A Fine Day to die, part 4, part 2: The Oil Pan Gasket (Hannah's rewrite)

RECAP: beautiful, but 'troubled' smack addict Pete Doherty has reformed the Libertines for yet another tour of generation-defining greatness. To end the world, by depriving it of such greatness, psychopathological German the Kommander-Steppenfuhrer Wehrner Staffen von Schnugenstein has once again enlisted the holy power of the Vatican in the form of His Holiness Pope Lucius IX, his faithful friend Cardinal Barry, and some other people who haven't got names yet, who have summoned the ghastly demon of Skub Nazarthotep. NOW READ ON...

Gingerly, the disappointing demon-thing stepped out into the light of Saint Peter's Square.

He squinted in the sunlight.

"So this is the Vatican, is it? I always wondered if I'd see this place. They got a gift shop?"

"Probably," replied the Pope. "How the hell should I know? Do I look Catholic?"

Cardinal Barry piped up. "Urm, shouldn't we be, like, killing the Libertines or something?"

"Yes of course. This calls for RAPID CHANGE OF SCENE..."

"Wow," said the demon of Skub Nazarthotep. "How did you do that?"

They were in Trafalgar Square.

"Tricks of the trade. Gotta learn these things if you're the Pope."

"Blimey."

Pete and Carl were writing poetry about their fountain while fucking each other's brains out.
which was really pretty awesome to watch.

"OMG!!!OMG!! FUCK ME PETE!!!"

"OMG!! FUCK ME CARL OMG!! ARCADIAN POETICALNESS BLAH BLAH IM BARE CLEVER INIT!!"
"Hello, chaps," said the Pope. "What's the-?"
but he couldn't really find out, because he was being ignored by ver libs all of a sudden, as they had resumed their poetic arcadian love-making.

"OMG OMG IM COMING!" screamed Pete.

"We were just wondering if you fellows would like to accompany us to the British Museum?"

"Uh, yeah thanks, but um, the thing is, that like tonight I'm gonna be playing a gig on a rooftop in beffnal green and carlos here's gonna be the dancer. sorry mate."

"Right. gigs. rooftops. dancing. Gotcha."

The Pope whispered to Barry. What are we gonna do? Plan A failed and Plan B lacks a certain subtlety

"The only thing we can do. EAT THIS MOTHERFUCKERS!"

Barry pulled out a Thompson .45 SMwhatjamacallit but pete and carl looked relatively unfazed.
"wtf is wrong with you cunts?? you're all going to die! have you no fear??" screamed barry waving the gun pointedly in pete's face. pete tipped him a sly wink, puckered his lips, leaned in and started sucking the gun's barrel.
barry was rather distracted by this "wtf you are performing gun fellatio you gay wierdo!!!!"
so distracted in fact that he didn't notice carl libertine reach up and smack him across the face. His front teeth fell out, he dropped the gun and fell slap bang into the pope.
Pope; wtf fag GET OFF ME!!!!!
the pope hit barry and a fierce fight ensued.
pete and carl watched non-plussed for all of five seconds, then carl picked up the gun and began sucking coyly along the barrel.
pete was agape "omg c'mere softboyy.."
and lots kore sex and libertining ensued.
as teh evol pope and barry blew to kingdome come


for no apparent reason

BUDDABUDDABUDDABUDDABUDDABUDDA SWISH FAZOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM

The demon used the opportunity to bugger off without being noticed, and later set up a successful chain of falafel shops.

Pete and Carl lived happily ever after and inherited an immense buffalo farm in south america (see albion-fic)and adopted a little eskimo girl called katie.

teh end xxxxxxx