to invite the world--

The government
included--

To help us
solve that mystery.

The government?

Don't you see?

This is a part
of our problem.

We don't trust
anybody,

not even ourselves,

which is why I'm hoping
that by reaching out,

in the spirit
of cooperation,

that we can end

the mistrust and the paranoia.

Ike...

you...

you want me to do it?

You're our Leader.

I think the world
should hear about this

from one voice--

Yours.

Thank you, boo.

I appreciate this.

Is there anyone here
who disagrees with This?

Good.

Let's go tell the world.

Where the hell
is Everyone?

Didn't you just
pass them in the hall?

They're heading down
to the convention floor.

No!

Who's got
the suitcase?

Ike does.

We've got
to stop him.

Dale, don't
get me started.

I just saw Gunther Van Owen
in the parking lot.

I don't think he's here
for the refreshments.

What are you talking about?

Remember when I said
I was looking into some people?

Well, say hello
to Ike pilchard--

Gunther Van Owen's best Buddy

and card-Carrying
member

of the Fifth Column

and the f-B-Freakin'-I.

You've got to listen to me
before you go down there.

Do you recognize the guy
in the potato-Sack race?

Ike at a fifth-Column picnic
10 years ago.

I got this
off the fifth-Column web site.

Here's another shocker--

Gunther Van Owen.

He's a shriner.

So?

It's basic--

Basic!

Shriners are masons.

Masons have ties
to the U.S. Government,

which have gone
all the way back

to the beginnings
of the republic.

To reach the highest
level of masondom--

The 33rd level--

Masons from all over the world

have to travel
to Washington, D.C.

The connections are obvious.

The Fifth Column and the FBI
are one and the same!

Dale,
that is the flimsiest story--

All right, all right.

What about this one, then?

This is from
the telephone directory

of the j. Edgar Hoover building
in Washington, D.C.

What's Gunther's name
doing on there

if he isn't a fed?

Oh, my god.

Gunther Van Owen,
right there on the page.

Disavow, discredit...

disinform.Exactly.

Doesn't that sound like Gunther
to you?

It sounds like the
whole damned government.

So Ike and Gunther...

are plants.

It's hide in Plain sight
times two.

And I have just put the fragment
into their hands.

How much do you want to bet

that those bastards have already
switched that fragment

for some cheap plastic doo-Dad,

so that when Ike
gets up there

and reveals it
to the world--

Everyone's going
to think we're lying.

They'll think
we're all crazy.

We've got to
stop him.

Okay, everyone, sit down...

I surrender!

Good morning, everyone.

I'd like to welcome you all

to the 10th annual
north American ufo convention.

I think you'll find
this year's gathering

is, well, to put it mildly,
kind of special,

and I'm happy to see

our friends in the media
have shown up, too.

I promise you,
you will not be disappointed.

Our story begins

at Mr. Monty's
house of fondue...

the whole
Fifth Column's here.

I can feel it,

and the cia, the fbi,
the trifab commission.

There. There.
Do you see him?

Is that a person?

It's Gunther.

What's he doing
up there?

If I know anything
about how the feds operate,

he's their
insurance policy.

Come on. Hurry.

So, to be honest,
we're not exactly sure

how poor Mr. Buford

Came to his untimely demise
last night.

All we do know
is that he showed up,

gave us the spaceship fragment
that's in this suitcase,

then ran.

Now, those of us
who attend these conferences,

we hear a lot of stories,

and some of them
are pretty fantastical,

which is all
a convoluted way of saying

that what I'm about to show you
is...

well...

I guess I'll let it
speak for itself.

No, sir, Ike.
Not today, you don't.

What are you doing?

We know about
you and Gunther.

You fifth-Column
lover.

Boo, what are you talking about?

Ladies and gentlemen,
I must apologize.

Those us at naufoc
are well aware

that Mr. Larose

is somewhat prone
to hyperbole.

Don't listen to him, folks.

Ike's the definition
of a liar.

He doesn't want you
to know he's an agent--

of the federal government--

Who has been trying to attain
this metal fragment

since we got it last night.

Ladies and gentlemen,
I implore you...

he wanted us to open this
and show you what was inside.

He knew that you would think
that We are liars,

and we're crazy,

because
there's nothing in here.

Aliens are real.

They're here.

They're among us,

and they're working
with our government.

Our government is lying to us,

and the proof...

Dale! Dale!

Believe.

It looks like
four shots have been fired

here at the north American
ufo convention,

more and more shots
now ringing out.

It's just pandemonium here.

Dale was
telling the truth.

That's why the
government killed him.

You've got to
listen to me.

Disavow, discredit,
disinform--

That's what they're
trying to do to us.

We're just getting word now

that the police
have surrounded the shooter.

Don't move, asshole.
Don't move a muscle!

Our source is telling us now

that the police have
a tentative I.D. On the shooter.

Apparently, he belongs
to a splinter group

which is at odds
with the convention leadership

over some kind of alien finger.

His name is Gunther Van Owen--

That is not the truth!

Gunther Van Owen
works for the government.

Gunther Van Owen
is the government.

Ladies and gentlemen,
it's a very, very sad day here.

The question isn't really,
do aliens Exist?

We'll probably never know
the answer to that.

The real issue here

is what would make
one of these people so angry,

what would cause them
to become so unhinged

that they would perpetrate
an act of violence like this?

A toaster?

Dale was right.

I think we did it.

How is he?

He is fine...

but he'd be a whole lot better
if that so-Called marksman

hit the Vest
where he was supposed to.

When we get back to the office,
I would like a word with him.

And the package?
Can I see it?

Right here.

Good job.

Think the folks back there

will buy the goods
we just sold them?

If you mean will anyone know
the trifab commission did this,

I doubt it.

Those poor, crazy bastards
back there--

No one'll ever believe
a word they say ever again.

Even when they're right.

I believe, I believe,
I believe, I believe...

I believe, I believe,
I believe, I believe...

sometimes, the best way
to hide the truth

is to keep it in plain sight.