Part 1
“I don’t know about using a haunted robot,” Rumsfeld grumbled, “Back in my day we did all of our killing with rocks and sharpened sticks.”
Condoleezza Rice rolled her eyes. “Well, in the present day, we fight wars using androids possessed by the spirits of long dead generals.” She looked over the giant robot with ivory accents. “Such power. He can stick his hand into another man’s face and turn into a pile of goo. Hopefully he won’t go on an insane killing spree this time, though.” She hit some buttons on a console and reactivated Robo-Patton. “Robo-Patton,” Condi called out, “Your objectives are to follow your orders and only kill whomever fall under your mission parameters. Please repeat your objectives.”
“My objectives are to follow my orders,” Robo-Patton responded in a deep synthesized voice, “and only kill whomever fall under my mission parameters… and whomever else I feel like killing.”
Condi shrugged her shoulders. “Close enough.”

“All these rumors about Iraq and the president being stuck in some sort of ‘robot ninja’ quagmire are unfounded,” White House Press Secretary Scott McClellan told the press.
“So is he actually in Iraq?” asked a reporter.
“No… uh… he’s resting in the White House,” Scott answered.
“Then why won’t he come out?”
“He… uh… um… thought he saw a bear and decided to stay inside where it is safe. Any more questions?”
There was a pause while the press thought things over. “Is that a giant robot standing behind you?”
“Oh yeah; I forgot to mention Robo-Patton,” Scott said, slapping his head. “He’ll be leading the troops in Iraq now to fight the robot-nin… I mean terrorists.”
“Isn’t this the same robot who went on an insane killing spree in Berkely?” asked a skeptical reporter.
“Yeah… uh… but he’s changed now… or something,” Scott answered.
“Robo-Patton, do you think the war in Iraq is an unnecessary quagmire?” a reporter asked the robot.
“Quagmire does not computer,” Robo-Patton answered. “Your question has bothered me.” Robo-Patton then let loose a mighty slap that took the reporter’s head clean off. “All your questions annoy me.” Robo-Patton’s arms turned into gattling guns. He then opened fire, killing the entire press corp.
Scott stared at the carnage in shock. “Uh oh.”
Rumsfeld and Condi now walked out. “Did you see how quickly he killed them all?” Condi asked smiling.
“Beats my record,” Rumsfeld said.
“Uh… aren’t there laws against killing reporters?” Scott asked, looking at Robo-Patton warily who still scanned with his glowing blue eyes for more enemies to anhilate.
“‘Aren’t there laws against killing reporters'”, Rumsfeld mimicked in a high-pitch voice. “Aren’t you Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes?”
“I desire more destruction,” Robo-Patton announced.
Condi smiled. “I think you’re ready for Iraq.”

“Zatoichi,” Bush whispered, “Do you see any robot ninjas out there?”
Ichi groaned. “All I can see is your idiocy.”
“Those robot ninjas don’t play fair,” Buck complained, “They won’t get shot or stabbed or nothing.”
“And now we’re stuck hiding in some cave like some common bin Laden,” Bush added. He then peered out the cave entrance. Not seeing anything, he threw out a rock. It was immediately struck in the air by a throwing star.
“I think they’re still out there,” Bush whispered.
Suddenly they could hear rapid gunfire and explosions. “What’s that?” Bush exclaimed.
“Sound like…” Buck’s eyes then lit up. “War!” He then ran out of the cave.
“Careful, Buck!” Bush called out. The sounds of violence died down. “You out there, Buck?” Bush asked.
“Yeah, and there’s a robotic, World War II general out here,” Buck answered.
Bush came out of the cave. “Eisenhower?” he asked excitedly. He then saw the robot. “Aww… it’s just Robo-Patton.”
“Who is your third friend,” Robo-Patton demanded, “He looks Japanese.”
“The Japanese are our allies now,” Bush explained, “Instead of being obsessed with warmonger, they’re now obsessed with excessively violent, porn filled cartoons.”
“Is this true?” Robo-Patton asked.
Ichi shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve never seen one.”
“So are you here to save me?” Bush asked Robo-Patton.
“I am not programmed to save,” he answered, “I am only programmed to kill.”
“Well, it will be an honor to work with you,” Buck stated, “My grandpappy, Jebediah the Marine, always talked about how you led America to kill’n many a for’ner.”
“But there are still foreigners left to kill,” Robo-Patton answered. “My mission is to find and destroy the robot ninjas.”
“Ninjas always have secret hideout,” Ichi stated, “If we can find it and destroy it, then the ninjas will be defeated.”
“I hate secret hideouts,” Bush grumbled, “They’re the hardest hideouts to find.”

“Know who I blame, Mohammed?”
“I dunno, Mohammed; who do you blame?”
“The Jooos!”
“Me too! But know what? I know this guy from Pakistan who sometimes blames the Hindus.”
“What? Doesn’t he know about the Jooos?”
Suddenly a giant figure crashed through the ceiling of the terrorist hideout.
“Ah! It’s imperialist, American robot general!” one yelled who was probably named Mohammed.
In under a second, all the terrorists in the room were killed with gattling guns except for one whom Robo-Patton grabbed by the neck.
Bush, Buck, and Ichi now entered the building. “Damn, that’s some mighty for’ner kill’n!” Buck exclaimed.
“Where is the robot ninja hideout?” Robo-Patton demanded to the terrorist.
“It’s to the north!” the terrorist squealed.
“You are of no more use to me.” Robo-Patton said, and then threw the terrorist up into the air. Next, he launched a missile, blowing the man to bits.
“I always wanted to do that,” Buck said, “but I thought it was against the Geneva convention.”
Robo-Patton headed out of the building. “The Geneva convention does not compute.”

Unseen, two red, glowing eyes watched the group as they left the terrorist hideout.
“Yes, capitalist fools; head right into my trap. Soon, you will be begging for death! Muh ha ha ha!”
“Ee ee ee!” added Chim-Chim, the evilest monkey.
TO BE CONCLUDED–