EVIL PATRIXXX Conquers the Martians
This is a continuation of another story called Red Mist, itself a continuation of Squidward's Suicide. It is not recommended that you read any of them in any order.
I was an intern at Nickelodeon Studios while pursuing my degree in animation back in the summer of 2004. I was living in a townhome in Kissimmee with a couple of roommates at the time, so most mornings I didn't have much of a commute, usually 20 minutes tops. With vacationers making their way back home after a busy Fourth of July weekend, however, I found myself stuck in traffic that had slowed to a near standstill. As my VW Bug inched its way past a roadside homeless encampment, I began to worry that I might actually show up late to work for the first time in my life. Beads of sweat formed at the corners of my forehead, no doubt a combination of traffic-induced anxiety and the muggy Florida heat.
As I read over the myriad political bumper stickers adorning the Camry in front of me for the eighteenth time, I felt a pang of pain as a dark object struck me in my right temple. I reflexively slammed the brakes and ducked in my seat, cursing as I frantically pawed at the window controls to my left. I eventually managed to roll the windows up, at which point I noticed a cool feeling rushing down my face. Keeping my head down, I cautiously tilted the rear-view mirror down to see that a small gash had been opened by the impact.
I allowed the car to creep forward, having barely lost any ground in the ongoing logjam, and fumbled about in the glove compartment to retrieve a Band-Aid. I clumsily applied the Band-Aid to the open wound, my attention divided between the road ahead and the tents to my right. I'd barely had time to wonder what might have struck me, my initial assumption having been that a crackhead had tossed some trash at me in a drug-addled stupor. I didn't catch sight of anyone outside of the window, but my scan for potential assailants did cause me to notice the black, rectangular object now sitting in the passenger seat.
Confused, I identified the object as a VHS tape. "Why the fuck would someone throw that at me?" I whined. Composing myself, I flipped the VHS tape over, looking for some sort of identifying information. Scrawled in black marker on a flimsy strip of tape hanging off the side of the case was one word: "PATRIXXX."
"A fucking porn tape?!" I exclaimed, growing increasingly agitated at the circumstances of this commute. Minute by agonizing minute, I eventually found my way to the office, clocking in at just under half an hour late.
I collapsed in a heap at my desk, and it took mere seconds for Kevin, my boss at the time, to mosey up beside me.
"Andrew, you look like shit. And you're late. What's going on, my man?" he asked, his deep register filling the room.
"Some asshole threw a VHS tape at my head," I deadpanned.
"What? Why?" came the reply.
All I could muster was, "No idea."
"Well, listen, that sounds rough, and we'll talk more about it later, but you've got to get your ass to the editing room. New SpongeBob, right now."
In an instant, all of the frustration of the morning was washed away. The first viewing of a new SpongeBob episode was not something to be missed, and Kevin was already gone, indicating that the screening was about to begin. I scrambled out of my seat and into the editing room, finding an open spot next to a few of the other interns I'd befriended over the past month. The familiar intro sequence was just reaching its conclusion, and we seemed to be in for a Christmas-themed episode, as the title card emerged from underneath strings of Christmas lights. The title read, "EVIL PATRIXXX Conquers the Martians".
The realization hit me like a flying cassette tape. Was I hallucinating? I read it again just to be sure, and confirmed that the text definitely said "PATRIXXX", and not "Patrick". Myself and everyone else present in the editing room were abruptly greeted by a grotesquely realistic rendering of Patrick Star making an indecipherable facial expression, something between mischievous and contented. There were a few scattered giggles about the room, but as the hideous pink starfish held its gaze, the giggling faded into a palpable silence.
"Is this the right tape?", the lead sound editor finally asked. The moment she asked the question, the thing resembling Patrick at last opened its mouth to speak.
"I AM EVIL PATRIXXX AN I HAB CUM TO MURDURATE U ALL"
EVIL PATRIXXX THEN UNLEESHDE A TORRENT OF DIARRHEA INTO THE ROOM DROWNINGG EVREYWUN TO DEATH IN SHID AND PISS ND CUMMM!!!!!!1
I then moved back to my hame in Fife, Scotland, and became a freelance photographer and serial murderer. While serving a lengthy prison sentence for my crimes, I would be killed in my kip by Jeff the Killer.
Written by Phantom PATRIXXX
Content is available under CC BY-SA
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