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Title: Vatican Rave Party

Author: Swedish Fish

Summary: Robert Patrick goes to the Vatican.

Authorís Notes: The Chinese guy in this story is not meant to offend Chinese people. I also know nothing about Robert Patrick. Also, this whole thing is unbeta'd, so any mistakes in grammer or spelling are the author's own.

The following day, Robert Patrick sauntered merrily onto his front lawn and collected the morning newspaper. Whistling cheerfully, he carried it back inside and tossed it upon the table. He poured himself a bowl of Lucky Charms cereal and sat down to enjoy. While he was eating, he accidentally noticed the headline on the newspaper, declaring in large, bold print: "1/2 OF WORLD DESTROYED BY U.S. WAR ON ITSELF". There were two smaller headlines that read: "Tony Blair Thinks Itís a Bad Idea," and "Brittany Set to Tour Next Spring ".

"Oh my," Robert Patrick stated in response to the news of the war. "I wouldnít have ever told the Steger Police Guy about the X-Files Extremist Association if I thought it would lead to this... Though, suppose the newspaper is lying. You know how sensationalistic the Wall Street Journal can be."

Skeptically, Robert Patrick got up and peered through the curtains. Sure enough, the sky had assumed an eerie hue of orange from all of the smoke and nuclear chemicals and such, missiles dropped out of the sky and hit neighboring homes at random, and people with machine guns stood in the middle of the road shooting arbitrarily at each other.

"Hah! So there really is a world war! Well Iíll be. What will they think of next." chuckled Robert Patrick as he stood in the middle of the kitchen talking to himself. Just then, he noticed that the newspaper he had brought in was on fire. He sighed and said, "Though, I can see as how this may tend to become somewhat annoying." Robert Patrick let the newspaper burn itself out and then swept it into the garbage can. But Robert Patrick, impervious to the fact that the Chinese Man was peacefully sleeping in the bottom of it and was now covered in hot ashes which the anxious Asian didnít at all appreciate. He shrieked, jumped out of the trashcan, and, panic-stricken, ran laps around the kitchen.

"Oh, you silly little Chinese Man, what am I ever going to do with you," cooed Robert Patrick as he picked up the Chinese Man and dropped him into the sink and ran some cold water over him. But a few moments later, the Chinese man hopped out of the sink onto the window sill and observed all that was going on outside. Confused, the Chinese man said, "What? We no bomb you for many year. What happen?"

" ĎTwas not your peers who have caused this, dearest chuck. " ĎTwas the work of our own president, George W. Bush." replied Robert Patrick.

"Ha. Ha-ha-ha-ha. That man is a fool. Donít blame me, I vote Libertarian!" laughed the Chinese man before he began to climb into his beloved Mayo jar.

"And just where do you think youíre going?" Robert Patrick demanded of the Chinese Man. He pulled the Chinese man out of the jar and strapped a leash on him. "We got ourselves into this war and it is our responsibility to resolve it."

"I do nothing you jackass!" protested the Chinese Man. "It not my fault you be a no-talent fool!"

Robert Patrick tightened up the Chinese Manís collar, forcing him to shut up. "Now, who can help me solve this world war... hmm..." he contemplated. "...Alas! The Pope! After all, he has Infallibility! So I canít go wrong!" declared Robert Patrick to everyone within and 100-foot radius of him.

Within a matter of seconds, Robert Patrick had shoved the Chinese Man into a purse and had set off in the Mystery Machine to Vatican City. Once they arrived, they wasted no time in finding the Vatican. They quite easily found it, but what Robert Patrick had forgotten was that at the time all of the worldís Priests and Whatnot were meeting with the Pope in order to discuss some policy changes pertaining to serious issues that would seem horribly out of place mentioning in this nonsensical story. And, because the "U.S. War on Itself" had now pervaded to every inch of the globe, security was unusually vigilant at the Vatican, thanks to the help of some U.S. Government employees. Robert Patrick strolled right up to the entrance and not one of the workers stopped him. But, as Robert Patrick opened the door and was about to walk in, one of the many competent young lads stopped him. "Uh, excuse me, sir, but you need, like, a special pass thing to get into that um... building. Yah got one?" he muttered.

"Uh... well..." Robert Patrick hummed while trying to devise a brilliant excuse. "You see... Itís like this... well, - Yes. Yes. I do have a pass." Robert Patrick yelled rather confidently. But the kidís attention span had already been lost to a balloon floating around in the distance. So, Robert Patrick shrugged and sauntered into the Vatican. He was surprised to find that the lobby area , offices, and hallways were completely empty.

"Huh." Robert Patrick declared indecisively as he leaned against a wall. Through the wall, he heard some muffled music. Intrigued, he walked to the right, seeing as how that was the direction in which the music seemed to be coming from, and then down a long corridor that led to two large doors. Robert Patrick pushed open the door and was overwhelmed by blaring dance music, flashing lights, and Priests and whatnot engaging in suggestive dances among each other.

Nevertheless, Robert Patrick unyieldingly shoved his way through the crowd, determined to find the Pope. At last, Robert Patrick found him, encircled by a crowd, demonstrating his break dancing techniques.

"WHAT?! Pope John Paul II! But youíre old and senile and feeble and just sit there all day like this-- blllaaahhh," Robert Patrick mocked the Pope in a confrontational manner.

"Thatís because I party all night," cheered the Pope. "Who the hell are you anyway? What up son?"

"I am seeking your guidance on the matter of the civil war which I unintentionally initiated," replied Robert Patrick meekly.

"The war is in the hands of God; beyond our own control."

"Oh, right. Leave it up to him. Jesus caused this too, you know. And he said my mama was ugly and--"

"Wah chu talkiní Ďbout? Look son, I donít know who you are or why the hell you think you can just waltz into MY rave party and start talkiní jive about whoever you want to, but I ainít gonna sit here and put up with it! Now get outta here before I haveta bust Ďyo ass suckah!" snapped the Pope. With that, Robert Patrick reluctantly departed and set off on some random highway back to the U.S.

"Oh gee wiz. Now what am I going to do?" Robert Patrick cried to himself. Just then, he passed by the White house and recalled its new-fangled drive-thru, sparking upon him a scheme of pure brilliance. He drove up to the talking menu thingy and placed an order.

"Hi... Iíd like the um... a repeal Ďcivil war act of 2003í special with a strawberry shake... and um... a medium tax rebate?"

"Okay, but you canít have the repeal. That isnít available after 11:00 a.m. Sorry. Would you like something else?"

There was a long pause. Then Robert Patrick avowed like a homicidal maniac, "No, maíam, you DONíT understand, I NEED THAT NOW,"

"Well Iím sorry sir. Would you like to try the peach cobbler?"

"NO YOU GODDAM TWIT. ITíS ONLY 11:05am, YOU KNOW YOU STILL HAVE IT READY. I WANT TO REPEAL THE ACT OF CIVIL WAR OF 2003. HOLD THE SENATE. I DONíT HAVE ALL DAY HERE..."

"Sir, Iím sorry, but weíre going to have to ask you to leave--"

"YOU SAY SORRY ONE MORE TIME AND I SWEAR TO GAWD IíLL--" but before he could think of anything truly incisive to say, he drove off at the speed of someone driving a car very fast. Besides, the person behind him was growing rather impatient.

"Hey, could I get a-um Presidential Impeachment Combo #3?"

"What sir? The peach cobbler?"

"No, the PRES-I-DENT-IAL IM-PEACH-MENT COM-BO #3. I would also like to super-size that."

"Okay, so now youíve impeached the President, Vice President, Speaker of the House, and the entire Cabinet. Will that be all?"

"Yay-us maíam."

"$16.95 please drive up to the first window."

"Heheheh..." Al Gore snickered in his typically condescending manner as he drove up.

But getting back to Robert Patrick. He stared ahead into the distance driving in a straight line at 142 miles per hour, and was only interrupted when the van ran out of gas and came to a screeching halt in the middle of the interstate. But luckily, Robert Patrick was located within some strange mountainous region, so there were plenty of caves for him to seek shelter in. But he didnít. Instead, Robert Patrick came across a sign that read,

"Rupert Murdochís Secret HQ, 10 Meters to the South."

"Hey! Rupert Murdoch owns FOX, so maybe if I can convince him to do so heíll put the X-Files back on the air in order to end this war!" So, Robert Patrick walked 10 meters to the south and found an elevator. Of course, he stepped in and was transported to some kind of meeting room in Rupert Murdochís Secret HQ.

"Hey! You donít have an appointment! What the hell--... Oh, wait, youíre that guy that ruined one of the shows I own. You bastard. What do you want?" asked Rupert Murdoch in his typically British-ish manner.

"Um, um, um,... sir, um... well, maybe if youíd give me a second chance so maybe the show can go back on and maybe the war will end..." Robert Patrick whispered, either experiencing a bout of Parkinsonís disease or trembling with fear.

"Hm... No."

"OH please Iíll do anything--"

"No. Dammit. Now leave."

"Not so fast!" declared Jesus as he burst through the door. "Rupert, you have a choice. End this war and God shall have mercy on your soul; otherwise continue upon your selfish and destructive path, for which you shall burn in eternal torment. Which do you chose?"

"What?! Do you know to whom you are speaking!? Iím Rupert Murdoch! I can buy your ass and trade it on the stock exchange!"

"But Iím your savior--"

"Donít give me that nonsense! Guards, appraise the value of this ... thing... see how much we can get for his demise and invest it in... perhaps... Biotech? That sounds rather nice."

"But Iím God!"

"OH well! Thatís capitalism, baby!" laughed Rupert Murdoch as some guards forced Jesus into a small room. Robert Patrick heard a few muffled shouts and a scuffle between the guards and Jesus for a moment, a gunshot, and dead silence. A voice over an intercom declared, "Mr.Murdoch, 73 billion dollars has just been added to your account."

"Ah, excellent," laughed Rupert Murdoch.

Robert Patrick glanced around nervously.

"Oh, donít worry, Mr. Patrick. Youíre not worth anything anyway."

Robert Patrick hopped into the elevator and right before the doors closed he stuck out his tongue at Rupert Murdoch and triumphantly declared, "Yer stupid anyways, poo-face!" Gleaming with pride for having surely shattered Murdochís sense of self-worth with his stupid-poo-face comment, Robert Patrick was quite pleased, for a few moments at least. But it wasnít long before the harsh reality of the matter hit him. He had indirectly instigated a civil war that led to a world war and anyone who wasnít already dead didnít really give two hoots. Robert Patrick wanted to get as far away from the civilized world as he possibly could, hence he returned to Washington, D.C. .

That night, he wandered the inferior streets of the city, accompanied only by the Chinese man, whom was still shoved in a purse, and a few UN Peacekeeping envoys who were being shot at by some representatives of the Rainbow Push Collilition and the Ronald Mc.Donald Foundation. Robert Patrick sighed and gazed up at the green-yellow sky full of crop dusters, but glanced away when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

"Hey there. Wanna have some fun?" remarked a voice that sounded like that of Ms. Piggyís.

At that moment, Robert Patrick witnessed a most horrifying scene. There stood John Ashcroft wearing a blonde wig and excessive lipstick. He had on a semi-transparent black tube top and some disturbingly tight red vinyl short-shorts with several decorative zippers on them.

After Robert Patrick had finished regurgitating his internal organs, he asked "John Ashcorft?! What happened?!"

"What? Youíre not supposed to be able to tell who I am... But. What had happened was that Al Gore ordered an impeachment of George W. Bush and the entire cabinet this afternoon, and so weíre all unemployed. Though, this IS my second career choice and I truly do enjoy it--"

"Yeah, I really donít want to hear about that," Robert Patrick commented. "Why did you people put a drive-thru on the White house in the first place?í

"Well, against my better judgment I thought it was an outstanding idea because we always need more cash for pointless government programs like the Department of Linoleum Flooring and Cheese Subsitutes and whatever. That and for dropping bombs on random defenseless countries. But, all points consideredÖ in retrospect, I donít think it was a very good idea."

"Itís nice to know we have such proficient people like you working in Washington who realize these things only slightly after the fact." complimented Robert Patrick. "so, does that mean Al Gore is now president?"

"I guess so." mumbled John Ashcroft, slightly distracted by an attractive young man wearing tight jeans passing by. He giggled and pulled a powder compact out of his purse and began to powder his nose.

"But, he was never elected by the electoral college, was he?"

"What? Yeah, maybe not. I guess anyone can become the president now." realized John Ashcroft as he reapplied his lipstick. Robert Patrick turned around and noticed a TV in a store window across the street. On it, he saw the Chinese Man taking the oath of office on the White house lawn. Robert Patrick turned around again and noticed all of this was going on about 20 feet away. He ran up to the podium and yanked up the Chinese Man and yelled, "You canít become president! Youíre a foreign spy!"

"I already got ah drive-thru pardon," the Chinese Man triumphantly announced.

"What?! But what about the electoral college?"

"Only one make it here, and he say okay."

Suddenly, Mr. T appeared from out of nowhere. "Foos! Doan chu know that foí the pres-i-dent to be impeached sum utta folks- like uh, Congress or sumthiní- hasta approve it?"

"We donít need a history lesson, Mr. T," sighed Tiger Woods, who also appeared out of nowhere.

Barbra Walter walked up onto the stage. "In conclusion, the Bush Administration is still in power and that entire drive-thru White house was a scam."

"Thatís right!" announced Bob Barker.

Bob Saget ran up and started dancing around like an idiot.

"But what should we do about the war?" inquired Dan Rather rather indignantly.

John Goodman gave Robert Patrick a big hug. "I donít think we have to worry about that anymore," he said. "George W. Bush and I had a long chat and he decided that he was going to resign and leave the presidency to me."

"Besides," said Steve Case, CEO of AOL Time Warner, "it doesnít really matter what our government leadership does. Just as long as powerful media companies like mine keep the pubic content and uninformed."

"That's right," said Bob Barker as everyone began to sigh and laugh in relief.

Suddenly, night turned into day, and the world war abruptly ended. The sun shone and birds chirped cheerfully and America was once again the pleasant and serene place it had always been. Robert Patrick and the Chinese Man returned to their home and resumed to their normal schedule.

"And I was so close to taking over America for the motherland," sighed the Chinese Man.

"You sure were, Chinese Man. You sure were." replied Robert Patrick.


... OR IS IT?!...


yes, it is.


This Story was brought to you by:

Operation Entropy Inc. "Through extortion, espionage, blackmail, propaganda, and covert military operations, weíre making the world a better place."


ALSO CONTRIBUTED TO THIS LITERATURE: Dusty Corporations. -"Pointless "New York Times U.S. Ad Council The Foreign Candy Company STEGER POLICE DPT.