----------------------- On Christmas morning, one is usually found sitting by the Christmas tree, basking in the warmth and happiness of family and friends. People all across America, and most of the world, were at peace, content and happy for at least one day. The obvious exception would be the population of France, having recently endured a devastating assault by US Forces. They would be tending the wounded, or mourning their losses. They would also be plotting vengeance against a certain Jack Lysias... -------------------------------------------------------- CONTROVERSIAL JACK AND THE FALL OF WESTERN CIVILIZATION Part 9: Tripping the light Jacktastic Controversial Jack created by Yves Belanger This Chapter by Eric Jones -------------------------------------------------------- Jack's sister Anne was not in such a state. She had been in such a mood recently, but had devoted her time to feeling uncomfortably numb. It was snowing, and Jack was dragging her and Miss Jane from the White House to the Senate Building. To Jack's impeachment hearing. "Jack, are you crazy? This hearing is a thinly veiled lynch mob! Do you want to be imprisoned for the rest of your life?" Jack grinned in that special way that made Anne's first question so rhetorical. "Sis, I'm disappointed in you! Did you ever at any time doubt my insanity? Aside from which, I don't think there's that many Twin Peaks fans in the Senate." Anne shook her head in disbelief, and just let herself be dragged along. Things were much easier that way. Jack meanwhile, was pulling them along at a respectable rate, humming a tune to himself. Miss Jane wasn't sure, but she thought it was Pink Floyd's 'Breaking the Wall.' Miss Jane was also confused by the hearings- the thought of Jack and him together... Well, it wasn't a turn-on, to be sure. The oddest part of all was that for Ken Starr's entire 300 page report, he had not interviewed her once... "Jack, you do have a plan for when we get there, right?" Jane asked hopefully. Jack paused long enough to drop both Anne and Jane unceremoniously, and gesture towards the heavens dramatically. Finger pointed towards the sky, lightning crashing behind him, and a trademark maniacal (or just 'Jack-like') grin on his face, he said... "None whatsoever!" Had his pair of hopeful tag-alongs been standing, now would have been an appropriate time to collapse to the ground, fingers splayed in weird gestures. Since they were already on the ground however, they settled for bug-eyed shock. "But Mr. Duck has told me he has everything under control. Don't worry! Things will be just fine!" Mr. Duck squeaked encouragingly. -=- Debatable Joe was a happy man. The second-most aggravating person in his life had been assassinated, which meant he no longer had to take part in any ludicrous plans of toppling Jack's presidency by involving him romantically with his intern. Ah, Miss Jane. If any man was going to capture that sweet flower, it would be Joe himself... But that wasn't important, for now. First, his plans involving Jack had to come to fruition. Truth be told, Joe wanted no part in removing Jack from power. Jack's becoming president was all part of Joe's eternal quest for revenge. Others in the organization wanted power, wealth, and the healthy maintenance of conspiracy theories. Joe was a much simpler man. He simply wanted Jack to rise, rise to incredible heights of power, only so that his fall would be all the farther. No one realized just how much he had influenced events around Jack. The free political advertising booth, the timing of Jack's ad, so that it would occur the day before a major meeting of the Illuminati, to the hiring of Tim as his assistant. Every little event that happened in Jack's life had been carefully orchestrated by him. Jack would be ruler of the world - for a mere moment. And then, he would SUFFER. "I AM THE PUPPET MASTER! PULL THE STRINGS! PULL THE STRINGS! BWAHAHAHAHA!" Joe screamed, falling out of his hammock. The air was simply heavy with vibes of evil diabolicalness. -=- The air was heavy with something else at the Senate Building in Washington. Politicians filled the court room, some armed with dossiers and legal files, others simply with nooses. There was a constrained silence throughout the room- they were eager to get on with things, but weary of the untimely death of Ken Starr. Without him, they had even less insubstantial evidence to stand on. Jack was, for once, seated calmly and quietly in the defendant's chair, tapping his fingers, and in deep conversation with Mr. Duck. Anne and Miss Jane were seated inconspicuously near the rear exit - both had a strange bond to Jack, but neither wanted to be around when things got ugly. (When, not if.) Jack finally stopped consulting with Mr. Duck, and leapt atop his desk. "Before this begins, Mr. Duck wants you to answer one question!" The panel of inquirers looked at each other uneasily. "You're out of order, Mr. President. We ask you the questions. That's the way an inquiry works. Besides," commented the senator, "we don't have time to address the questions of some rubber duck." "SOME rubber duck?!" Yelped Jack, leaping from his desk over to the senator's. "He's not just any duck, he's the vice-president of the United States of America, the land where anyone is free to do whatever they want, regardless of race, culture, religion, or material compounds! Are you suggesting that SIMPLY because he's made of rubber, he is less fit than you to govern this nation? I accuse YOU of chemicalism, and I think you owe the vice-president an apology, MR senator!" Anne tried very hard to become invisible. Mr. Duck, for his part, was looking quite insulted. "There is no such thing as 'chemicalism', Mr Lysias. Now please sit down before we had to sedate you." A twinkle came to Jack's eye. "Could ya do it anyways?" Not waiting for a reply, Jack leapt down to the senate floor, and began pacing. "Fifty years ago, people claimed there was no such thing as racism, or sexism. Just because we don't use them, doesn't mean to say they aren't wrong! How can you be sure you aren't pre-judging Mr. Duck's abilities, merely on account of his being made of rubber? You could be denying yourself access to a wealth of information and new ideas, simply because you refuse to listen to plastics? Would you treat him any differently if he was made of iron, or gold, or ether?" The senator was looking flabbergasted. "I'm not denying any kind of bias! I know I'm not open to the ideas of a rubber duck. It's an inanimate object!" "So you THINK!" Snapped Jack, whirling to face the rest of the assembled senators. "This is the kind of man you have leading the inquiry? A close-minded man, not open to new ideas? Unless I can ask Mr. Duck's question, I refuse to recognize the legitimacy of this, this.. mockery of justice!" A small moan came from the back of the room. Anne had managed to make herself smaller, and it was hurting. "Very well." Sighed one senator, shaking his head in frustration. "What is the question you, err, your duck, wanted to ask?" "Thank you." Said Jack, sitting back down at his chair. "It's quite simple, really. He wanted to know if this 'inquiry' was just a sham to try and get me out of office?" Slowly but surely, smiles spread across the faces of all present. "Mr. Lysias," started one senator, "I must say, it would be a pleasure to remove you from office. Frankly, I think even Mr. Duck would be a less destructive choice for leader of the United States." Laughter started rippling through the room. Slow at first, but soon, every senator in the room was laughing like some James Bond villain who had just explained his master plan in great detail. "I'll take that as a yes?" asked Jack over the din of laughter. Slowly, it subsided, lowering into a couple of lingering evil giggles. Every politician in the room bobbed his or her head. "Well. That's all the confirmation you needed, wasn't it, Mr. Duck?" Mr. Duck squeaked in agreement. Moments later, the doors slammed open, and men wearing flack jackets, infrared goggles, and wielding nifty automatic weapons filed into the room. The letters "NSA" were displayed prominently on the front of their vests. Casually, Jack got up from his seat. "With confirmations of my suspicions, I charge every senator in this room with conspiracy to overthrow a government. For now, and until further notice, the Senate House is under martial law. Oh yes, and Mr. Duck says he wants to judge over your hearings." -=- A week later, the President (and current dictator) of the United States was hard at work, pondering his next move as leader of the country formerly known as the free world. The annexing of Canada had taken a far shorter time than he had planned, despite the problems with his abolishing use of the french language. They were adjusting surprisingly well to their new role as baby seal breeders, securing his supply of harp seal patties. His lunch was freely available, so now what? Jack sighed, leaning back his chair, and then spending the next few minutes prying his hair out from the wall. The oval office was spiffy, but way too small. His hair needed open spaces, and lots of sunlight, so the liquid cement would dry quicker. "That's it!" He shouted, buzzing for his latest assistant. Said assistant, Shoggoth, was there in a flash. Pencil and paper in hand, he looked to Jack expectantly. "Yes, lord Jack?" Jack sighed. Such addresses made him feel warm and fuzzy inside. "Shog, what the presidency needs is a change of pace. A change of locale. So, I want the Mauve House moved to Roswell, New Mexico!" Shoggoth's pencil snapped. "Excuse me, sir?" "Think about it! A tanned president, the public will love that. It'll bring me closer to those Nike plants in Mexico - I can make sure they're being underpaid, just like I promised! PLUS, in case of another threat to my presidency, I'll have quicker access to area 51, and all it's swanky alien weaponry!" Shoggoth pulled out a cell phone, and muttered a few words into it. "An airlift is being summoned as we speak. Is there anything else?" "Yeah, get me agents Mulder and Scully as my personal bodyguards. I'm sure they'll want to see all this." -=- Meanwhile, Anne was lying sprawled over a judge's desk. For the last week, she had been assigned as Mr. Duck's 'interpreter' for the duration of the conspiracy charges against the senate. She had tried her hardest to ignore the duck completely, and find a drop the charges. However, the NSA was there, pushing the taped evidence in her face. After seven days of listening to various politicians ranting, something disturbing was starting to happen. Mr. Duck was talking to her. "Jack's in danger Anne. Terrible, terrible danger." -=- An emergency meeting of the Washington D.C. branch of the church of Cthulu was hastily being assembled. News had spread quickly about the president's intentions, and it was troubling indeed. "Brothers, we cannot allow the spiky-haired heathen to go to Roswell. We all know that the technology they possess is the ancient artifacts of our great lord Cthulu. If these were to fall into the spiky one's hands, he may well be able to destroy the universe, before we can wake our master to perform the task!" "The heathen must die." Explained Shoggoth, VP of the chapter, and convenient plot device character for the chapter, "There is only one true destroyer of the universe, and it is NOT the president of the United States." Roars of agreement met their proclamations. -------------------------------------------------------- WILL JACK BEAT CTHULU TO THE TITLE OF WORLD DESTROYER? OR WILL THE CHURCH OF CTHULU DO WHAT THE CULT OF ARMAGEDDON, THE ILLUMINATI, AND THE US SENATE COULDN'T DO? IS DEBATABLE JOE REALLY THE MASTERMIND BEHIND IT ALL, OR IS HE JUST DRUNK ON CAPTAIN MORGAN'S RUM AGAIN? OR IS IT TEQUILA? IS ANNE HALLUCINATING, OR HAS SEVEN DAYS WITH MR. DUCK OPENED HER EYES, AND STRIPPED AWAY HER PREVIOUS CHEMICALIST BIASES? WILL FRANCE, CANADA, OR ANY OTHER COUNTRY ACTUALLY RISE AGAINST JACK, OR WILL THEY JUST BE THE BUTT OF BAD JOKES? Most of these questions ignored, and others raised next chapter! All apologies if I got any of the actual political stuff wrong. My cheap excuse is that I'm Canadian. :) Not that this is supposed to be accurate or anything. What I should be apologizing for is my weak prose... - Eric