I believe this is my cue

In somewhat of a surprise development, a fleet of Spanish Galleons has appeared in the Lehigh River and is attacking Marge with a withering barrage of cannon fire.

Aye, and they're causing quite a bit of damage in the city, faith and begorrah.

Marge is ducking behind the smoldering ruins of the Butz building at the moment and has been lobbing a few cars in the direction of the fleet, but she really seems to be outgunned right now.

Aye, lad and there's been no sign of the sea monster for quite some time. I fear the poor lass has perished in the Butz explosion, saints preserve us.

I believe this is my cue.

Begorrah!

Begorrah is right. And may I just add: Holy cow!


Ronan is having his warp spasm. Jaysus, Mary and Joseph, he really is Cuchulainn!

Well Marge, what do you think of your little brudder now?


I think it's quite clear that you were adopted.

Whoa! That was close! Two cannonballs just whizzed past Marge's head and into the Holiday Inn! What destruction!

And here comes another one, devil! Aye! It just put a hole in the PPL Tower!

I don't think the city can take much more of this onslaught.

Look now, lad. Ronan's got his Caladbog. It's one of his favorite swords.


So then, Cuchulainn's chief weapon is a sword?

No, lad, his chief weapon is actually the Gae Bulga, a spear. You can see it there in his quiver.


A quiver? ... And Marge's chief weapon?

Well, it seems she's fond of vehicles -- cars, buses and as we've seen, even a helicopter. Occasionally a light pole or some such. She's also fond of throwing or kicking her opponents. However, her chief weapon seems to be that she can't be killed.


That could come in handy in a death match. But what about rockslides?

Aye, rockslides. That might be the trick, indeed.

Might they be some fans of yours in the river, Marge?



Admittedly I have always had a problematic relationship with the Spaniards, but I wasn't expecting the Spanish Armada.

Nobody expects the Spanish Armada. Defend yourself!

Do the Limbo

Hmmm. I ain't never ate no little boy before. Mmm hmmm. I don't know If I should start eatin' at the head or at the feet. Mmmm. Maybe I should start in the middle like I was eatin' an ear a corn. Hmm.

Please don't eat me sir! My father is very powerful and he will pay you handsomely for my safe return.


Mmm. He one of them vampire fellers. That's what ol' Max said.

Well, yes. But I was adopted. I am the descendant of Cuchulainn, the Irish warrior.

Hmmm. I reckon I heard that story one too many times. Mmm. Reckon I don't got much use for money. But I do like to buy them french fried potaters and sometimes I buy a ticket to take the bus to the nervous hospital. Mmm. ... I reckon I'll start eatin' yer head.

POOF! Wow. That was different. ... Thanks for the lift, boys!


Caw!

OK, catch up with ya in a few, Jim. I don't need any more witnesses than necessary.

Help me, sir. Don't let this mean man eat me!


Hold on. Nobody's eating anybody here. Karl, put the punk down.


Thank, you sir! My father will reward you handsomely.


Yeah, right. Don't get too excited, kid. You're going to Limbo. POOF! ... OK, one problem solved. You notice he didn't have that phony Irish accent?

Hmmmm. I guess not. Mm. Now I'm kinda hungry.


I figured as much. I brought you some french fries, just like you like 'em. ... Now listen carefully. When Truman digs you out of this cave, the crows will take you and your friends to Romania in 2007. Leave young Marge here. You'll meet up with her soon enough. You do your job and I can get back to my vacation. ... OK, Jim, I'm good to go! POOF!


Caw!


Mmm. Whoever that was, he was a nice feller. Hmmm. Sound like Truman comin' through them rocks.

Karl! You're alive. I had feared the worst. ... Oh, that's right I am dead, and it hasn't really slowed me down any. ... But at any rate, I'm glad to see you alive.

As much as I hate to interrupt a tender moment between a redneck and his rug, what have you done with my brother, you rustic oaf?

Hmmm. I'm from Arkansas. I reckon that's pretty rustic. That boy, he went to do the limbo. Mmmm. I like these french fried potaters.


So, Ronan is ... gone? ... And all you've had to eat is those potatoes?


Mmm. This angel feller came and he gimme these potaters. Mm he said that Ronan ws gonna do the limbo and them crows is gonna take us into the future to see Marge in Romania.


What are you babbling about! I demand to know what is going on here.


I'll be happy to explain it to you, Marge. ... In about 140 years.



Caw caw!


Enough about the jackass penguins already! God, you're obsessed. ... Come, we must take these clowns to Romania.

You speak good English

So, pal, do they have helicopters over in Parallel time?

Aye, lad, indeed we do. And we've got televisions and toilet paper and frozen dinners and whiskey and poteen and beer and rum punch ...

OK, I get the gist ... So, when you see a helicopter on TV, what usually happens to it?
It explodes, of course.

So, whaddya think's gonna happen when Marge tosses that helicopter into that hole the sea monster just made in the Butz building?

Saints preserve us!

Ladies and gentlemen, in a stunning turnaround it appears Marge has snatched victory from the jaws defeat. ...

... How about, Marge has pulled victory from the gaping maw of defeat?

Gaping maw ... I like that. You Irishmen have a way with words. Try this ... Marge has looked into the gaping maw of defeat and pulled out a victory with just one battered pinkie through its nose ring ...

Nose ring! Very fine indeed, lad. ... Or, with just one battered pinkie tenuously grasping its nose ring, Marge has jerked victory from the cruel, gaping maw of ignominy ...

That's a mite thick and I'm not really sure if it's clear that "its" modifies "victory" in that construction, but I like where you're going with that ....

HALT!

Look, lad, it's a wee angel ... and what else, might I ask, would "its" possibly refer to if not "victory"?

Gabrielle?

Stop calling me that! It's Gabriel. That's Gabriel the Archangel to you!

Well, what do we have here? Gay-briel did you say?

Marge, I command thee in the name of heaven to cease this destruction, revert back to your normal size and leave this place at once. You are to return to your castle in Romania and never leave there again.

Or?
Or I shall smite thee.

You shall look delightfully kitchy dangling from the rearview mirror of my private ambulance.

This ain't gonna be pretty. What's he gonna do, hit her with his flowers? Why didn't they send Michael?

I shall not warn you again. In the name of the Almigh ... Hey! Stop it!!

My former associate Mr. Player once showed me the rules of what you laughingly call "football" here. I believe this is what is known as a "punt."

Folks, that wasn't just a punt, that was a beautiful punt. Big arc, lots of hangtime. ... I think Gabrielle just landed in the Lehigh River. ... Well, "its" could have referred to "pinkie," I suppose.

Bah!

Who are you? In the name of heaven I demand to know where I am!

I am the Duke of Medina Sidonia and you are on my ship, archangel. I am at your service. Welcome to the Spanish Armada. ... Men, open fire on Marge!

You speak good English.