A/N: These are silly "stories" which were created during the pre-exam-state (=inferno) of the writer's mind. Partly inspired by the English Seminar, my favourite haunt. Enjoy!!!

V., his enthusiasm considerably diminished since his clandestine visits to the copying-machine and the letter-box (registered property of the English Seminar), has taken a fancy to the...sugar-box (also property of the English Seminar; registration status unknown). There is a small problem, though. The staff, stressed out and badly in need of boosting up slack sugar levels are wondering why the hell the sugar cubes are vanishing at such an alarming rate. So V., incensed to a degree of taking drastic action, decides on kidnapping the sugar-box. He does so. Needless to say, the staff is quite ticked off by such an asocial gesture. V., in the meantime, is doing his best to float on a sugar high.

S. (some fictitious dude) has fallen completely and totally in love with a...lampshade. He fancies wearing it as a hat, but he can't find any means to light up his head; and he risks doing irreparable damage to the shade if he dons it as a skirt. Sighing mournfully, he eyes the shade, murmuring "Weilawey!" (Weilawey: Middle English for "Alas!") from time to time.

Need I mention that the staff is still wildly indignant at the mysterious disappearance of the lampshade?

H. (another fictitious guy) has got quite a thing going on for the...wastepaper-baskets. Yes, his penchant affects each and every single bin squatting in the building of the English Seminar. So when the cherished plastic containers disappear, everyone (i.e. staff and students) is quite edgy, to say the least. Very put out, in fact. The plumbing system breaks down because people are getting rid of certain items (including unmentionable paraphernalia) by flushing them down the toilet. The innocent German Seminar, baffled neighbour of the English Seminar, is forced to tolerate a tidal flood of folks swarming inside, searching for wastepaper-baskets and toilets.

Z. (yet another weirdo) is gawking at the...curtains (which, as you can guess, are the property of the English Seminar). Z. is so taken up with them that he unhooks them and packs them into the basket of his tricycle. Boy. The. Staff. Is. Really. Fuming. This. Time. The culprit leaves a series of blank windows and many bad tempers on his way home. The highly esteemed inmates of the Seminar are getting quite fed up since they have to replace the stolen property at great expense.

When H. decides to strike up an appearance at Z's house for a chat he nearly faints when Z. answers the door. Z. is wearing strange, flapping garments which bear a strong resemblance to the long-lost curtains. He doesn't breathe a word, though; and when Z. saunters down to H's home and ends up goggling in utter disbelief at the rows of wastepaper-baskets adorning the borders of a tidy garden, he, too, is inclined to think that silence is gold.

The staff, badly upset by the chain of events described above, decides to phone the FBI headquarters and engage two agents...

"Hey, Scully, I'm sure there are aliens involved in this case."

"Uhm. Mulder, let's get on the plane to Switzerland!"

Switzerland is where I live and study. I prefer not to say where exactly, though.

Scully and Mulder are not my property. Really. They are characters featured in the television series "The X-Files".