AN: There are no words for this. I wasn't high or sick or anything else. I just wrote it. As a matter of fact, it's going to be three parts of things I just wrote. Be warned.

WARNINGS: obscure references, OOC, and italics abuse. Kind-of/sort-of/eventually Uchihacest.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Naruto, Lilo and Stitch, TPS reports, Party City, or Xena: warrior princess.

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Despite popular belief, Uchiha Madara was a very sensitive man. So sensitive, in fact, that he cried that one time while watching Lilo and Stitch. All right, so it because he had rubbed his eyes after eating salty popcorn, but the point still remains. He was a man with feelings.

And now, he was once again being treated callously by his superiors—who, he'd like to clarify, were only superior in the chain of command. He was still seething inside over the conversation he'd had with the president and CEO of the Konoha Corporation.

"Madara, computers are useful. We are not trying to replace you; we're just trying to make your life easier."

Madara glared at the president and CEO of Konoha Corporation, Senju Hashirama, deciding that it was a good time to test whether or not a person could spontaneously combust from the force of the intense hatred radiating from his eyes.

"And stop glaring at me like that. It's not going to make me spontansouly combust."

Biting down curses—'He's reading my mind; I know it!'—the head of the Uchiha family replied: "That mediocre talking box will not make my life or my job easier. I refuse to use it."

"If you don't use the computer then you won't be able to submit your TPS report(1). You do not want to not submit your TPS report."

"I don't want to submit a TPS report at all, actually."

Yeah, that'd been a terrible, trauma-inducing conversation. He was glad it was over.

Pressing the call button taped to his desk—the junior management team was always trying to steal it—he felt an expression of malicious glee spread across his face. He knew exactly how to handle this 'talking box'.

"Itachi," he shouted, realizing that the younger man wasn't replying, "I'm pressing my call button."

"And?" He heard Itachi's familiar drawl sound from the room next his.

"And you're supposed to respond. I might need something." The call button lit up and static sounded on the other end.

"Better?"

"Yes," Madara nodded. "Now come in here." After a long moment of static and muffled cursing, the call channel switched off, and the office door swung upon to the stoic—yet somehow still agitated—face of his nephew, Uchiha Itachi.

"What," the younger man ground out, "do you need?"

"Come in and shut the door," Madara commanded, leaning forward over his desk in what he was sure was a malevolent way. "I have a plan."

And indeed he did.

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After explaining to his minion the necessity of ridding the world of technology—"Don't you see? If this continues, no one will need middle management anymore! I don't want to find a new job!"

"Uncle, you're rich. You don't need a job, period."—Madara discovered the first wrench in his plans.

"A Halloween party?" He gaped incredulously at the email Itachi had printed out. "With costumes?"

"This is an annual even, Uncle. You've participated in it every year since the founding of the company two decades ago."

"I know, but no one's ever sent me a memo! They usually show up in my office with a Mai Tai and a black cape and dub me Dracula for the night."

"Of course," Itachi pursed his lips in displeasure, "Why would anyone expect the head of middle management to actually do anything on his own."

"Of course," Madara sighed. Itachi took a calming breath. If he killed his boss, he wouldn't get his paycheck this week, which he desperately needed. He still hadn't paid off that rental speedboat he and Kisame had destroyed while reenacting scenes from various James Bond movies.

"I suppose we'll have to fit this in to the plan, then." He glanced down at the memo. "It's tonight. We need costumes. Awe-inspiring costumes."

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After a trip to the nearest party city—"No, I do not want to be a 'sexy bo peep'. I'm going for fearsome, not erotic."—Madara found himself back in his office a mere hour before the party began, standing before his personal assistant.

"I've got the costumes."

"Really? How thrilling. Do you need a drum-roll, or are you going to show them to me?"

"No, you aren't very good at drum-rolls," Madara grimaced, thinking back to last year's Christmas party. Itachi rolled his eyes, muttering darkly.

"Why couldn't you have died in a car accident?"

"Because I have a Hummer. They may have terrible gas mileage and no real redeeming qualities, but if I ever get into an accident, I'd be a-okay."

"Fabulous."

"Isn't it?" Madara rummaged through the large bag containing his purchases, pulling out the first costume. "This is yours. I wasn't sure what to get you at first, but this one really stuck out."

Itachi stared. "Is that a 'Xena: the warrior princess' costume?"

Madara nodded. "Xena always gets her man."

"Wasn't she a lesbian?"

"Of course not," the elder Uchiha scoffed. "Those are just lies created by the media."

Itachi wondered if not receiving his paycheck was such a bad thing.

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AN: There you have it, part one of three. Yeah.

(1) – A TPS report is used to electronically report financial activity for banks and businesses.