The agent drops a folder of filth on the table with a mild metallic thump. “Okay, son. I need you to work with me here.” He leans back in his chair in a familiar position. Just another day, just another creep to weed out, he thinks.

He takes a sip of his already stale coffee, and let his thumb play around with his novelty coffee mug for a brief moment, his mind wandering back to simpler times before catching himself. He begins to lean forward. “What can you tell me about these things?”

You don’t say a word. The fluorescent light flickers for a while. You don’t avert his gaze. A single fly tries to announce itself with a barely audible buzz from one of the corners of the interrogation room. You already know that the agent in front of you is in your house now, not the other way around.

“Silent type, huh? Well, let’s take a look, shall we.” The agent stares into your eyes for a moment, stoic as only an experienced agent could be, then looks down and slowly opens the folder. He pulls out picture after picture, showing limbs in weird angles, screencap printouts of monstrous oddities doing unspeakable thing to themselves and each other. Orifices. Items in places they shouldn’t be. All unnatural things. The pieces on display would create more answers than questions for any normal person who would dare to gaze upon them.

You still don’t say a word, and just sit there for a moment. But then you slowly reach down and start to unzip your pants, now determined. With a sudden shriek of victorious declaration you yell at the top of your lungs “EVERYONE WHO DOESN’T WANT TO GET PREGNANT, LEAVE THIS ROOM NOW!!”

You go to town. With a heartbeat reminiscent of primal drumbeats mixed with jazz you begin the sordid act. It’s not your first time, not your last. The rhythm from your nether regions makes a sound like a wild animal attacking. Like a frozen fish slapped against the side of an illegally parked late 90’s Toyota. Like a mildly overweight stepdad applying suntan lotion with a dented shovel in a tiny RV bathroom. Like a pile of rubber gloves rolled together and systematically dropped into an industrial sized tub of oatmeal.

The hardened agent feels a sudden rush of fear wash over him. All his years of hard work, all of his experience now seems for nothing. He jumps out of his chair in shock. The former silence that filled the room is now quickly snuffed out in an instant. In a futile attempt he tries to call out for help, but nobody can get to him in time – only to get sucked into the aggressive vortex of filth that he himself tried to call you out on only moments ago. But you don’t stop, you don’t pull any proverbial punches. “YOU HAVE AWOKEN THE BEAST!” you declare. Sweat and small drops of blood flies from limbs and walls. Sticky substances that shouldn’t logically exist get flung in any and every direction. It is at that moment he knows that he shouldn’t have messed with the God of Filth himself.

[source](https://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/cq92sc/what_would_you_like_to_clear_up_with_the_fbi/ewv4yel/)