Part I

“The demons from hell are running rampant through the U.S., destroying property, looting liquor stores, and joining the ACLU. They are only attacking the red states – states that voted for President George Bush – though”
“Even Alaska?” Steve Doocy asked.
“No. Apparently that just too cold and too far out of the way… even for vengeance.”
“Thank you, Lauren Green,” Brian Kilmeade said, “Once again, this is FOX and Friends, following the invasion from hell this morning. Of course, we’re perfectly safe here in God-less New York City.”
“What MoveOn.org is doing is unconscionable!” E.D. Hill screamed, “They’re saying we should just give in to these devils!”
“Well, they do have a point,” Steve said, “Those who voted for that French-looking senator from Massachusetts and turn away from the ways of Jesus are being spared.”
“Demons from hell are just like terrorists,” E.D. fumed, almost knocking over her coffee cup, “You have to stand up to them.”
“You may have a point,” Brian responded, “Anyway, it’s time for the Afflack question of the day…” Brian paused to listen into his earpiece. “Apparently George Soros and Moloch the destroyer are having a joint press conference. Are own Melinda Hawkish is in attendance and we now go there live.”
Before reporters stood George Soros and the terrible demon Moloch who towered over all.
“Mr. Soros, could you please explain why Bush is a greater threat to America than the invasion from hell?” asked a New York Times reporter.
“While I and MoveOn.org don’t quite approve of Moloch’s tactics,” Soros replied, “I think we should at least hear his point of view, as demons from hell and their sympathizers are feeling increasingly isolated from the political process, all thanks to George Bush who goes running to Jesus every time something goes wrong. Who elected a Jewish carpenter to run America, I ask?”
“And He’s not even a good carpenter!” Moloch added with his booming voice. “Look at the birdhouse Moloch has made and fear me!” Moloch held out an ornate birdhouse and the press was awed.
“Moloch, why should we have any dealings with you since you are clearly evil?” Melinda Hawkish asked.
“Moloch the destroyer rejects these simple labels of ‘good’ and ‘evil’!” Moloch shouted.
“Follow up question,” Melinda continued, “Isn’t that exactly what someone who is evil would say?”
Moloch was silent for a moment. “Right-wing bias from FOX News!” he then yelled, “Destroy her!”
The rest of the press turned on Melinda. “We obey our demon master!”
“And remember to check out the documentary Out-Foxed from MoveOn.org,” Soros added.
The feed then went to static.
“That doesn’t look good for Melinda Hawkish,” Steve said.
“We are not biased!” E.D. yelled, “We are fair and balanced!”
“I know,” Brian answered, “but try explaining that to Moloch.” Brian then looked up beyond the cameras to the producers. “So are we doing sports now or is that getting moved back?”

“I hate desert meetings,” President Bush said, “There are no concession stands nearby if I get hungry, and, if I need to pee, there aren’t any bathrooms or trees to go behind.”
“Quit whining,” Cheney barked, “So what did the message say?”
Bush took out a note. “Go to these coordinates and I’ll send help. Your battle against the demons from hell will not be easy, but know I am always watching over you. Love, Jesus.” Bush paused for a moment. “Always watching over us? Sounds like a threat.”
“That just His way of saying He’ll be with us through these trying times,” Buck the Marine said, “Jesus is such a nice guy. I can’t wait until he gives us weapons to fight these demons. They’re worse than for’ners; they’re like… more foreign.”
“And what am I doing here?” Condoleezza Rice asked, “I’m the Secretary of State. Can’t someone else do this?”
“I wanted fighting an invasion from hell to be a team-building exercise,” Bush answered.
“Teams are for homos,” Rumsfeld growled.
“That’s not a very team-building attitude,” Bush chided him.
“So do you consider me part of the team?” Scott McClellan asked hopefully.
“No,” Bush shot back, “You’re just here to carry things. And then later I have a special job for you: I want to run interference with the press while we handle this.”
“That’s my regular job.”
“Hmm. I always wondered why you were on the payroll.” Bush then looked to Alberto Gonzales. “The sun is really beating me down; can I borrow your sombrero?”
“You touch my sombrero, and I cut you,” Alberto answered.
“Everyone needs to learn more about being a team,” Bush grumbled. He then turned to Rumsfeld. “So where is your dog, Chomps? A really angry dog might be useful against demons.”
“How would I know where he is?” Rumsfeld shouted, “Am I my dog’s keeper? I’ll probably get some angry call from some mother later, and you know how hard it is to explain to some panicked woman that her child was weak and deserved to be eaten by wandering beasts.”
Dust was being turned up in the distance, and Bush and his group could soon see a black car speeding their way. It swerved to a stop, and out came a man dressed in torn jeans, a leather jacket, and sunglasses. He took a looked at those before him and said, “Well, aren’t you a sorry bunch.”
“And you are?” Bush demanded.
“Jesus sent me to help you dumb fs,” he answered as he opened the trunk to his car, “My name is Michael.”
“You an angel?” Scott asked.
“I’m an archangel.”
“How’s that different for a regular angel?”
Michael pulled out an assault rifle and chambered a round. “Means you don’t f with me.”
“I always thought angels were more kind and… uh… angelic,” Condi said.
Michael looked at her for a moment and pulled down his sunglasses slightly. “I’m not that kind of angel.”
“So where are your wings?” Bush inquired.
Michael tossed down the rifle. “Where the f*** in the Bible does it say a fing thing about angels having wings?” Michael demanded, “Where do people get that fing s?”
“Sorry!” Bush exclaimed, “By the way, is there anyway you can tone down the language?”
“Once you’ve battle the hoards from hell since before time, you can tell me how to fing speak,” Michael answered.
“Gee, lighten up,” Bush sighed.
Michael quickly grabbed a shotgun from the trunk, chambered a round, and pointed it a Bush’s head. “Did you just use the Lord’s name in vain?”
“I only said, ‘Gee’!” Bush exclaimed.
“Which is a variation of Jesus!” Michael yelled. “You think I’m fing stupid? You break a Commandment, I’ll blow your fing brains out!”
“Isn’t that against a Commandment?” Condi asked dryly.
Michael chuckled and put the shotgun away. “So, I was here to bring you some tools to fight the demons. You want them?”
They all crowded around the trunk of the car which was filled with weaponry. “All of this is specially blessed,” Michael explained, “Guaranteed to majorly f*** up any regular devil you run into. Back in the day, I used to fight them with sword and spears, but now I have M-16s, MP5s, and even some Desert Eagle .50AEs made right in the holy land. Arm up.”
Everyone eagerly grabbed weaponry except for Rumsfeld. “Back when I was young, we didn’t need fancy weaponry given to us by some punk angel to fight demons,” he said, “We chased them off just fine with pitch forks and a few rocks to throw at them.”
“Suit yourself, old man,” Michael answered as he closed up the trunk.
“You taking any weapons?” Bush asked Michael.
“I ain’t fighting,” Michael responded, “Heaven is my domain to defend, this fed up situation is for you guys to deal with. I was just told to give you weapons and advice; everything else is up to you dumb fs. I’m sure you’ll be fine if you all love Jesus and what not.”
“We love Jesus,” Bush said firmly as he checked on a new Colt .45, “platonically.”
“I love Jesus; I’m his biggest fan,” Buck proclaimed as he held up a holy M-60, “Why, when I was a kid, anytime I didn’t love Jesus, my mom wouldn’t beat me with a wooden spoon.”
“I have no particular gripes again Him,” Rumsfeld stated.
“While Halliburton made it clear to me that these demons were hurting their schemes to steal the world’s oil,” Cheney said as he prepped a semi-automatic shotgun, “I’m not fighting this battle if it’s just us against all the demons in hell.”
“You’re not going to fight all the demons in hell,” Michael said, “No point to it. You need to take down Moloch; then the whole assault will collapse.”
“So let’s find this gringo Moloch and fill him full of blessed bullets and be done with it,” Alberto declared as he put on a bandolier.
“Ain’t that simple,” Michael answered, “Moloch is one bad motherf***er. Even these weapons won’t faze him. He stands over twelve feet tall, has skin stronger than steel, has wings so powerful they can cause tornados, and he breathes fire burning anyone who gets near him.”
“If it breathes,” Rumsfeld stated as he put on his strangling gloves, “we can strangle it.”
TO BE CONCLUDED…