Nej blot Krage

Here we are! Allentown is Nice Headquarters! Ah, it feels like home!

Be on your guard, my toad. Do not forget this is Alternate Time for you and things may not be as you expect them to be. ... Who are those people sitting on the front step?

The neighbors. They have nothing better to do, I guess.

Now, now. Communication is the key to understanding. Let us speak to them. ... Excuse me, gentlemen. My name is Mrs. Egram. Is Mr. Liker at home?


No English.

Perdone, caballeros. Mi nombre es la Sra. Egram. ¿Está Sr. Liker en su casa hoy?


Um, no Spanish.

Very well. ... Er Mr Liker i sit hjem i dag?


Nej, han er gået til parallelle tid.

Ah! Mange tak, mine venner. ... According to my new Danish friends, Mr. Liker is not presently at home. It seems he has traveled to Parallel Time.

Then let us find the secret room and my son and I will return to our own time.

Wait. ... Er der nogen hjemme?


Nej blot Krage.

Alright, then. The coast is, as you say, clear. ... On to the secret room!

"Hmmm. Ain't Krage the Danish word for crow?

This didn't used to be a Danish neighborhood.

I can see your house from here

Our captain has turned on the No Smoking light, so I would advise you all to fasten your seat belts securely around your waists. The bear rug shall have to make due as best he can. Light refreshments shall be served when we have completed our ascent.

Hmmm. How-a-come you got them no smokin lights when we ain't allowed to smoke anyways? Seems redundant. Hmmm.

They serve simply as a reminder.

So howcomes them lights lights up when it's a time to buckle them seat belts and they go off when it's a time to go to the bathroom? Mmm.

They indicate that if smoking were allowed -- and it is not -- you would be allowed to smoke -- and you are not -- during the time periods in which you are not required to have your seat belts buckled.

So how come them lights aint lit all the time if we aint never allowed to smoke?

Damn it, Karl, I don't know!

So if them lights go off and I goes to the bathroom maybe I can smoke in there? Mmm.


No you may not! You may not smoke on my aircraft at any time ever. Do you understand me?

Yes'm. I don't smoke anyways. Hmm mm. ... Hey, Ol' Marge, I can see your house from here.

The plane is still parked in my back yard, Karl! Would you please be quiet. And you shall refer to me as Mrs. Egram!

Mm. Hmmm.

Excuse me, Mrs. Egram, but where are the emergency exits and floatation devices?

There is, of course, the door from which you entered the aircraft, to your right, and if the plane were to break up during flight or amid a crash, I suspect multiple exits would present themselves. As for floatation devices, there are none -- excluding the bear. If we crash into the sea, we shall have little use for them as we shall be dead. Any further questions?

Hmmm. ...

No! ... Our plan is thus. We shall arrive at Alternate Allentown's Queen City Airport where we will be met by a private ambulance. We shall proceed to Alternate Atown-Liker's headquarters where we shall subdue him and access the so-called Secret Room. Honestly, is there anyone who doesn't know of its existence by now?

We been there. Hmm.


Yes Karl, you have been there. ... Once there, we shall return Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum to 1865. ...

Excuse me?


No interruptions please. We shall then proceed to the forgotten underground comfort station and force Old Donovan to send us to Parallel Time. Once there we shall have Parallel Old Donovan send us to non-Alternate non-Parallel Allentown. Understood?

I have a question. ... Once we return to our own time won't we run into ourselves there?


You shall have to work that out amongst yourselves. ... I, for one, am counting on it.

I would like to meet this Marge

I have come to a decision. I shall endeavor to assist you gentlemen, which is an extremely liberal use of that word I am sure you would agree.

Help us? How?

Allow me to recap. Your dismal failure to execute me in Japan in 1868 created an alternate timeline in which I did not eat my brother Ronan and I did not become the person you refer to as the demon Marge. I did not subsequently venture to Allentown in 2009 and destroy that city -- although I must say some of your Marge's social strategies are quite intriguing -- along with committing various inconsequential offenses attributed to said Marge. You now find yourself trapped in this alternate timeline in the year 2009, unable to travel through time because of your troubles with the crows. Is that a fair summation?

I reckon so. Hmmm.

So, this is what I have decided to do. We shall fly in my private jet to Alternate Allentown, where Messieurs Bear shall access the Secret Room and be returned to 1865, before the break between real non-Parallel time and alternate non-Parallel time. There you shall live out your simple lives and attempt to be less disagreeable. Also, you shall refrain from attempting to kill me.


Agreed.


The the remainder of our party shall find the one called Old Donovan and compel him to convey us into Parallel Time.

Why Parallel Time?

I am so happy that you asked, my little toad. You see, this alternate timeline you have created through your cataclysmic incompetence exists in non-Parallel Time. However, there is no reason to believe that Parallel Time has been affected.

In other words Parallel Time exists as it was?

Well done, my dingy doormat! You have a penchant for re-stating the obvious.

So you sayin' we head on over to Parallel Time, then mosey on back into non-Parallel Time? Mmmmm hmm. An' things in non-Parallel Time'd be like they was before we changed everthing in 1868?

Precisely! At least that is the theory.


But what about you Mrs. Egram? What will you do?


Me? ... I would like to meet this Marge.

It's a freakin' disgrace

Dude, do you believe this whole "Christmas Carol" thing? What utter schlock.


It's a freakin' disgrace, sir. Should I prepare the battle sleigh?


The battle sleigh? I thought that was destroyed in the Battle of Spanish Armada-Lehigh.


I had a backup.


Dude, I thought you were done with all the violence. We discussed this.


Yes. Absolutely. No battle sleigh. Just kidding.


Sheesh. Do you believe he's dragging Rachel Ray into his twisted saga? I like her. She's perky.


That's a damn shame. She's been a good girl all year. All she wants for Christmas are some new sammie recipes.

What was on his list, if I may ask?

Coal. The bastard. So if I give him coal, then he gets what he wants. But I can't do that because he's been naughty. So I have to give him something else, like an iPhone or some booze.

So he's gaming the system. What a creep!

Always looking for a loophole, that one.

And on this whole blog supposedly about my holiday there's no mention about the true meaning of Christmas, like presents and stockings and Christmas trees and light displays!

Not to mention it's your birthday.

Don't remind me. ... I am so going to get that guy.

Dude, seriously?

Bwaaah!

Jeez-oh-wiz, Tebow! Suck it up!

Bwaaah! My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

Dude, chill. Nobody has forsaken anybody. It's just a game!

Didn't you read my eyeblack? Psalm 23: "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want."

I saw it, dude, and I totally appreciate it. I really do. But it's just a game. ... Consider it a test of your character. Remember Job?

Bwaaaaaah!


Dude! Did I teach you to be such a wuss?


Ahem. Sir? Maybe I can be of assistance.


Go for it dude. I can't get through to the guy. But no rough stuff, OK?

No, sir. That's all behind me now. ... Listen Timmy, I know an SEC Championship and and a BCS Championship were on your Christmas list, not to mention another Heisman, but maybe there's something else I can bring you?

Bwaaaaaah! ... Well, maybe. ... Sniff. Can I whisper it in your ear? I don't want Jesus to hear.

OK

Psssst, psss. Sniff. Pssst.

Done!



Dude, seriously?

A Christmas Carol, Starring Atown-Liker?

Begins Nov. 30., ends Christmas Day. Click on Marley's link at right.

It's been too long

Dude! It's been too long. How's it going, man?

It's going well, sir, how's everything with you?

Oh, man. You don't want to know. Trust me. The freakin' Crows are out of control!

Yes, I've heard some rumblings.

Would you believe they are planning to steal a sacred Parallel artifact and bring it to non-Parallel Time, destroy the non-Parallel Vatican and try to bring about the Apocalypse?

Jesus, that's messed up! ... er, I mean, That's messed up, Jesus!

Tell me about it. ... I have a couple of guys on it.

Jack Bauer. He's good. ... Oh, speaking of Bauer, I'm sorry that one of my polar bears ate Archangel Gabriel ...

It's cool, dude. Gabriel went rogue. He brought it on himself.

I wasn't myself at the time. I couldn't do anything to stop it. That bear is usually such a good boy. ...

Don't give it another thought. ... So how are you feeling? Are you ready for the big day?

I'm good. I'm good. Little Ronan has helped me work through some of my anger issues and I'm getting my drinking under control, prettymuch. ... Little Ronan's been a godsend. ...

Literally.

... And Mrs. Claus says she might come back to me! ... Things are going good. ... So, speaking of Christmas, I don't think I've seen your list yet. ... Assuming you've been good, got anything in mind?

Well, an iPhone would be awesome. And I wouldn't mind seeing the apocalypse averted. I mean, that's my call, right? Who the heck do those Crows think they are? When the time is right, I'll lower the boom, not some stupid birds. And I went to bat for those Crows I don't know how many times. ... Dude, I'm rambling. Howabout you? Is there anything special you'd like for Christmas?

Well.... Since you asked, you know Prancer was killed by Gabriel, and, well, I'm a little light on flying reindeer. Is there any possibility you could release Rudolph from hell?

Is he still in hell??? Where is my head? He was never supposed to be there in the first place. I was just trying to sell the whole Newman story to Bauer and I guess Old Donovan took it a little too far.

So I can have Rudolph for the sleigh team?

Consider it done. I'll put an extraction team together right away.

Thank you, Jesus! Are you planning to catch the A Christmas Carol blog?

Oh, I wouldn't miss it. I'd love to bust that Atown-Liker's ass one of these days.

We must have the artifact

Our plans remain foiled.



We must have the artifact! Caw!




But we can no longer pass through to Parallel Time.

Bauer traveled to Parallel Time through a toilet.

But the crows hate water! Caw!


We must have the artifact! Caw!



But it is in Parallel Time, protected by penguins and a scarecrow.


We must have the artifact! Caw!

Dude, I'm WASTED

Dude, I'm WASTED. I was playing beer pong with the Octopus and he just passed out! It was awesome! He's totally pissed that his wife was on the Morning Call Web site yesterday and he wasn't. He just, like, flipped out! It was so awesome. Anyway, he said he was supposed to announce that some secret agent dude washed up in Parallel Time. Whoa! It's, like, almost my turn. ... Go, Mules!

Yoo-hoo!

Hi, girls. The Octopus here. Can you believe the morningcall.com did not put me on their Web page today? Yoo-hoo, guys! Wake up! I mean Lindsay Lohan? Pleeeease! She is so six months ago. Get with the program. ... Anyway, I'm supposed to tell you another guy washed up in a toilet in Parallel Time. Whatever.

This is not what I signed up for

So what did you do with the my friends?

You have friends? ... The last two were sent to Parallel Time as I said. ... I'm not sure exactly where, however. Stall Number 2 is notoriously unreliable.

And the others?

Two were sent to Hell and one was sent to Macungie.

Listen Donovan. Enough people have been hurt here. I want that angel brought out of Macungie now.

What about the other two?

We should probably get them out of hell as well. Reindeer don't like the heat and Trexler might melt.

As you wish, Agent Bauer.

So, what happens next?

I shall send you to Parallel Time, where you will be given further instruction by my counterpart there. Stall Number 1. Very Reliable.

Now I'm not sure I should even go. This is not what I signed up for, Donovan.

We were expecting that reaction, Bauer. There's someone in Stall Number 4 who would like to talk to you.

Jesus H. Christ!

Actually, I stopped using the H a long time ago, dude.

I would want me too

I know you all recognize me and most of you probably want me. I can't say I blame you. I would want me too if I weren't myself, but I am. The lines form over there: Girls on the left, boys on the right. For some reason I can't use my real name on this blog, so the owner has assigned me the alias "Octopus." Whatever. He's not the first overblown freak I've had to deal with lately. Anyway, I've been hired here to be a part-time narrator, taking over the spot Donovan McNabb -- I'm sorry, "Don-Don" -- briefly held last year. Hopefully I'll stick around longer. I mean he actually remembered how to play football and got his old job back. Me, I'm not likely to do much of anything. But I sure show up on a lot of Web pages! Anyhoo, I've been asked to tell you that a few of the regulars here are making their way over to Parallel Time. That's it. Gotta run!

Blog war continues

Dear Ass,

It's been too long. I hope this post finds you relatively cogent. I suggest you find another vulgarian to read it to you very slowly, using the simplest of terms so that you may at least partially understand.

I find myself strangely compelled to respond to your ludicrous offer to me of a so-called olive branch. Sir, you may affix that bough into an orifice of your own choosing.

Should I apologize for any of my actions over the past 15 months? I think not.

Did I poison you, appropriate your vermin-infested home and put your cat in the microwave? If you remember these incidents in that way, so be it. Were you not deranged and your brain not a wormwood-adled sponge sopping with stale beer, you might remember that it was Mr. Dodger who poisoned you at my behest and Mr. Player who put your loathesome felines into the microwave in defense of my priceless polar bear rugs, from which your foul creatures had removed the eyeballs and defiled with vomit. Oh, how soon we forget.

May I also remind you that these two faithful servants of mine were brutally murdered by your associates, the inpenetrable Karl and the deleterious duchess of the deep? May I also remind you that the ghost of Mr. Player was then deceitfully turned against me, as was the ghost of My Dear Dead Friend Truman, by your absurd "team" of bloggers. Your memory, sir, and I use that term in the loosest possible of ways, is quite selective. Have you not a shred of decency?

Need I remind you that some of these very same individuals, thanks to the chicanery of the crows, are blundering their way through the past in a futile attempt to blot out my very existence? The shame, sir, is yours.

Am I to apologize for scattering your pack of dour associates? I think not. For hunting the green toad and poisoning your dear duchess? No, again. Next, I suppose you shall chastise me for hunting polar bears as well and turning them into rugs -- rugs, which I might add, were animated and turned against me as well!

Am I to apologize for banishing the poor from Allentown to live in the woodlands and building a wall to keep them out? I believe those people would still be happily foraging about in the verdant forest had the Spanish Armada not poked holes in the wall with their cannonballs. Oh, and about the Armada ... who was responsible for that hapless ancient fleet's return from its watery grave? You were, sir. You and your pet sea monster.

Am I to apologize for eating the human contents of several LANTA buses as if they were boxes of Goobers? Perhaps. But have you never been hungry? Chewy on the outside, yet gooey on the inside, with a divine hint of crunch. In my defense, those buses are habit forming.

Am I to apoligize for eating my half-brother Ronan? Do not judge me, sir, lest you yourself be judged.

Am I to apologize for the impalement of the code enforcement officers, deliverymen, process servers, Mormons, political candidates, direction seekers and flan sellers who found their way to my doorstep? I think not. Impalement is my cultual imperative. It has been widely practiced for centuries on the grounds of my various castles, chalets and yurts. My privacy is precious to me.

Am I to apologize for the destruction of Allentown? Don't hold your breath. Others were involved, Ronan/Cuchulainn, The Armada, Santa Claus, Gabriel and, most importantly, St. Michael the So-Called Archangel to name but a few. There is blame a'plenty to share and I'll accept none of it.

Lastly, sir, let me say this. I am the injured party in these matters. I have been wronged and I will most assuredly claim my retribution. No one, and let me be perfectly clear in this, no one calls Marge poopyhead.

In fact, sir, when I am through killing the dubious St. Michael the So-Called Archangel, an important task from which you are distracting me at this very moment and for which you shall pay dearly, I intend to reoccupy your premises and impale you at the top of the PPL Tower. You shall watch as I feed your wretched cats to my wolverines. You shall be dismembered and become food for peregrine falcons -- if they will have you, which I doubt. Any parts of you that remain will be squashed like insects and reimpaled on tiny skewers and fed to fire ants, which I intend to import in vast quantities. I will hunt down your associates and impale them as well. I will feed them to the crows, which I will then make extinct, after roasting their leaders on my rotisserie and enjoying them for lunch with an iced bottle of pino grigio. Those associates of yours who are already ghosts will be dispatched to hell by my recent associate, Mr. Sam Zell. I am told coach Tom Landry has a position open on his team there for Mr. Player.

I will continue to destroy Allentown until not a brick is left standing. I will also use your Secret Room to convey myself into the past where I will destroy Allentown again and again, impaling, eating, crushing and microwaving as I go, provided, of course, the microwave will function in the past. I may need an extension cord; I shall make a note of that. When destroying the past becomes tiresome I will travel to Parallel Time and destroy it as well.

That, sir, is my apology.

Sincerely,

Marge

Détente in blog war?????

I have been asked by a client to post the following correspondence:


As I embark on what I fear will be a fateful journey into Parallel Time, I would like to make amends to those whom I may have hurt in my previous life.

Specifically, Marge.


It cannot be denied that Marge has committed some questionable acts over the past year or so, eating or impaling many innocent people and destroying Allentown among them. But in the interest of peace I am willing to put all of that aside, offer an olive branch and begin anew.

This blog war between Marge and me has gone on for too long. I'm man enough to admit my mistakes and will do anything in my power to end the hostilities that have injured us all -- all of us except for, perhaps, Marge. This needless fighting has taken a great toll and it is time for it to stop. I can see that now.

In that spirit I would like to apologize to Marge for banning her from this blog and for calling her a poopyhead. There, I've said it! I've been liberated from the chains of animosity!

I sincerely hope Marge will accept this apology and forgive me. Also, I hope she doesn't kill me, or eat me, or impale me. Or crush me like an insect. Or poison me, leave me for dead, steal my house or put my cats in the microwave again.

Sincerely,

Atown-Liker

Shoulda put a ring on it

This is taking forever.

Time works differently here. You should know that.

But still .... Jeez. It takes St. Michael a month to walk five blocks??

You've got incursions from Parallel Time into Regular Time, and vice versa. That takes a toll. There's an alternate timeline now. That screws things up. Plus, the crows are up to something. ... You just gotta be patient.

I'm sure glad we didn't waste a reporter on this Final Battle Between Good and Evil of yours.

Yeah, we needed the manpower for the Taylor Swift story. She's local! She used to live just 60 miles away!

Kanye ruined her moment! Just ruined it! ... And he has yet to offer a proper apology!

That is just wrong! Sir, have you no decency?

Tasteless and undignified. He's a cad.

Indeed he is. ... Although, he was right about the Beyonce video.

Oh man! She's like, I got gloss on my lips, a man on my hips
On me tighter than my Dereon jeans
Acting up, drinkin my cup
I could care less what you think
I need no permission, did I mention
Dont pay him any attention
Cuz you had your turn
And now you gon learn
What it really feels like to miss ...


... Cuz if you liked it then you should have put a ring on it
If you liked it then you shoulda put a ring on it
Don’t be mad once you see that he want it
If you liked it then you shoulda put a ring on it

Wuh uh oh uh uh oh oh uh oh uh uh oh
Wuh uh oh uh uh oh oh uh oh uh uh oh

Let's get outta here.

If it smells like a damn duck ...

Time to finish with you.


Bring it, bitch.

Define baryogenesis.

Barry O'who?

It's not a who. It's a scientific term. Define it now or burn in hell!

Wait! I'll define it. Ask him something else.

As you wish. Who holds the NFL record for touchdown catches.

I caught 20 passes in one game in 1997!

That's not what I asked.

I'd have the damn record if Montana, Young, Garcia, McNabb or Romo woulda thrown me the damn ball!

Answer the question.

If it smells like a damn duck it's a damn rat!

Answer the question or burn in hell!

Mm. bll. sss.

I didn't hear that.

RICE! Jerry Damn Rice, OK?

Thank you. You may proceed to the second stall.

Well, it looks like it's just the two of us, Old Donovan. ... In physical cosmology, baryogenesis is the generic term for hypothetical physical processes that produced an asymmetry between baryons and antibaryons in the very early universe, resulting in the substantial amounts of residual matter that make up the universe today.

Newman knows you are coming, Agent Bauer.

Flush those two. We need to talk.

Humuhumunukunukuapuaa burnin' love

In an abandoned comfort station buried deep beneath the burning ruins of Renaissance Square, a group of brave travelers confronts Old Donovan, the protector of the last remaining conduit to Parallel Time. Rudolph and Gen. Trexler have failed the test and paid with their eternal souls. The Little Angel has been banished to The Macungies. Atown-Liker must spell humuhumunukunukuapuaa or face the consequences.

You want to buy a vowel?

Yes, a vowel please.

Fine. You shall have your vowel, but at a cost: Your eternal soul. You will have only one question.

Sweet! I'll take a U.

Very well. Your soul is mine.

Um, about that. There's some ongoing litigation involved. ... But you can have whatever's left.

Here is your word: -u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u--u--. Spell it now!

Hmmm. I'd like to buy an H

You cannot buy an H. An H is not even a vowel!

Oh yeah? Then how come you say something is an honor instead of a honor? Why do you call someone an heir or an heiress and not a heiress. The article an goes before a vowel!

You are doomed, and a fool as well. H is a consonant. In this case it's silent so the an to which you refer applies to the second letter in the word: O

Oh.

But you may have your H. You'll never spell the word anyway. Here is your word: hu-uhu-u-u-u-u-u--u--.

I'd like a lifeline, please.

A lifeline? There are no lifelines!

I'd like to poll the audience.

Poll ...? Fine, whatever. Audience?

I don't know and I don't care, bonehead. That freak dumped some smelly old beans on me!

Humuhumunukunukuapuaa. It's spelled h-u-m-u-h-u-m-u-n-u-k-u-n-u-k-u-a-p-u-a-a. It's a fish. It can be used as a weapon.

What, are you on drugs? ... I'd like to solve the puzzle.

Puzzle?

What is hunka hunka burnin love?

I don't understand you. He was right. He spelled it right!

Final answer!

Fine. You are the weakest link. Off to hell with you, though I'm not sure I even want you in my hell.

Hold on there, Old Donovan!

Now what?

I believe this man just asked you a question. And I didn't hear any answer. According to the Troll Bridge Commission bylaws, if he asks you a question, you have to answer it. Otherwise, he gets to go to Parallel Time.

Yeah! What he said!

Question? I answered his question. The H is silent.

What is hunka hunka burnin love?

I have no idea.

Then it looks like the wrong person may be going to hell. Let me recite for you Chapter 6, Section 4, Paragraph 3 of the bylaws of the Troll Bridge Commission, from memory: "Herein be it resolved that the aforementioned Bridge Troll, henceforth to be known as the party of the second part ..."

Stop! Stop or you all go to hell right now!

What's it gonna be Donovan?

Damn you all! ... All right. This one may pass to Parallel Time. The party of the first part shall wait for me in the second stall. ... These two still have more questions to answer.

I'd like Door No. 1, please.

Incomprehensible, outlandish and, dare I say, boring

Incomprehensible, outlandish and, dare I say, boring.

The events I have related are quite true, Marge.

Henceforth you shall address me as Mrs. Engram! I do not know any of you ... people.

But, surely you remember me. You banished me from my home and had me hunted in the woods like an animal. You used to call me "toad."

I certainly see the resemblance, sir, but I assure you we have never met. And I wish the pleasure had been indefinitely postponed.

Oh, a Dickens reference. Touche!

Apparently you have some breeding ... be it amphibian or otherwise.

See here M-M-Mrs. Engram. The fact remains that an alternate timeline has been created and it must be mended if we are to return to our own times.

So I am to believe that you three people traveled through time and attempted to murder me in Japan one hundred and forty-five years ago? I am further to believe that you failed in your task, creating an alternate timeline in the process, then traveled through time again for no other reason but to bore me with the details of your misadventures?

Actually, after we failed to kill you in Japan -- twice actually, with my father's unsuccessful attempt being the first --- we traveled through time to kill you again here outside of your chalet by means of a directed rockslide. Only to have failed again, or so said the crows. So we traveled through time again to this point in history to again to try to kill you.

How considerate ... and if this story continues much further I fear you may succeed.

But, you see, we could not kill you this time because you are no longer you. You were not where you should have been at the appointed time. You are not the demon Marge, you are simply a somewhat disagreeable demonic persona with an unuually long lifespan.

How kind of you to notice, young man. And you were the polar bear cub you say I detested?

Yes, ma'am.

No small wonder. ... At any rate, this circus act of yours has ceased to amuse me me and I am no longer in the mood to humor you. You must leave my chalet at once or I shall have my menservants, who I assure you are very much alive, show you the way out.

Perhaps, then, Mrs. Engram, there is someone you will believe. ... Karl, Truman ... please come in.

Malik! Mr. Abbas! Come here at once!

Hmmm. I reckon them two Turkish fellers ain't a-comin, Marge. Mmmm.

Karl here accidentally buried them under a pile of rocks, I'm afraid.

You! You were present when my dear brother Ronan disappeared amid that rock slide in Japan when I was just a girl!

I reckon that was quite a whiles back. Mm hmmm. I had some french fried potaters that day. Hmmmm.

One hundred and forty five years ago, to be exact.

You murdered my brother!

More like we kept you from eating the little bastard. At any rate, little Ronan isn't dead. He was taken away to Limbo by Saint Michael and, according to the crows -- burp! -- he's at the North Pole in 2009 babysitting Santa Claus, alive as you or me.

Mmm hmm. He alive and with Santy Claus. Mmm. Them menservant fellers a yours, they's dead, tho. Mmmm.

If my litter has been damaged in any way, you shall pay dearly. ... What do you want from me?

Do you know a fellow named Old Donovan?

That's important ... isn't it?

We're back, ladies and gentlemen. Thanks for tuning in. Red Devil here broadcasting from our newest hell portal at 6th and Linden where we are about to witness the final battle between good and evil. Helldog, what do you think of this beautiful facility?

It's just gorgeous, Red Devil. We're sharing the place with the federal prosecutors now and those guys are lots of fun.

Didn't there used to be a newspaper here somewhere?

Yes. There still is in a corner over by the printing presses. Actually, see those two guys down the hall looking out the window? I think they're in charge.

Hey fellas. I'm not one to tell another guy how to run his business, but the final battle between good and evil is about to take place right across the street. Shouldn't you be covering it?

Are we covering this, Mike?

Ah, we're gonna catch up with it tomorrow, Dave.

Well, jeez Mike, I don't know. ... The final battle between good and evil. I mean, that's important ... isn't it?

Big news day, Dave. I can't spare anybody today to cover it. We're swamped. Besides, nobody cares about Marge anymore.

What's Manny doing?

Dumpster fire in Moore Township.

Is that a big deal?

They saved some puppies. We have video.

Puppy video? Cool. Where is Moore Township anyway?

Who cares? We have puppy video!

What about Callaway, does he still work here?

Special assignment. ... Remember the kid who rented a horse and carriage to take his girlfriend to the prom?

Who could forget that? Compelling stuff. Just compelling.

Well, it's the three-month anniversary of that story. We're doing a retrospective.

Enough said. What about Hartzell?

No can do. They're filling some potholes on 22. We have video.

Pothole video. ... Sweet! Can we borrow somebody from sports?

Can't do it. They're following that IronPigs dog that got lost a few months ago. We got a tip he might run away again. He's wearing a collar cam.

An investigative piece! Great. ... Howabout an intern? I think we ought to get something on this final battle thing. I think Chicago gave us another three inches in the news section tonight.

Hmm. I'll see if I can shake somebody loose. Let me get on the horn to the newsroom. ... Who's got three inches for me tonight? I need three inches for my news hole! ... What? Your kidding! ... This is great stuff! ... Dave, forget the final battle between good and evil. We have real, actual breaking news!

Seriously?

It's the deep-fried pizza guy! You will not believe what he's frying now!

Puppies? ... Heart medicine? .... What?!?

Fried pizza! He's gonna fry pizza that's already been fried! Can you believe it? He's a freakin' genius!

Ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod!! Where does he come up with this stuff??? Let's get a chopper in the air!

We gotta Tweet this now! ... And somebody get me some video!!

Wow! So this is New Media.

If it's on some blog, I reckon it must be true

Truman! Where have you been?


I've been snooping around. Listen, we've got trouble.

Of course we've got trouble. We've been waiting here above Marge's chalet for days, yet there is no sign of her.

That's only part of the trouble. ... Remember the previous attempt we made on Marge's life right here? The rockslide that killed her two menservants?

No.

Precisely! None of us do.

But the crows assured us that we did make the attempt, but failed, and that we are here now to re-set the course of history.

So where's Marge?


Mmm. I reckon she down in that house a yonder. Hmmm.

But she was supposed to be out and about in her litter days ago when we were to drop these rocks upon her. How is it possible that something that happened once would not happen again when we revisit that moment in history?

Because it's the wrong history.

The wrong history? Explain yourself.

Remember when we went to Japan in 1868 to kill Marge?

Yes, unfortunately.

I reckon we sorta messed that up. Mmm.

If my memory serves me correctly, I believe it was Truman who prevented me from killing the demon.

Whatever. Just listen, OK? The first time we tried to dump the rocks on Marge in Japan, she got stuck in a cave with Ronan and ate him. Her life as a full-blown demon began right there. Before that she was just a demonic creature. When the crows took us back the second time ...

... according to the crows. I don't recall the first attempt.

Because you weren't born yet.

... Ronan was trapped in the cave with Karl, not Marge.

I reckon I was gonna eat that boy at the time, tho that boy never hurt nobody. Mmmm. Then that St. Michael feller come in an give me some french fried potaters. Hmmm.

It's true. St. Michael intervened. And when we rescued Karl from the cave he was alone, eating potatoes.

Exactly! St. Michael took young Ronan away. Marge never ate him. She's not a demon now, she's just a big, old, evil jerk.

And she got bad breath. Mmmm. So I reckon our work here is done.

Wrong! We didn't kill Marge and take her away from history. We changed Marge. We didn't change history, we killed history and created an alternate timeline!

Preposterous!

I wish it were. The crows wrote about it on their own blog.

So, the crows plan to kill us?

Oh my goodness. I feel feint.

If it's on some blog, I reckon it must be true.

So what shall we do?

Ever hear the expression "eat crow"? Well, I've had one already. Tasty.

I reckon we'll eat up some a them crows and then go have a talk with Marge.

Spell humuhumunukunukuapuaa or you will die

In an abandoned comfort station buried deep beneath the burning ruins of Renaissance Square a group of brave travelers confronts Old Donovan, the protector of the last remaining conduit to Parallel Time. Two of their number have failed the test and paid with their eternal souls.

It's starting to get lonely around here. ... Your turn, little angel.

I'm not afraid of you!

Well, you should be. ... Spell humuhumunukunukuapuaa.

Etymology?

Hawaiian.

Function?

Noun.

Definition?

It's a fish.

Use in a sentence.

Certainly. Spell humuhumunukunukuapuaa or you will die.

No, I don't want to.

Then I send you to hell!

You can't send me to hell! I'm an angel. Ha ha.

Then I shall send you to ... Macungie!

Nooooo! POOF!



Your turn!

Gulp!

Same question. ... Spell humuhumunukunukuapuaa.

Um ... I'd like to buy a vowel?

Congratulations! You're going to hell

Who else wishes to go to hell?

I'll answer your damn questions!

Very well. At a company fish fry, half the people in attendance are employees. Employees' spouses are one-third of the attendance. What is the percentage of people in attendance who are neither employees nor employee spouses?

When have you ever been to a damn fish fry?

Answer the question.

That's 16.7 percent, Skelator.

Amazingly, you are correct. ... Now the seond question. ... What is the Farenheit equivalent of zero degrees Kelvin?

Negative 459.67 Farenheit ... chump.

You are clever, but your third question will have to wait. Next up, the little reindeer.

Damn!

I'm ready!

If two of Santa's sleighs leave the North Pole 1 p.m., how many miles apart will they be at 3 p.m. if one travels directly north at 150 mph and the other travels directly west at 200 mph?

Santa only has one sleigh!


No, he has two! Remember? He has the battle sleigh!


The battlesleigh was destroyed by Gabriel. Remember?

Oh, right.

It is a hypothetical question. Just answer it!

Based on a false premise! Besides, Santa always starts his journey at midnight, not 1 p.m.

But there is no one time zone at the North Pole because all of the time zones meet there, theoretically. So somewhere in the world it would be 1 p.m. and for that country it also would be 1 p.m. at the North Pole.

You're not helping.

Answer the question now!

Fine. You can't travel north from the North Pole! Ha!

The Troll Bridge Commission accepts your answer. Next question. Socrates was a follower of Plato. True or false.

False! Plato was a follower of Socrates and Aristotle was a follower of Plato!

There goes my next question.

Heck! I would have gotten that.

Final question. Finish this sentence: On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me ...

Oh, God. I hate that song ....

Answer the question.

I'd like a life line.

A lifeline? There are no life lines.

Hmmm. It's either pipers piping or swans a swimming. ...

Pssst. Ahhh-chooooswans!

Um ... I'm going to go with swans a swimming

Is that your final answer?

Final answer!

Congratulations! You're going to hell.

Crap! POOF !

Who's next?

You have sealed your own doom

Who dares to approach this comfort station?

We are weary travelers, on our way to Parallel Time.

Travel to Parallel Time is forbidden. Turn away now or suffer eternal damnation!

We want to answer the questions.

What do you know of the questions? There will be no questions. Be gone!

In the name of the Troll Bridge Commission, we demand to answer the questions.

You dare to evoke the name of the Troll Bridge Commission to me?

You have to ask us the questions.

You have sealed your own doom, then. Who among you will answer the questions?

I will.

And me!

I'll answer your damn questions, bonehead.

As shall I.

Me too!

Um, I never actually finished my lunch ...

Don't be afraid. Your guardian angel is here to look after you.

Oh God.

We'll all answer the questions.

Then I'll start with the statue. ... I will ask you three questions. If you answer incorrectly you will be banished to hell for all eternity.If you answer all three correctly, you will be allowed to pass into Parallel Time. ... What is the capital of Albania?

Tirana.

What are the country's borders?

Wait!

Fear not, son. Geography is my passion. Albania's borders are Greece, the Adriatic Sea, the Ionian Sea and, of course, the Kingdom of Yugoslavia, previously known as the

Kingdom of Serbs, Croats and Slovenes.

No, Trexler. The countries have changed. ...

They have changed indeed. Albania is bordered by Greece to the southeast, Montenegro to the north, Kosovo to the northeast, and Macedonia to the east. It has coasts on the Adriatic and Ionian seas. Have fun in hell. You are the weakest link.

Drat. POOF!

No! Gen. Trexler!

Um ... weren't you also his guardian angel?

You're Saint Onslo?

The Player is doing much better. I believe he is fit for travel. ... Quite a contraption this hyperbaric chamber of yours.

It ain't mine, it's Marge's! She used to sleep in the damn things.

OK, men, let's hit the tunnels. Lead the way, Liker. And no funny business!

And how, exactly, do you define funny business? Would I tell a joke or maybe wear a stupid hat and nose?

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

I'll show you what it means, jackass!

Easy! ... Save your hostility for Old Donovan. You're going to need it. And Newman, too.

Which one should we save our hostility for, Old Donovan or Newman? Should we save some of our hostility for Old Donovan and some for Newman, or should some of us save all of our hostility for Old Donovan and the rest of us save all of our hostility for Newman?

Perhaps we should first save all of our hostility for Old Donovan and then work up a fresh round of hostility for Newman.

I like that! Although I'm not very hostile.

And what about Saint Onslo? Should, maybe, one of us save half their hostility for him -- or maybe all of us save, say, 10 percent?

OK, stop! Forget the hostility. Let's just find Onslo so he can lead us to Old Donovan and he can lead us to Parallel Time where we will stop Newman.

Should all of us forget all of our hostility, or ...

That's enough! This is torture!

Torture? Oh, well that just takes the prize, doesn't it?

Onslo! We've been looking for you.

Saint Onlslo, patron saint of the urban underground, at your service.

You're Saint Onslo?

He looks like a damn bum!

Oh, nice.

I'm sorry, but you've been downgraded. You're no longer a saint.

Downgraded? By who?

By Jesus.

By Jesus? Just who does he think he is anyway?

Why, he's Jesus! You know, The Almighty.

Well I never voted for him. ... Since when is Jesus in charge of saints?

Since forever and ever?

Listen here, Mr. Onslo. Do you know where we can find someone called Old Donovan?

Well, since I've been downgraded -- without so much as the courtesy of a phone call I might add -- maybe you should get some official saint to help you. Some sainted card-carrying member of the Jesus party. ... Downgraded? That's bloody perfect, isn't it?

Maybe you could appeal?

Appeal? Like some of them wretched old Irish saints that the pointy-hatted Roman bishops swept out the door? I don't think so.

I hate to interrupt, but we need to locate Old Donovan as soon as possible. The fate of heaven is in our hands!

The fate of heaven? Oh, that just takes the cake, doesn't it? What, God's afraid he might get downgraded? ... And what would you want with Old Donovan anyways? Nasty piece of work, that one. He'll chew you up and spit you out, he will.

Damn! Jesus said he'd eat me alive!

That would suck -- not!

Down, Rufus! Why don't you go chew on some of them damn bones?

Enough! Will you help us find Donovan or not? ... I could always torture you.

You're torturing me now, mate. Don't make me lose me patience ....

Oh, please help us Saint Onslo! Pleeeease?

Well, since you asked me nicely. Perhaps I can help. ... For a price. How much money ya got then?

I'm said to have millions, but being a statue ... I find myself a bit short.

I don't have any damn money. I'm dead. Jesus wouldn't even let me in the Diamond Club.

I'm afraid angels don't have any worldly possessions.

I don't have any pockets.

Don't look at me! I'm college student.

Pathetic. Look, I have 45 bucks. That's it.

That's a start. That's a nice ring. Hand it over. And the watch, too.

My secret decoder ring and my two-way wristwatch? Wouldn't it be easier to just torture him?

Just hand it over, Dick Tracy.

Pleasure doing business with you gents! Now where were we ... ah Old Donovan. Why anybody would want to find that old troll is beyond me ...

So you know this Old Donovan? Why do you call him a troll?

Technically speaking, he's not a troll, but he does guard the passage to Parallel Time. And I think he's registered with the Troll Bridge Commission as well. ...

You know anbout Parallel Time? Does everyone know about Parallel Time but me?

I may be downgraded but there's not much goes on down here in the underground I don't know about. ... So Old Donovan guards the passage and he doesn't want anyone to cross it. He'd as soon kill ya as look at ya.

So how do we defeat him?

Ya can't defeat him, chum. He's been guardin that passage for ages. What ya do is ... outsmart him. You see, he'll challenge you when you reach the passage. He'll tell you to go away or he'll kill ya. But you tell him you plan to cross over to Parallel Time. Then he'll have to ask you some questions -- those are the rules of the Troll Bridge Commission -- if you get a question wrong, he'll send ya straight to hell. But if ya get three questions right, he'll have to let you pass.

Does anyone ever get three questions right?

Never. ... Never, that is, until last week. This sea monster lady from Monaco came through here and answered the three questions and popped straight through without a hitch.

So there's hope! Oh, thank you so much Saint Onslo! I will tell Jesus myself how you helped us and ask that you be reinstated.

You do that. And tell him I wouldn't mind bein able to fly either. ... And I'd like some decent tea.

One last thing, Onslo. How do we find Old Donovan?

Simple. Just follow the green signs with the arrows that say Parallel Time.

Just follow the signs?

Sorry. I guess I never noticed the signs.

You owe me a decoder ring. ... Get moving. And no monkey business!

Honey! I'm hoooome!

Helldog here .... I don't know if you're picking this up, but I have a confirmed Marge sighting moving north on S. Fifth Street, crossing Union.

I don't see her yet here at Ninth and Hamilton, but I can hear her. She seems to be taunting St. Michael the Archangel, who is still hiding out inside the closed-down Daro's Extreme Fitness.

Honey! I'm hoooome! Yooo hooo!

She seems to be carrying something.... OK, it's two armloads of buses. I assume she got them from Bicentennial Park because she also appears to have the foul pole.... The left field foul pole I believe.

Still no sign of her dance partner.... He must be doing some curls. He's been a little outta sorts since getting that shot of steroids. ... OK. I see Marge now. Here she comes.

Oh Michael, come out! Don't be shy, my dear. Come and visit with Marge. Oh my! What have we here?



Ladies and gentlemen, Marge has stopped at the lifeless body of her brother Ronan, slain earlier by St. Michael after Ronan was attacked by the Trexler statue. She's talking to him.

Poor baby brother. As our dear mother used to say, it's all fun and games until someone loses an eye, or eyes as it were.

Still no sign of Michael, but the Irish Tenor has gone over to Daro's to see what's going on.

Ah! It's himself. Marge is waitin, lad. Michael, what are ye doin hiding in Daro's?

Do my arms look bigger to you? I don't trust this mirror; it makes me look skinny.

Begorrah, lad. Marge is destroyin' the city and she's comin' for ye. Ye got to get out there and put her in her place!

My pecs are definitely popping. Wouldn't you say?

Lad, I don't even know what that is.

I could use some protein. ... I wonder where The Player keeps those protein bars of his?

Ah! There you are. If you need protein why not eat your little Leprechaun friend here? If you don't, I will, though I do find Irish cuisine to be somewhat bland.

Begorrah! Help me lad. She's got me in her clutches!

Enough already! You're giving me a headache. I don't have time for this; I gotta get a workout in.

Helldog here.... I'm outside of Daro's Extreme Fitness. Marge has taken one of our broadcasters, the Irish Tenor, and is about to eat him! Strangely, St. Michael appears disinterested.

Jeez would you people shut the hell up??? I'm starting to get really pissed off.

Red Devil here.... Tenor, can you hear me?

Aye, lad, I can indeed.

I detect a bit of 'roid rage in your pal, there. Your best bet might be to piss him off.

Aye. ... Oh Michael, now that ye mention it ... I don't think it's the mirror. I think yer arms seem a wee frail. ...

What?

... and them pecs of yours ... are a bit ... poofy.

Poofy????

And, if I may, Saint Poofypecs, you appear to be a bit loose in the loin cloth. Do you even have testicles? Perhaps you would like to borrow one of my frocks.

Helldog here.... Um, I think Marge just pissed off St. Michael. He's about as red as I am right now. ... Wait a second ... she just swallowed the Irish Tenor!

Saints preserve us!

Saint Poofypecs? ... You no-good, lousy-rotten demon! I got your poofypecs right here, Marge. Feel the bite of my terrible swift sword!

Promises, promises.... Ouch! Oh my. ...That does sting somewhat, actually.

Oh my, indeed! With one swift thrust of his sword, Michael has just eviscerated Marge.... I'm not sure she even saw it coming.

How's that for poofy pecs, Marge?

Hellcat, I believe I just saw a red, gooey mass fall from Marge's gut. Would those be her entrails, or liver, perhaps?

I can't tell .... Wait. I think it's the Irish Tenor. ... Yes it is. It's the Irish Tenor, Devil.

Jaysus, Mary and Joseph. Saints be praised!

Folks, I think Michael's about to finish her off. ... No, wait. He's going back inside the gym. ...

It must be this mirror. ... My pecs really aren't poofy are they?

Uh-oh. He's letting her get away. Marge has jammed shut the door to the gym with the foul pole foul and is on the move. She's heading your way, Devil.

Uh-oh? Did you say "uh-oh"? You and me hafta talk, Helldog.

Sorry, Devil. I just got caught up in the moment. ... Can you see Marge?

She just passed me at Ninth and Hamilton. She's dropped a couple of buses and she's holding her gut ... that wound looks like the one that did Ronan in. ... She just disappeared behind the Soldiers and Sailors Monument. Maybe you can fly over toward Sixth Street, Helldog, and pick her up there.

On it, Devil. .... Got her. ... She's on Sixth Steet. She's losing a lot of blood, but she's pulling the steel beams out of the Cosmopolitan construction site. Unless I've missed my mark It looks like the final battle between good and evil will be fought at Sixth and Linden.

Something is wrong

How goes the Mission to Marge?

Something is wrong.

Time has been altered.

An alternate timeline?

Perhaps.


And the humans?

There they sit, in Turkey, 13 1/2 months in the past, but which past?

Marge has not appeared?

She has not. ... The previous attempt was flawed.

The archangel intervened.

The Hound of Chulainn was not eaten; he was spirited away. He lives on, at the North Pole.

The beginning of an alternate timeline? Are we trapped?

Perhaps. You ask a lot of questions.

If so, these humans must never be allowed to return to their time, if it exists. Caw!

How I wish those crows would stop their incessant chattering. They sound like a treeful of magpies.

Maybe they's hungry. I could sure could use me some a them french fried potaters. Hmmm.

I'm hungry, too, father. And cold. Marge should have been here days ago.

We are all hungry, my son. Apparently we must wait a bit longer for Marge to appear. Has anyone seen Truman? ... I can't help but feel that something is wrong.

Should we kill them now and be done with it?

Caw!

Is that a screwdriver in your pocket?

Tell me what you want now or the angel gets it.

We're not here to hurt you. As a token of good faith I'm going to unplug the power drill that I intend to use shortly on your kneecap. See? It's unplugged.

It's cordless.

Be that as it may. Now I need a token of your good faith. Put down the ring bologna, let the angel go and come down here and let me torture you.

Eww! He smooshed the ring bologna in my hair!

Quiet, Bubbles! You all have five seconds to clear out of my basement or I throw down the fish and chips. And take that Player bum with you!

Have some compassion, sir. We have an injured man down here. He's covered in fuzzy black beans and he's going into shock.

Did you know he tried to microwave one of my cats?

Nice ...

Everything ... is ... getting ... dark. I see a tunnel. At the end of the tunnel is ... Steve Young? ... Throw me the damn ball, a-hole!

He's delirious!

Listen here, Mr. Liker. The rancid contents of your refrigerator will have little effect on me. This violence is not necessary. We just want to know how to contact Old Donovan. He's supposed to be down in these tunnels somewhere in some sort of comfort station.

Well you took a wrong turn, Trexler. I don't know any Old Donovan.

Donovan? Donovan ... my friend ... is ... it ... really ... you? Throw me the damn ball! Don't get sick, Donovan. Throw me the damn ball!

He's doing sit-ups! He needs help!

Listen, I don't even use those tunnels, except maybe to go the the Brew Works. ... But there may be a guy ... I met a crazy vagrant down there a couple of times. He said he lives in the tunnels. He thinks he's a saint. He calls himself Onslo. Maybe he can help you.

St. Onslo? There used to be a St. Onslo. He was the patron saint of the urban underground. ... But he was downgraded.

Where do we find this Onslo?

I usually see him hanging around beneath the Hotel Grand or under the Hofbrau House.

Perhaps you could show us the way?

First tell Agent 86 here to put the drill back in its box. And lose the screwdriver, too.

What about the Player?

Toss him in that hyperbaric chamber with some extra strength Dawn. That'll take care of anything. ... Better set it for delicate.

Jeff Garcia? If it smell like a rat, it ... must ... be ... a ... rat.

You wouldn't have really used that ring bologna on me would you?

Nah. I was planning to eat it. ... Hey, is that a screwdriver in your pocket?

Maybe.

This man is a monster

Hmmm. Let's see what's in the fridge. ... What is that ... turkey? Sniff. Pretty slippery, but not too bad. ... Ah, cream cheese. Scrape that green crap off the outside of it and it'll be just fine. ... Beans? Eww! Those are pretty fuzzy ... better put them back. Hmmm. Is that sauerkraut? Cripes, it's moving! ... Jelly! That doesn't go bad, does it? ... Applesauce ... hmm ... oh my, not in this lifetime. ... I wonder if I shouldn't move the fridge into the temporal rift in the secret room. ... Probably no electricity in 1868, though. ... Hmmm. turkey, cream cheese and strawberry jelly. I think I have some Wonder bread left over from Christmas, or Labor Day. That doesn't ever go bad. ... Bingo! Find me one of those old Hess's bricks to put on top of the George Foreman grill and ... BAM! ... An Elena Ruz sammich! ... Whoa! What the hell! ... I think somebody's in the basement. Or something! All of Marge's crap is still down there. ...


I think I heard a voice upstairs!

What the hell! I know this place! This is Marge's crap. Those are her hyperbaric chambers. And those are her polar bear rugs ... the damn cats threw up all over them & picked out their eyes. And there's her dentist chair! Damn! This is Atown-Liker's basement.

Who the hell is down there? I've got a sword and the makings of an Elena Ruz sammich and I know how to use them!

He sounds violent.

I know how to handle this. Sir, we are not here to harm you. I just want you to put down the sword, and the jelly jar, and slowly walk down into the basement to be tortured.

Um ... no?

Hmm. He's clever. This is going to be harder than I thought. Rudolph, give me the explosives.

Explosives? You never mentioned explosives. I'm not sure we even have any in Santa's workshop.

Hang on, James Bond. I know this guy. He's my friend. I think he owes me some damn money as a matter of fact. Hey, Atown! It's the Player.

You? Get out of my basement, you self-serving bastard!

And he's your friend? ... All right, listen Mr. Liker. Here's how it's going to work. I'm going to come up the steps. You're going to put down your weapons. And I'm going to hold this screwdriver against your eye until you give me the whereabouts of Old Donovan.

Who is Old Donovan?

Wrong answer, Mr. Liker. Now I will be forced to put out your eye with the screwdriver and hold this hammer drill to your kneecap. ...

This fellow's got some nice tools down here....

Down! Down! Everyone take cover! He's attacking! ... Incoming!!

I'm hit! Oh Lord, I'm hit! Damn!


Oh good heavens! Those are the moldiest beans I have ever seen.

It stinks! It stinks! Medic!

Back off! I've got leftover fish and chips from Lord Wellington's Gate and, God help me, I'll use them! Do you know how long that place has been closed?

Oh my God. The nuclear option. We need more firepower.

Wait. Let me talk to him. ... Mr. Liker? Remember me? I'm your guardian angel.

You? I'd rather talk the psycho with the power tools!

It's true that perhaps I was not paying attention when your life took a turn for the worse. And it may have been true when St. Michael said everything I touch turns to poo, but I've turned over a new leaf. Just ask Gen. Trexler.

It's true, sir. She was my guardian angel as well. And although she was apparently preoccupied tinkering with a lute at the time of my demise -- and, really, if I might, she had plenty of time to see that truck coming -- she has recently been a positive force on my existence, such as it is.

And the Player has turned over a new leaf as well. Although he ran away when his friends turned against Marge, he did save me from being waterboarded by Ronan.

OK. You can come up to negotiate. But just you. Anybody down there moves and she gets it.

Oh my gosh. He's holding a ring bologna to her throat!

That's leftover from the 2006 primary election. This man is a monster.


I ... can't ... smell ... my ... cologne.

What ... the ... hell?

Rudolph, it's too dark in here.

Sorry. I can't make my nose any brighter.

OK, Player, put your nose back on.

Hell! First you want it off, then you want it on. Make up your damn mind. Doesn't the Man from U.N.C.L.E have a damn flashlight?

You wanted in on this mission. Light her up.

Hell! What's with all these damn bones? Jesus didn't anything about a bunch a damn bones!

These are Allentown's catacombs.

I don't recall any such catacombs in my time.

This is where your enemies are buried, General.

Ah! Well that would make some sense, then.

Quiet. Look up ahead. Is that a door?

It's a metal panel.

Pry it open, General.

Ooooh! Are those some sort of machines in there?

Look at that polar bear rug! Now that's a damn magnificent animal. I wish I could have killed it myself.

What ... the ... hell?

Donovan will eat you alive. Literally

Sir, how do we find this Old Donovan?

The crows will show you the way.

Caw! The crows have no use for Old Donovan.


Caw. Old Donovan is our enemy! Caw!

He's actually right this time. Caw. The crows and Old Donovan are ancient enemies. We will not take you to him.

Dudes, chill. Just take them back to Allentown, then.

But Allentown is fraught with danger. The city lies in smoldering ruin as angels and demons battle in its streets.


Has anyone seen "Angels and Demons" yet? I love Tom Hanks.

You know, it's not half-bad. Better than the last one. I don't know why the pope has his nose out of joint over it. ... He's been a bit of a disappointment.

Tom Hanks is our enemy! Caw!

Shush! ... The crows believe that using an anti-matter bomb as such a key element of the plot was far-fetched to say the least ...

The crows shall launch their own anti-matter bomb against the Vatican! Caw!

Shush! Why don't you go outside and play with the polar bears? Caw!

Enough. We must find this Old Donovan and torture him!

Not likely, dude. Chances are you won't even survive the encounter. ... Here's the deal. The crows will take you as far as Allentown -- and that's an order, dudes -- and you'll have to find the cavern that runs under Hamilton Street. Beneath 7th and Hamilton, you will find an abandoned comfort station. Donovan is the rest room attendant. He'll tell you what to do.

I never saw any damn tunnel under Hamilton Street. How are we supposed to find that? Hell, thanks to damn ol' Marge, Hamilton street's a damn war zone.

If I may interrupt, Oh Lord, I have some small knowledge of the underground areas around Hamilton Street. There was some talk of creating those rest stations in my time.

But how do we get access?

Well, the place was pretty torn up after the Spanish Armada attacked. There's probably some good spots to get in. The Countess of Monaco got in from under the Butz building after it was destroyed.

That old bat's still alive? She's got more lives than a damn cat. Hell, she looks like a damn cat.

Dude, you may want to lose the hat and the nose. Donovan will eat you alive. Literally.

About time!

Hell! Who wants to look like you anyway, Rufus?

Whoa! "Desperate Housewives" is coming on. I'm out, dudes. Good luck. POOF!

OK. Angel, general -- you're with me.

I could help you find your way though the tunnels.

OK, Rudolph. You're in.

Whoa! Hold it right there. I got a red nose, too. You ain't leavin me here alone with Santa. He's a damn psycho. ... Plus one of those guys in Parallel Time looks just like me, but not as handsome. I could be unobtrusive.


He's right Mr. Bauer, Parallel Atown-Liker's right-hand man looks just like the Player. Plus, Jesus poofed little Ronan over to help with Santa. He took over for me when I was promoted from wiping the Cherubim's asses. He's quite reliable. And nothing like his grownup counterpart from Parallel Time.

I agree with Bubbles. I did some time with him in Limbo. He's a good little dude. Let me come Bauer.

OK, fine. You're in. Remember our objective is to get Newman. Everything else is secondary.

Remember the Maine! Get Newman!

Get damn Newman!

Get Newman, and his little dog, too!

What's all this damn racket! Who the hell are you people? ... Don't you touch me, you little bastard!

Yes, sir.

Get me some vodka you little twerp!

Yes sir.

I think Santa's going to be just fine.

Crows, it's time.


Caw!


Who told you we had an anti-matter weapon?

Caw!

Heaven will suck now

So, what's the connection between a dead actor in non-Parallel Time and president's dog Ponzi in Parallel Time?

The crows do not know this. But we do know that the dog ate 50 billion dollars and we do know that Jesus made Paul Newman the Lord of Parallel Time.


Then we have to go to Parallel time and torture Paul Newman.

Hell yeah! I'll torture that Newman my damn self. Jesus was my pal till Newman came around, then suddenly they hangin out watching all those damn movies and sharing those damn chips. The Player doesn't eat any damn chips! Cool Hand Luke can kiss my ass!

Caw! It is impossible. Lord Newman has imposed celestial lockdown. Not even the crows can travel to Parallel Time.

If I may interject, gentlemen. I may not know about such things as Parallel Time, but I do know about money. Am I to assume that 50 billion dollars is a substantial sum in this time?

Hell yeah, tin man. The Player's not even worth more than 30 billion.

Then that gentlemen is your connection. I dare say that money was not eaten at all, but hidden away. I believe this Ponzi of yours is acting in concert with Lord Newman. Ponzi is his pet! This man doesn't just want to be God, he wants to have more money than God.

Ponzi is more than his pet! Ponzi is his lover! Caw! Caw!

Stop! Seriously, you need to knock it off or we're not going to bring you with us any more. ... The metallic one is wise. I regret pooping upon him.

Poop!

Angel, how do we contact Jesus?

Easy! He's one of my Five Favorites, so it's a free call! ... It's ringing.

Um, hello?

Hi, Jesus. It's me, the little angel. You're on speaker.

Oh, hi. You were doing something with a statue, right? How did that work out?


Gen. Trexler attacked the Spanish Armada and fell into the water and then he helped capture Gabriel and then we ended up at the North Pole and Gabriel was eaten by a polar bear....


OK, cool. See ya later ....




Jesus, wait! We need to tell you about Lord Newman. ... Mr. Bauer, he doesn't sound like himself.

Jesus? Sir, my name is Jack Bauer and it is very important that I talk to you. What are you doing right now?


Jack Bauer? Cool. I'm just chillin' dude. Having some tortilla chips ... Newman's Own. Really excellent.


Sir, it is crucial that you do exactly as I say. Slowly, put down the bag and step away from the chips. I believe they have been drugged. Have one of the seraphim take them down to the lab.


The seraphim? Oh, there all gone. ... And so's the lab for that matter. Mr. Newman said I should lay them off.


You laid off the seraphim? Are you nuts? How could you? They are your last line of defense! Heaven will suck now.


Mr. Newman said we didn't need them and he never liked the whole "holy, holy, holy" thing. He said it gave him a headache.


Sir, who is with you right now?


It's just me and the Holy Ghost. ... A very creepy dude.

Please put him on the phone, sir. ... Hello, Mr. Ghost? It's imperative that you destroy all of the Newman's Own chips.

Um, sure, OK.

Jesus! Hey it's me, The Player! Drink one a my protein shakes. That'll kick the ass of them damn Newman chips.

Player ... buddy! How's it going, dude?

Jesus? ... Listen carefully. Your entire network has been compromised, starting with Gabriel, and Paul Newman has taken control of Parallel Time. It is imperative that we travel there to stop him, but he has engaged the the celestial lockdown protocols. Can you help us?

It is impossible! Caw!

No, wait. There is a way. ... Old Donovan.

Caw!

Ya gotta love those guys

I'm getting word from Earl F. Hunsicker Bicentennial Park that Marge has collected a fresh batch of LANTA buses from left field and is on her way downtown to continue her brawl with St. Michael. It may take a while, because, I'm told, she tipped over the Alburtus L. Meyers Bridge on her way over to the South Side. Just for fun! Man, I hope she wins this fight.
.
Michael, meanwhile, is rumaging around inside the former Daro's Extreme Fitness III, looking for some barbells and a mirror. Ever since he took that shot of steroids from Atown-Liker he's had this sense of crazed narcissistic caged animal about him. ... Maybe I was wrong about the guy, but I doubt it.
.
I don't think there much left in there, though, after they cleaned it out. Daro's, you may remember, was the gym that in its last few weeks of operation ran coupons in the Clipper magazine offering 1 year memberships for just $150 before slashing that price to $99. They signed up as many dopes as they could in that last couple a weeks then shamefully skulked out of town on Easter weekend. Easter weekend! Ya gotta love those guys. They're practically legends back where I come from. In fact we have a place of honor all set up for 'em when the time comes. ...
.
Um, where was I? Oh yeah, The Morning Call. Sweet move they pulled over the weekend, am I right? Talk about cutting off your nose to spite your face. ... They cut off their whole freakin head! That's a lotta anguish and pain right there. Gotta hand it to Sam Zell. I mean there's not much more we can do to honor that guy -- he already has a whole wing named after him downstairs and he's a personal friend of the boss. Anyway, since Croc Rock and the Americus are gone we've decided to move our local operations into the Call's building. It's prettymuch empty now and I've still got a couple a buddies there.
.
Anyway, gotta bet back to my post. See ya on the radio.

Lame ass

Wake up and post something!

Leave me alone. I feel like crap. Maybe next week.

Lame ass.

Let us prepare our stones

I reckon this here's the place, hmmm.

How can we be sure?

See them two fellers there with the cart? They was in onea Marge's pitchers. Mmmm hmm.

It's not a cart, it's a litter.

And you's the same feller says things is ironic when they's merely a coincidence. Reckon I'll call it a cart. Mmm hmmm.

Enough. It matters little what you call it. It seems we are at the correct location. The question is not where we are but when we are. Where are those damn crows?

The crows are everywhere, Maximillian A. Bear.

And the crows demand a sacrifice! Caw!


No we don't. Knock it off. ... You are indeed on the ridge above Marge's Turkish vacation chalet. The date is April 16, 2008, three months before Marge will come to Allentown.

So, what should we do?

You must do what you have done before.

But this time don't screw it up! Caw!

But we've never been here before. I know I've never even been to Turkey.

Here here. I have been involved in both attempts to kill Marge, once alone in 1868 in Japan and once last year with these fellows,
which of course was also in Japan in 1868, I suppose, being that they had traveled through time to ensure my success in the first attempt, which as we know also failed, the second attempt being the first attempt, as it were.

Caw!

Do you not recall when Marge wrote on her blog
that she had survived a rock slide in Turkey? ... That was you.



That's preposterous! ... First, that was never Marge's blog. She hijacked it from Atown-Liker. Second, the idea that we came to Turkey 12 months ago to kill Marge is impossible! 12 months ago most of us were in Allentown, in one form or time period or another.

Truman is right. We would remember trying to kill a demon in Turkey, I think.

You do not remember because you have not done it yet.

Hmmmm. I reckon the Green Feller figures thats ironic too. Mmm. ... Wonder if Marge got some Turkish taffee in thar .... hmm.

Or a Turkish bath!

Be on your guard and watch the chalet. Tomorrow will be your day.

No time for frivolities my good fellows. Let us prepare our stones!

It is ironic, isn't it?

Caw! The 'you have not done it yet' part was a paradox. I'm pretty sure the part about preparing the stones was a double entendre.

She loves me, she loves me not

Where are we?

This is the North Pole.

Where is Gabriel?

Gabriel is in the custody of the crows.

Let me go, you filthy creatures!

Shall I puck out his eyes?

No! ... That's my job.

Torturing people is wrong, even if they are recently fallen archangels!

It's OK, Miss; I work for the government.

It's not OK. Let me go immediately or Mr. Newman will have your head!

Newman? What does Newman have to do with this?

Newman? Um, I didn't say anything about Mr. Newman. ... I said you would be a new man.

That's it! Give me his flowers. ... Either you talk or I pluck each and every pedal! ... She loves me ... she loves me not ... She loves me ...

Stop! Stop! My beautiful flowers!

Hey! Who's makin all the damn noise out here? Mr. Claus is trying to sleep!

Santa is alive?

What kinda damn angel school did you go to, girl? Of course he's alive. I just said he was trying to sleep, didn't I?

Santa Claus is alive! I knew the old boy would pull through. Is he badly hurt?

Hurt? He's gonna be hurtin' when he wakes up. He's stone cold drunk, Mr. Talking Statue.

But we saw that angel there shoot him down with a missile of some sort.

The crows intervened, Gen. Trexler. We brought Santa and is reindeer safely home.

Not all of the reindeer.

No. Alas, Prancer could not be saved.

You're supposed to be watchin the old man, Rudolph.

... And I told you to take off that stupid nose! It's offensive.

You aint the boss of me, mutt.

Hey! That angel is the one who killed Prancer! ... Let me at him!

Easy, Rudolph. All in good time. First I want to know about Newman.

Newman? I knew he was no good. He's the reason Jesus kicked me outta heaven. I'd like to get my hands on him!

You? You aren't good enough to lick Mr. Newman's boots. None of you are. When he is through Mr. Newman will control heaven and hell.

You dirty son of a bitch!

Santa!

Watch out -- he's got a gun!

Eat lead, you bastard!

No, Santa! Not like this. We need to torture him!

Gabriel is getting away! I shall pursue him.

No, General. It's too cold for you out there! You'll shatter like glass. I'll find him. He can't get far.

Is it Christmas yet? Where are my elves? Where's my vodka?

Damn. We better get you back to bed, granpa.

Yes, old fellow, get some rest.

Mommy .... zzzzzzz.

Rudolph returns -- alone.

Rudolph, where is Gabriel? Did you torture him? What did he tell you?

Nothing. He was eaten by a polar bear.

No one to torture. We're done, then. Toast. All is lost. Zero, zilch, nada. Newman wins.

Notice how there's always a damn polar bear? ... Hey, I got a picture of Newman and some damn dog I stole from his dresser in heaven. Check it out.

Remarkable. But who is that dog?

Ponzi?

Secret Mission: Returning in 2 weeks

The St. Patrick's Day bassassacre

Alright folks, Red Devil here on Hamilton Street and I'm back after a break in the action in downtown Allentown. We've just witnesses an amazing air and sea battle on the Lehigh River that has led to the demise of both Santa Claus and the Spanish Armada. And now it looks like things are going to get started here again as St. Michael is back on his feet, looking quite fit after a shot of whatever that was in Dodger's syringe.

Irish Tenor here. Aye, Devil, it was an amazing battle on the river, though I must admit I missed a wee bit of it as I nipped in to the Brew Works for a couple a pints of Irish ale.

I thought you were banned from there after the ... incident.

Aye, lad, it's true I was. And begorrah they could never prove nothin'! I had to disguise meself as Michael Donovan to get in the door, I did.

Hey, whatever works for ya. ... Where the heck is Marge, anyway?

She headed over to the South Side, devil. It seems she threw every single bus in center city at St. Michael so she went over to the bicentennial park to get some more. It seems they park them in left field.

A bus garage in left field? Imagine that. The Phillie's could have kept Burrell if they had one of those in Citizen's Bank Park.

Padraig Burrell. Another fine Irishman unfairly set adrift.... Is it me imagination or does Ronan seem a bit ... wee?

Well, while you were eating your cabbage & potatoes or whatever, Cuchulainn had another warp spasm and reverted back to Ronan. He was so weak after he fell on his sword that he lashed himself to that lamp post just to keep from falling over.

We seem to be looking a little green around the gills, today Ronan.

I won't go down without a fight, archangel!

I was hoping you'd say that. Maybe I should untie you first?

I'll die on me feet, I will!

Whatever you say, demon!

Jaysus, Mary and Joseph! St. Michael has run Ronan through with his terrible swift sword! ... Tis a sad day indeed for an Irishman to die on St. Paddy's Day, it is. ... Even if he was an evil demon.

Heck, it's a sad day when any evil demon is killed by an archangel. ... You know, this really isn't the way I expected this to turn out. I feel awful.

Cheer up, lad and be glad you're not an Eagles fan. ... And besides St. Michael is a mighty heavenly warrior. He defeated Satan, you know.

Oh, fine. Throw that in my face. ... I just thought this time would be different ...

... Well, you know, lad, legend has it that Cuchulainn was so feared as a warrior that no one would touch his body until they were sure that he was dead.

How did they know?

According to legend, Cuchulainn wasn't dead until a giant crow landed on his shoulder and plucked out his eyes. And that hasn't happened....

Caw!

Oh, don't even ... Shoo! Shoo!

Caw!

Ah, for cryin out loud!

Down by the river, Part 2

... Yes Mr. Newman, I can be there in a jif.

With whom do you speak, Señor?

Don't worry your little head about it, Sidonia. My work is done here. I'm off!

But Señor, the armada is aflame and adrift. We are defeated.

Blah blah blah. Listen Sidonia, you're, like, 450 years old. You're already dead -- or you will be when St. Michael gets through with you. Anyway, ta-ta!

Dios mio! The angel swims away. ... Pendejo!

Can you move now, Gen. Trexler?

Yes, a little. Thank you.

That's what guardian angels are for!

Um ... you let me die once in a stupid car crash, remember?

Oh, get over it, tin man.

It's Helldog, here, folks. I'm reporting from the ruins of the Hamilton Street Bridge. ... As you know, Gabrielle took out one of Santa's reindeer with a surface-to-air missile and the battle sleigh seems to have crashed into the old Neuweiler brewery. I say seems because it has suddenly gotten quite foggy here on the Lehigh River and the fog, combined with the smoke from this furious battle has obscured my line of sight. There also seems to be a preponderance of crows in the area, perhaps attracted to the plentiful carrion aboard the the Spanish ships, most of which are either sinking or in flames.

Red Devil here, Helldog. Perhaps those crows are attracted to antique cars and trucks? I mean the Lehigh Valley Transportation Museum is right there, isn't it?

It sure is. And let me add, if I might, it is a beautiful facility. A real showplace for these noble vehicles and a great destination for the entire family. ... Of course it's been totally destroyed in the battle, but, still, truly, a marvelous facility.

Is there any sign of Gabrielle, Helldog?

Actually, no, Devil. A few minutes ago Gabrielle -- also known as archangel Gabriel -- jumped off the armada's flag ship and disappeared into the fog. ... What's going on at 9th and Hamilton?

Actually, Michael and Marge seem to be coming around. Ronan, however, doesn't look so hot. He's trailing what appear to be bowels after that nasty collision with Gen. Trexler's statue. It looks to me like he's lashing himself to a light standard just to keep from falling down.

Interesting stuff. Tough break for Ronan, though. ... But let's hope that battle resumes shortly.


Come, Gen. Trexler, we must get you back to the park.


The park? Out of the question! I haven't felt like this in years. We must defeat the Spanish ... and I have an empire to run ....

General, your war has been over for 110 years. You won ... I guess. And your empire ... well .... you wouldn't recognize it. You must return to your perch in the park.

Wait, angel. There may be another war for the general to fight.

Who are you?

Listen carefully. My name is Jack Bauer and I can only hold my breath for 35 minutes. Jesus' entire network has been compromised. Heaven has a mole at he highest level. You are the only ones I can trust. I'm going to need the help of you and the general here to uncover the conspiracy.

And how, Mr. Bauer, you propose we do that?

Torture, sir. We'll need someone to torture.

Goodness, this robe makes it hard to swim. I wish I were skinny-dipping.

Ah! A likely candidate approaches!

Come with us Gabriel, or I will pick your flowers, one by one.

Oh, you evil creature! Mr. Newman will have your head!

Torture is not nice, Mr. Bauer! You are a mean man. There are rules against torture.

Rules? Do terrorists follow rules? Does Marge follow rules? Is Ronan nice? What, we have to be better than they are, as they kill us one by one? No, I don't think so. And the courts? ... Let me tell you about justice ....

OK, OK! Jeez, do whatever you want. You're giving me a headache!

Oh, look! A crow swimming under water. How cute!

Come with me -- all of you.

Have you thought about my offer?

Hey, buddy! How's it going? Wanna play some pool?

Nah, no thanks, dude. I have a lot going on.

Have you thought about my offer?

About letting you rule Parallel Heaven for a while? Yeah, maybe it's a good idea ...

You bet it is. I'll take over there and get the place in order for you. I know you'll be keeping a low profile the next few weeks.

Things used to be so perfect in Parallel Time. Now things are a mess. ... Ever since that dumb polar bear opened the sixth dimensional rift. ... And then Ronan. I never saw him coming. ... And the crows? Come on. What's next? ... Like things aren't bad enough in Non-Parallel Time.

... And did I hear something about some TV chefs eating a Secret Service agent?

Don't even ask.

Listen, don't worry about a thing. I'll take care of it. Just relax. Take the next 40 days off. ... Hey, Mardi Gras party tonight! You coming?

Unlikely.

Well, listen, you just get some rest. You need me, you got my number. I'll take care of everything.

OK, dude. Thanks. Later.

See ya! ... Gabriel, where are you?

Still on the galleon, boss.

And Santa?

Going down in flames, just like you said.

OK. Listen get outta there now. ... How soon can you get over to Parallel Time?

Down by the river, Part 1

Helldog, what's going on down by the river?

I'm here on what's left of the Hamilton Street Bridge now, Devil, and I have a good view of the aircraft that is attacking the Armada. ... It's Santa Claus.

They used to warn us in devil school not to piss that guy off. Now I can see why.

He's just destroyed two ships with Harpoon missiles and now he's coming back around for a pass with the Gatling gun.


Does the Armada have any weapons to use against an airborne enemy?

Well, what do you think? Seriously.

No need to get snippy, Fido. I mean many Angels possess some surface-to-air capabilities. What about those flowers he's always lugging around?

Well, they appear to be just that -- flowers. Angels like flowers.

Dios Mio! Satan is raining fire on our fleet.

Not exactly, cupcake. That was a AGM-84 Harpoon missile. See those tracers? That's the 30mm Gatling gun. Those depleted uranium rounds could tear this whole fleet to shreds. ... I don't suppose you have any antiaircraft guns on board? ... Didn't think so. Luckily for us, I have something better.


Gen. Trexler! You should leave the river now. All heck is breaking loose up there.

I ... can't ... move.

I brought you some WD-40!

Go for the lead ship, Rudoph! I want that goddam angel's head on a freakin' stick!!

Yes, sir!

He's coming for us, señor!!! ... Padre nuestro que estás en los cielos, Santificado sea tu Nombres ....

Save your worthless prayers, Sidonia. ... Santa, say hello to my little friends!

Devil, it looks like you were right about those flowers. In fact they're not flowers at all. They are some sort of surface-to-air missiles.

It's a ManPAD, Helldog.

A man purse?

No, a ManPAD. A Man-Portable Air Defense System, know-it-all. ... An FIM-92 Stinger, to be exact.

How could you possibly know that?

I got my sources, mutt.

Well, whatever that angel is firing, he just scored a direct hit on a reindeer! It looks like Santa's going down!

Prancer is toast, Santa! We're losing altitude!!

Keep it together, airman! Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! We'll try to land on the river!!

What the heck! What a time for a cell call. ... Hello? This better be important and make it quick! Oh, it's you. Yes sir. Everything is going like you said it would, sir, except for that damn statue. Yes, that's right -- Santa is going down in flames as we speak. Disguising those missiles as flowers was brilliant, sir. OK, yes. I'll be in touch Mr. Newman.

09:59:57

09:59:58

09:59:59

10:00:00

To Be Continued

Ho, goddam ho!

You can go in, now.


Hello, sir.

Angel! Thanks for stopping by. Listen, I just wanted to thank you personally for what you did with that statue. That showed some great initiative.

Really? You mean I'm not in trouble?

Not in the least. In fact, I think you may have just earned your way off of diaper duty.


Oh, thank you, Mr. Christ!

With Gabrielle playing for the other team now, I've been thinking that Michael could use an assistant -- provided he survives the battle he's in right now in Allentown. ...

But Michael hates me.

Hey, this is heaven, kiddo. There's no hate in our gait here. Don't worry, he'll get used to the idea. He has a lot on his plate.


But, who would take my place cleaning up after the cherubim?

I have a couple of ideas on that. ... I think I also need to find somebody to keep an eye on Santa.

Santa is a psycho.

He's been under a lot of pressure. ... Alcohol may be a factor, as well. ... But when he's finished in Allentown he'll have some down time to recharge his batteries.

You better send the Energizer Bunny, then.

Hang on a sec. Let me make a call right now. ... Put me through to Limbo.

Damn! What the hell do you want? Ain't Paul Newman around today to braid your hair?

Not another word, Player. Just listen. You want out of Limbo? Here's the deal. You can come back to heaven, but you either have to look after the cherubim ...

Hell! The Player doesn't clean up any damn diapers!

... Or you can go to the North Pole to babysit Santa.

Ho, goddam ho!

Remember San Juan Hill!

Remember San Juan Hill!

What is that? It's coming right at us.

It is a bronze warrior, señor.

Shoot it!


Too late. It's under the water.

Engage depth charges!

Que?


Fire torpedos!

Torpedoes?

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Folks we're trying to get word on what's happening along the river. The cannons have stopped firing. We have a correspondent making his way from a hell portal near the Americus hotel, which I'm told is still standing. ... Wait, he's there? OK, we're switching over to Helldog live from the roof of the Americus hotel.

Thanks Red Devil. From my vantage point atop the beautiful Americus hotel it appears that the Spanish Armada is in a state of utter disarray. The statue of Harry Trexler is evidently in the water poking holes in the ships from underneath with his sword. Earlier today the statue left its perch in Trexler Park, cut through Cedar Creek Park, stopped briefly at Yocco's and proceded east on Hamilton at full gallop. As you saw earlier he interfered with the execution of Michael the Archangel, injured Ronan and charged the Armada.

Yeah, that was pretty screwed up. ... Does the Armada have any weapons to defend itself against Trexler?

No, Devil, the galleons are over 400 years old and not equipped for underwater warfare. However, they do have one factor working in their favor: Oxidation. I don't think that statue is going to be able to maneuver for very long in the river.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Sidonia, you must do something! Five of our ships are sinking!

I will pray, señor.

Pray? Oh, that's just precious! That's everybody's anwer for everything around here. Listen bub, stop praying, get off of your ass and get in that water.
Señor, listen. The statue has stopped.

I can't lift my arms. ... Glug.

All right. That's what I'm talking about. ... Now target Michael!

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

It looks like the statue is finished, Devil. Several of the galleons are sinking but there are at least 15 more that are forming up to begin firing again.

Thank goodness. It's getting boring around here. Michael, Ronan and Marge are all still flat on their backs at the moment. Another barrage or two of cannonfire might finish Michael off once and for all.

Whoa! What was that? Devil, a meteor or something just flew past me. This whole building shook. Wait ... one of the galleons has just exploded into flames!

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Dios Mio! It is the devil himself!

That's no devil, Sidonia. That's Santa Claus.

Die, bastards! Die! Die! Die! Ho ho!

You gotta pull down your loin cloth a little

Señor Gabrielle, the fight goes well. But is it not God's will that we attack Marge? I believe that is why we were brought here.

It's Gabriel. How many times do I have to tell you that? And I'll decide what is God's will around here. I'm an archangel, dammit! Just keep firing at Michael!

But Señor Ga-Gabriel, is not St. Michael an archangel as well? When the sea creature brought us through the time warp ...

The sea monster? Oh, that's just precious. Listen, you just fire your little guns at Michael and let me do the thinking. ... And why is it you call him Saint Michael and all I get is señor?

**********************************

Ladies and gentlemen, it looks like we're just about finished with today's preliminary matches. In case you have been living in a cave -- and it is very likely that some of you have been -- let me recap. ... Marge handily defeated the sea monster in our first matchup, finishing her off in a big explosion that destroyed the Butz building.

Then, Cuchulainn entered the ring to challenge Marge in a familial grudge match. And let me tell you this is one serious case of sibling rivalry. As that match was about to get underway, remnants the 420-year-old Spanish Armada mysteriously appeared on the Lehigh River and began to attack Marge with cannonfire, seeming to tilt the odds in Cuchulainn's favor.

At just about the same time, archangel Gabrielle appeared and ordered Marge to stop being a demon and go back to her castle in Romania, where she lives with her sister, Vermiculite. At this point Marge drop-kicked Gabrielle into the river, where he apparently took charge of the Spanish Armada.

And then, in a surprise move, Michael the Archangel cut short his vacation and took on both Marge and Cuchulainn, forcing the brother and sister from different realities to work together. And just as it seemed Michael was getting the upper hand on the demon siblings, Gabrielle, who is now clearly playing for the other team, trained the Armada's guns on Michael, nearly finishing him off in a whithering barrage.

And that's where we stand now. Downtown Allentown is almost completely destroyed -- as Marge said it would be -- and Michael is unconscious and surely about to be killed by either Marge, Cuchulainn, the cannon balls or some combination thereof.

Any thoughts, Irish Tenor?

Aye, 'tis a sad day indeed. All of this destruction, plus the death of the angel who defeated Lucifer. I'm afraid this defeat could tip the balance between heaven and hell, lad.

Yeah, what a shame. Better luck next time, eh? And ya know what makes it even more sweet? That Atown-Liker moron had a chance to save the day by praying for divine intervention, and what does he do? He asks Santy Clause for a gift receipt. What a clown!

Aye, lad, the word 'tool' comes to mind. He's a feckin' tool.

Listen, Paddy, why don't you go get yourself a cup of tea and calm down. I don't think you wanna see what's gonna happen next.

Well Michael ye don't seem so big to me now, do ye? Do ye remember when ye destroyed me torture chamber? I want ye to remember that when I cut off yer head.

How long do you intend for this to take, or are you attempting to bore him to death? Here's an idea. Perhaps you could recite some Yeats for him. You could drag this out until St. Patrick's Day.

Keep talkin while ye can, Marge, because herself is next, she is.

Remember the Maine!! You won't knock down my building, damn Spaniards!

What the hell was that?

Lad, a bronze man on a bronze horse just galloped down the ruins of Hamilton Street. He crashed into Cuchulainn and I believe the Celtic warrior has fallen on his sword. He appears to be injured, Devil.

That was Gen. Harry Trexler!

Are ye sure it wasn't Santa Claus, lad? Or maybe the feckin' Easter bunny?

Very funny. ... Actually, it is Santa Claus! Look up in the sky!

Eat lead, bitch!

Ladies and gentlemen, I do not believe what I am seeing. This has been an incredible turn of events. Just as he was about to execute St. Michael the archangel amid the rubble of the intersection that was 9th and Hamilton, Cuchulainn paused for a soliloquy, as the Irish are inclined to do. At that moment the statue of Gen. Harry Trexler and his horse Jack of Diamonds galloped by on their way to the Lehigh River, bumping into Cuchulainn, who fell on his sword, getting a nasty gash.

Marge moved in to finish off Michael, but from out of nowhere, Santa Claus and his reindeer swooped down and opened up on the big gal with a machine gun.

That's no ordinary machine gun, lad. It's fine big gun, it is. Santa is firing a 30mm GAU-8/A Avenger Gatling gun. And I believe he is using depleted uranium armor-piercing shells. And as ye can see he's stopped Marge in her tracks.

What is Atown-Liker up to now?

It looks like he's got a syringe, lad.

Michael, wake up! Quick, take this shot while Marge is occupied! I found it in Dodger's room.

Hey! Bring that back. I'm gonna sue your butt!

Steroids?

I cannot confirm or deny that. I'm not here to talk about the past. No hablo.

Gotcha. Wait a second ... Santa Claus? Did you actually pray to Santa Claus?

Sorry about that, but he's here. And he's kicking butt!