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?

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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.

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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!

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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!

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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?

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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!

He's got the battle sleigh? With the Gatling gun?

And laser-guided bombs and missiles too!

Sweet. Gimme that shot!

OK ... Um, you gotta pull down your loin cloth a little.

That's what she said!