Part 1
Part 2
“What’s going on in here?” White House Press Secretary Scott McClellan demanded as he watched the ruckus in the White House.
“Kegger party,” Dick Cheney answered, “What’s it look like, dingus?”
“Is this appropriate while the president is in danger?” Scott asked.
“Who invited the dweeb?” inquired an obviously drunk Donald Rumsfeld.
“Not me,” answered Condi as she threw back a jello shot. “Skippy, don’t you have some idiotic questions to answers from the press?”
“I think we all have jobs to do such as…” Scott started to say, but was interrupted by a thrown beer bottle.

“Ninjas can’t dodge buckshot, can they?” Bush asked as he inspected his shotgun by looking down the barrel.
“So say the ancient texts,” Zatoichi answered.
“How could you know?” Bush chuckled, “You couldn’t have read them, Blindy.”
In the blink of an eye, Ichi’s sword was drawn and resheathed. Then Bush’s tie fell off.
“Man, my tie budget has doubled since hiring you,” Bush complained.
“Shouldn’t we call an entire force to take out the robot ninjas?” Buck the Marine asked.
“The press will call me a wimp if I can’t handle a bunch of robot ninjas by myself,” Bush answered, “except for the help of one Marine… and a blind samurai… Oh! And a robot fueled by the soul of a dead general.”
“All must die,” Robo-Patton said in his deep, heavily synthesized voice.
“That’s the spirit!” Bush exclaimed.
“We are near the ninja hideout,” Ichi said, “I feel much ninja-ness about.”
“Sometimes I wonder if you’re just full of it, Ichi,” Bush stated irately.
“Ha ha! You would never know,” Ichi chuckled.
“I bet they’re in that foreboding building ahead,” Buck said.
“Let’s kill the sonafabitches!” Robo-Patton yelled as he charged forward.
“You’re the strategerist,” Bush said following.
The four of them entered the building, but didn’t see anything. Suddenly, bright lights went on blinding nearly everyone except Ichi. “Is it the ninjas?” Buck asked.
“Worse,” Bush answered, “it’s the press.”
“You said there would be evidence of a quagmire here,” said one of the reporters.
“Patient, my willing pawns,” answered the haunted portrait of Chairman Mao.
Now the robot ninjas surrounded Bush, Buck, Ichi, and Robo-Patton. “That’s some good quagmire!” exclaimed one of the reporters filming the event.
“Man, this couldn’t get any worse,” Bush sighed. Suddenly he felt a bite on his shoulder. “Ahh!” he screamed, “It’s Chim-Chim, the evilest monkey! Get him off! Get him off!” He looked to Buck. “What do I do when there is a monkey on my back?”
“I think you’re supposed to stop, drop, and roll,” Buck answered.
Bush dropped to the floor and rolled. “Robo-Patton you take care of the ninjas,” he ordered. “Buck you kill the press. Ichi, you stab the monkey on my back.”
“I don’t know if I’m supposed to kill the press,” Buck answered.
The ninjas attacked, but Robo-Patton opened on them with his gattling guns. “Kill! Kill! Kill!” Robo-Patton yelled.
“Foolish American robot general!” the portrait of Chairman Mao shouted. Beams of pure Commie evil then shot out of his eyes, knocking Robo-Patton down.
“Yay! More quagmire!” yelled one of the press.
“I hate art!” Buck exclaimed, firing at the portrait.
Mao just laughed. “Your puny weapons are no match for Commie evil! Kill, ninjas! Kill!”
Ichi pried Chim-Chim off Bush with his cane. Bush then grabbed Chim-Chim and threw him. “Ee ee!”Chim-Chim yelled as he flew out the window.
“What’s our status?” Bush asked.
“Robo-Patton can’t fight back while that Mayo guy is keeping him down,” Buck answered.
Bush flicked the cap off of a Sharpie with his thumb. “He’s mine!”

“So is there any way to spin this as a quagmire?” asked the anchorman.
“I’m afraid not,” answered CNN’s Lefty Stevens, “Bush and Robo-Patton soundly defeated all the ninjas. As much as I tried, I can’t spin this as a defeat for him.”
“But there could be more quagmire in the future, right?” the anchorman asked hopefully.
“Maybe,” Stevens answered not too assuringly.
Bush turned off the T.V. “Hooray!” he exclaimed, “Evil is defeated once again!” He then looked around the White House. “What happened here?”
“Teenagers broke in and vandalized the place,” Cheney answered.
Bush shook his fist in the air. “Teenagers!”
Laura now entered holding a trophy. “Well, this place is going to need a good cleaning, by golly.”
“Hey, honey,” Bush said, “Did you keep yourself busy while I was gone?”
“I did a few things here and there.”
“Hey, that’s a nice trophy you have there,” Bush remarked.
“It’s… uh… for winning the pecan pie baking contest,” Laura answered.
“Then why does it say, ‘Ultimate Fighting Championship’ on it?” Bush inquired.
“Well, you know how they like to hype those pie baking contests, by golly,” Laura answered with a nervous smile.
Bush nodded his head knowingly. “They’re nothing but politics; that’s why I stay out of them.”
“We have communications from Robo-Patton,” Condi stated.
“Are you busy leading the troops in Iraq?” Bush asked Robo-Patton.
“No. I’ve decided to finally do as I’ve always said and storm right into China.”
“That was MacArthur who wanted to do that,” Bush told him.
“Whatever,” Robo-Patton shot back, “Now leave me be as I weave a path of destruction.”
“Okay. Have fun.” Bush turned off the radio.
“He’s going to slaughter countless people in his insane pursuit,” Condi stated, “What should we do?”
Bush looked at his watch. “Well, it’s about lunchtime – let’s order pizza. What toppings does everyone want?”
“I like sausage,” Scott said.
“You would like sausage,” Bush chuckled. Everyone else laughed too.
“I hate you guys,” Scott grumbled.

The mood at the meeting of the Axis of Evil was dire.
“Ooh ooh! Ee ee!” Chim-Chim swore in revenge.
“Bush may have defeated us this time,” the haunted portrait of Chairman Mao said, “but he has not seen the last of us! Muh ha ha ha!”
Everyone else laughed evily too, but then Saddam finally asked Mao, “Did someone draw glasses, a mustache, and buckteeth on you?”
“There is no reason to draw attention to it!”
THE END

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–