This was an idea I had for a crossover between the Daria cast and the Channel 4 (UK) Comedy Program "Father Ted".
All recognizable Daria characters are the intellectual property of Glenn Eichler and MTV/Viacom.
Father Ted is the intellectual property of Arthur Mathews and Graham Linehan, Hat Trick Productions and Channel 4.
This is fan fiction, written for fun and no money is being made.
This original story 2012 Peetz5050
The Interview
The livingroom door creaked open and Mack entered. He crossed to the window and threw open the drapes. Watery gray daylight flooded the room, shining a spotlight on the ballet of dust motes as they spun and wavered in the dead air. He paused for a moment, gazing at the sea kissing the Western shore of this godforsaken island, willing his eyes to penetrate the murk of heavy, low-lying cloud that blocked his view of the coast of Maine. Somewhere over there was Port Clyde and beyond that, Portland, and beyond that? Boston, New York... CIVILIZATION!
As he turned from the window an empty whiskey bottle flew past his head and shattered on the wall behind him. 'DRINK!' the old priest with the mad, bulging eye roared at him. 'DRINK!'
'And good morning to you too, Father Tony.' Mack replied, coolly. 'How are you today? All set to meet the representatives of the Press?'
'FECK OFF! DRINK!'
'Thought so.'
Just then Father Kevin entered the room, his face devoid of thought or reason, as usual. 'Good Morning, Mack Daddy.' He greeted Mack with his vacuous smile.
'Don't call me that.' Mack answered sharply. 'It's Father Mack, I've told you a million times!'
'Oh, right so, Mack Daddy. Oh, it's going to be great today, won't it M-D?'
'Perhaps, if we make a good impression on this journalist I... I mean we... might get off this rock and sent to a decent parish... in East L.A. or Detroit... or even... Lawndale!'
'AHHH no Mack Daddy, you promised you wouldn't mention that awful place again.'
'DRINK!'
'What's the matter with Father Tony? Has he not had his bottle yet this morning?'
'Ehhh, no. I'm trying to sober him up, I don't want the reporter or the photographer to get the wrong idea.'
'What? Are ya mad Mack? Remember what happened last time he sobered up?'
Mack glanced at the badly repaired plasterwork on the wall where the hole had been and shuddered. He said 'At least there are no firearms in the house this time... Ah hello Mrs. O'Neill, good morning to you.'
'Hello Farders, would yez like a cuppa tea? Ahh, go on ya will, ya will, ya will.'
'No thanks Mrs. O'Neill. Really... no...' He tried to push away the proffered cup just as Mrs. O'Neill started to pour and got himself a handful of scalding hot tea. 'Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh hhh!' He roared.
Mrs. O'Neill was unfazed by this, she simply took a second cup from her trolley, poured a cupful and thrust it into Mack's good hand. 'Now Farder, it's almost one, will I start breakfast?'
'Yes please Mrs. O'Neill, two soss, two bacon, two slices of tomato, two eggs fried runny and a slice of black pudding for me, with toast.'
Father Kevin added 'I'll have the usual please Mrs. O.'
'So that's one full Irish breakfast and a gutbuster special...'
'DRINK!'
'...and a bottle of Jameson for Farder Tony.'
'No wait, hold the Jameson, we need him on his best behavior today.'
'Are you SURE Farder, after what happened last time.' She answered, gesturing at the flame blackened remains of a TV.
'We have to try... I think it's working already... I think he's almost back on planet Earth.'
Father Tony had risen unsteadily to his feet like a very cheap Zombie apocalypse. He was peering around as if seeing the room for the first time. He pointed down and said 'Floor...'
'Very good Father... keep trying.'
His bulging eye focused on the window. 'Window!...' he said.
'Excellent, we're going to be all right, I knew it.'
Father Tony then squinted at Mack and Kevin and his face fell. 'GOBSHITES!' He roared. 'OH NO... I'M STILL ON THAT FECKIN ISLAND!' With that he flung himself through the window and started to run away through the graveyard.
Father Kevin opened a panel beside the window frame and took out an air rifle. He expertly inserted a tranquilizer dart and in one fluid movement knelt by the window and took aim at the fleeing ecclesiast. Father Mack reached down and lifted the barrel. 'No.' He said. 'Let him run free, if only for a little while. Look, there he goes.'
Kevin grinned at him. 'Today is a special day, isn't it Mack Daddy?'
Don't call me that... and yes it is.'
'Ehh why is it special again?'
'Because... look I must have told you a hundred times... because there's a journalist from the American Catholic newspaper in BOSTON! Oh Boston, how I miss you... Any way the journalist and photographer will be here soon to interview me... I mean us, of course... Bishop Brennan's orders. If I make a good impression... no more Craggy Island.'
'So long as no one mentions the funds that went missing in your last parish, right Mack Daddy.'
'Feck, I told you the money was just...'
'Resting in your account.' Chorused Father Kevin and Mrs. O'Neill.
The doorbell rang.
Mack said 'Oh bejayzuz, they're here already. Quick, you answer the door while I try and make the place presentable, hurry up and keep them waiting as long as you can.'
'What Mack?'
'Just go!'
Kevin went out as Mack tried to clean up some of the broken glass from the window. Mrs. O'Neill had gone off to make more tea. Kevin came back in, alone. 'Well.' Mack said. 'Where are they?'
'Ehhh... outside the door Mack.'
'Why didn't you let them in?'
'They're women, Mack.'
'What?'
'They're women.'
'So... let them in.'
'I can't Mack... I can't talk to women... I don't know what to say.'
As they moved out into the hallway Mack said 'But you talk to Mrs. O'Neill every day... and she's a woman!'
Kevin looked at him as if he'd grown another head. 'Come on Mack, you must think I'm an awful eeejit or something if ya expect me to believe that!'
'Well what about Sister Brittany? She's definitely a woman.'
'Is she really? I always thought of her as a pair of footballs in a blanket. You can't fool me Mack Daddy, nuns aren't women.'
'Well of course they are, and don't call me that.' Mack said as he peered through the security peephole. He could just discern a slim auburn haired figure in a green jacket and a taller figure in a red jacket with a Hasselblad slung around her neck.
From outside an emotionless monotone voice said 'You know we can hear you, don't you?'
