"And I do mean VERY Reverend." - The Very Reverend KMQ
The highly-obscure but still notable Journals of the Very Reverend Father Kevin Quirk was a side story that broke off of the WJU Saga after the Saga became...well, so damn unwieldy that even its originators could decide where it ought to go. Although far from complete, the Journals brought much joy to all who read them, and it was clear that a frightening number of people did indeed read them.
I would love to list some thanks to all who contributed, but even I no longer remember who wrote what for this thing. Kudos certainly goes to Nick Massa for surfacing this invaluable piece of WJU literature to me. Anyone else who wants to claim credit for this is probably insane. But it's all good - without insanity, this wouldn't exist.
(P.S. Don't ask why the story starts out in first-person narrative because I have no fucking idea.)
It was late on night in the office, I was throwing back a nice 18 year Glenfidich cherry cask. It had been hot and muggy all day, but the rain had started at about 9:00 and was cooling the place down. As I was luxuriating in the smooth body of the scotch, I heard an ungodly noise. Always ready I reached into my desk and pulled out my Ivory Handled 1911 .45acp that had been blessed by The Pope himself. Now you might be wondering how I could afford this, but I was no Jesuit and the Rand Corp. pays well. The shadow passed over my office door, and I waited, Holy Water in one hand, and Gods Divine Wrath in a .45 in the other. As I started to squeeze the trigger, the shadow passed on and I saw it was one of the local college students. Never having been down to my real office he wasn't sure which one was mine. I put the gun away, but kept the holy water in reach. I called to him saying, hey you heathen slob back here!
As Tim opened the door, he thought he saw a .45 but wast sure, it was under a crucifix and the sight of it hurt his eyes. "Now Quirk, you know I don't believe in your popery but we have an urgent problem on campus."
"Ohh I see, is it about the flood?" Quirk replied.
The Admiral looked confused but responded, "No, although I thought God promised to stop that nonsense, it has to do with the reanimation of the dead!" Quirk jumped up from his chair.
The Admiral instructed his team of Spetznatz to secure the room. They quickly whipped out detectors which would sniff out the tell-tale electronic emissions which would betray the secrets of the room. Finding none, the elite commandos set up a perimiter outside the room, and closed the door.
"I have just received instructions from Martin Luther that the various branches of the Christian Faith are to work together on this one. It seems that our old nemesis, Tony Blair, is working with extraterrestrial forces in a strange plot to reanimate dead bodies. We've already detected three zombies. One is a giant, but he's the exception. The others are a woman and an old man."
The Priest nodded, and recalled the rumors he'd heard throughout his extensive network of contacts about unknown craft, which had buzzed Washington and Hollywood several times in the last month. If they were looking for intelligent life, they sure searched the wrong place, he thought to himself.
I can give you the Vatican's assurance that we will bring our full resources to bear on this matter." Satisfied with this answer, the Admiral boarded his converted Mi-26 helicopter and took off, bound for the fleet which dominated the swollen Ohio River.
"Gentlemen," came a voice from within an ill-lit room, "the bird has left the cage."
A small, green dot moved with regular velocity out of a blipping radar screen, the noise from the console only lessened somewhat by the annoyingly loud bass that was echoing from elsewhere in the room. "Bling, could you please turn that **** off while you're in the Control Room?"
A large, badly dressed man looked somewhat crestfallen, but he did as his much skinnier counterpart requested. "Sorry man, I thought you'd like some tunes. It's awful borin' in here."
"Awful boring?" the other man said, whipping around quickly, his gaunt face illuminated only by the green light coming from the radar screen. "Everything is coming to fruition, just as we planned. It is inevitable that our friend Quirk will feel the sudden urge to pay a visit to our friends in Hollywood." The man spat insolently. "As idiotic as they are, we have no choice but to assume that they will do as we told them to."
"Don' chu worry 'bout nuttin', Cabra," the man named Bling interjected. "Once Quirk is out there, he got nuttin'. He'll be outta our hair for good. An' from there, s'only a matter of time before the rest of 'em is no more."
"Exactly," Cabra said, and he laughed cruelly. "The CTS can no
longer endure this insult."
Quirk picked up his cell phone and said,
"Battle Pope". As the call was transfered through the Vaticanhollywood
As they touched down, he was connected with the Battle Pope, "Your Popeishnes, I have made contact with Battle Cardinal Admiral, and am attempting to contact Battle Cardinal Luthor." "Very Good." was the only reply. He then dialed the "Studio" and said "I have arrived, and have a new script, this one is about Cicero."...... switchboard, Quirk evaluated his options. Quirk was well aware of his situation. He had been to before, and he knew what to watch for. Luckly his wealth of knowledge had served him well in previous visits.
Karl Ruprect Kroenen moved closer toward the table. "I could have done better."
"Perhaps, but time is short. The first batch must be out by tomorrow. We've no time left." A short man with thinning gray hair looked up from the table. "Do you think this will work? CTS may be willing now, but what happens if they change their minds?"
"They won't. They can not. They are tied to us now. There is no going back." Kroenen stepped over to a large table. "Tomorrow we begin 'loosing' our creations. That fool Quirk will not know what hit him."
"What of the boy? And Stark? Surely they will try to..." The old man was cut off.
"They are helpless. We have the ring and the will of Manos." A tall man moved from the shadows. Those who worked for him referred to him as 'The Boss', but others knew him as Bruce Springsteen. "The world will soon bow before me and my zombie minions. CTS can not stop me, not even Quirk will stop me!"
Unknown to Springsteen a shape in the darkness was listening to everything they were saying... The shape thought only one thing when he heard the news..."HOLY COW!!!" He staggered off into the darkness. He had to get the message back to Quirk before it was too late...
Written off as having died in 1998, famed Chicago Cubs announcer Harry Caray had actually begun a secret career as a covert operative working for COSBI (Chief Operation-Secret Board of Intelligence), which concerned itself with protecting the internet, truth, justice, and furry little puppy dogs. Harry, who was paid in untraceable cartons of ice cold Budweiser, knew the stakes. He knew that COSBI, and the ideals for which it stood, were in a weak state after the last confrontation with the perfidious CTS. It might not be able to hold on against another onslaught. And with the zombified legions of Bruce Springsteen fans aiding Cabra, he knew the odds were worse than ever. He raced towards the secret COSBI operations centre underneath the new Cabela's, which was a front company that provided outdoorsy supplies for the enjoyment of the masses, and paid for the fleets, air expeditionary forces, and armored divisions which COSBI used to defend the free world. Harry knew a special session of the COSBI Presidium was about to meet, and he knew that he had to be there. Already COSBI was on high alert. Perhaps, if he got there fast enough, there would be enough time to mobilise the strategic assets and prepare to meet those invovled in the latest nefarious scheme against the free world.
Harry, meandered through the store, offending customers with his witty banter and budwiser breath. As he approached the Shooting Gallery though his stride took on a more determined pace. Seeing that all the customers were looking at outdoor theamed sheets, and pillows, he put his quarter in and shot the gun, the still and the snake. This combination opened a small door to the left of the gallery which he quickly stumbled through.
Seven stories beneath the earth Harry went through a number of security check points. Resisting the urge to hit the bar before the meeting Harry made is way directly to Quirks office. Quirk listened intently as Harry explained what he had seen.
“Very well, it is worse than we had initially assumed, however, it is not
beyond our control. Thank you for the information. Your payment awaits you in
its usual place.”
Quirk rose slowly and walked out of the room. Harry made at least three separate attempts to rise before succeeding. His payment would keep him floating in enough Ice Cold Budweiser to fill six Olympic sized pools.
Quirk walked into a dimly lit room which contained a large conference table and a small mini-bar in the corner. The walls were lined with pictures from all of COSBI’s exploits. Of course officially the things contained in the photos never happened but there was always some member who couldn’t resist a so called Kodak moment. Quirk called the assembly together with a raise of his hand.
“Good to see so many of you have come. We are faced with an even greater threat than before. The Spingsteen-Nazi connection now has total control over CTS. Their zombie/vampire formula created by the captured Dr. Weird will allow Springsteen to convert his entire fan base, and undoubtedly others, into these creatures which will pose a serious problem to us and all that is holy. So, gentlemen, how do we deal with this?”
Six time zones away, Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi was at work. He had contacted Bruce Springsteen and the EU, and had secured their backing for his ambitious plan. For years, he had been tormented by the small dot on all maps of Italy-"Vatican City". That annoying new Battle-Pope, Julius III, had publicly humiliated Berlusconi for his hair implants. Now he would pay. Vatican City would become part of Berlusconi's vast empire, and the Papacy would be a bad memory.
But, Battle-Pope Julius III was already aware of Berlusconi's plan. Vatican Intelligence had uncovered his military preparations, which had been badly disguised as a parade celebrating Berlusconi's deification three years earlier. Now, EU armor was within a mile of the Vatican, and there had been many zombie sightings around the Vatican Walls. Julius had secretly moved into the ancient papal stronghold, the Castel Sant'Angelo, to command his counter-attack. The Swiss Guard had tossed aside their famous robes and, in their stead, crewed awesome mecha, which would sweep aside the EU Rapid Reaction Force with little effort. He had opened a teleconferencing window with COSBI, and was engrossed in the conversation. The enemy was not yet ready to move, so he decided to tell everyone of his plan.
"Gentlemen, to deal with this emergent threat, I propose the following measures..." Quirk and his team were listening. "...while our forces here at the Vatican will be sufficient to counter those sent by the enemy, we cannot risk casualties on such a scale. Fortunately, as I am the Pope, I have concocted an alternative solution to our problem. We must assassinate Berlusconi, for without him, the large bulk of CTS' forces will be lost. It is imperative that this plan be enacted immediately."
Quirk nodded with a grim smile on his face. "I guess this means I'm going to have to drag myself to Rome."
"Quirk!" the Battle-Pope exclaimed through the Televisor. "Behind you!"
A group of a dozen or so zombies had materialised behind the Very Reverend
Slayer of Zombies. They were horrible abominations, sewn together haphazardly
like a new Residence Life housing policy. Their groans echoed through Fr.
Quirk's office. They hungered for his brains.
"Not in this office," Quirk said under his breath, reaching for his shotgun. once again to deal with this idiot Berlusconi."
Feeling a stir in the World of Forms, the Battle Pope knew this battle would be the most important ever. The Springsten-CTS-EU zombie/vampires must be stoped at all cost.
Meanwhile, back under Cabelas, Quirk whirled around saying "Sweet street howitzer of joy" as he fired both barrells into the first zombie, and pumped two more rounds through. His training at the Hands of both the Knights of the Holy Seplechur , and the Brotherhood of the Flaming Skull of Luther had served him well as he cleared the room.
As the last zombie fell Quirk called on the Cleaning Crew as he poured himself some of Rommels very own Scotch. "The man had no taste thats for sure." Quirk shook his head and tried to drown the flavour with a nice tab, as he put in a smiths album. He sat back and thought of what he had learned in his short trip out to Hollywood, and the Millions he was being paid for his new screenplay on Cicero.
Jullian the III has never before atempted using this power of "THE BATTLE POPE" he had been told that it could
be used. Reading through the ancient parchment he memorized the Words of the
Prayer, and he started Clatu, Veratu, Nictum, Reanimatorium, the lion of Briton
Winston Churchill.....with the Prayer complete all that was left
between Churchill and the land of the living was the required 1.21 gigawatts of
power to let him cross over. The only
question was how? Then it became
obvious. Prince Coxar! He controlled the weather and could have lightning
provide the required power. The message
was sent but would he make it in time?
Kroenen moved quickly across the roof tops of Rome. He had been sent on a mission. Springsteen was aware of the Battle Popes abilities and he was bent on stopping him. He had sent Kroenen to take care of business. Kroenen got through security and found the Popes room. He slid a blade out from under his jacket and moved up behind the sleeping Pope...
Well known to the Battle Pope was Kroenen, The devious homunculous of Nazi Germany. What Kroenen didn't know is the disturbance he caused in the World of Forms. His lack of earthly means to continue life, cause what could be compared to a hole inn the World of Forms, a world which the Battle Pope was very sensitive to. Having felt the approach of the clockwork man, the Battle Pope had pressed a small button in his bed.
The Battle Pope still to weary from the resurection of the dead, could not defeat the clock work man, but he had signled the Singaporean Revolutionary, and member of the triumverate of COSBI, knowing that only fast action and oriental teleportation could save him...
In Singapore, Master Lim was busy denigrating a large group of new female students. He was disappointed with their performance in the task he had assigned them, so he had given them extra work. He ran his hands through his ancient white beard as he contemplated the flavour of cake that he would require of them.
Suddenly, his rosary rang. The Battle-Pope was in trouble. He snatched his sword in his hand and summoned two of his students, Lee Ho and Kung Su Ching. Lee had no arms, and Kung had his legs withered by acid some years ago, but they combined, they possessed unbeatable Kung Fu. They had used this to defeat their old master, Lim Chang Kung. Now, they would need it to save Battle-Pope.
The picosecond required to power up the transporter seemed like an eternity...
(To be continued...? Hey! Why the hell am I at the end of this!)