It was a dark and stormy night—God would disapprove of this. I stood atop the spire of my private church, which I bought.

Of course, as an incredibly wealthy televangelist, this purchase was hardly an inconvenience for for me.

(As easy as it was for God in the highest to wipe out those unicorns in the great flood.)

Beneath me, in a dark cobble alley, stood some common lackeys of Satan: two women who dared to openly hold hands. ‘Those who hold hands may as well be in the throes of sexual liaisons!’ I mused.

Overwhelmed with the lust for holy justice, I swooped down from my spire, using my voluminous robe as a sort of glider. As I wore no undergarments (if God wished us to wear underwear, he would have had them grow upon trees, would he not?) the view from below must have been simultaneously rapturous and terrifying for those heathen she-devils.

As I landed on the cobbles, the women were—somewhat understandably for promiscuous females such as them—very surprised. “What the hell do you want?” One of them asked.

“You dare,” I began thunderously, “to say the name of Lucifer’s domain while not directly referencing the location itself? And what I want, common wench, is to educate you on the evils of lesbianism.” (For I am of course a fundamentally forgiving person.)

“B-but, we’re just friends. We’re out on the town—“

“Lies! She-devil, deceive me not, for even if I were to believe you, women being unaccompanied on the town is a sin.”

As I finished my sentence, ablaze with holy wrath, I pulled out my Bible-rang and threw it at the head of her woman, knocking her out immediately.

“What the fuck, man?” The first woman cried.

My eyes flashed with dark thunder. “Language, woman.” I whacked over the head with my vintage 1816 Old Testament, and left. “Two women taught a lesson. Another night well done.”

As I walked home, I pondered upon my admiration for former Vice President Mike Pence. His sullen good looks, his amazing fashion sense…. If homosexuality were not a sin, and if I happened to be one of those unnaturals, I should have been attracted to him.

Anyhow, as I wandered down the lane, still in my masked friar costume, I spotted my nemesis, Bill Nye the Science Guy!

Nye, with his crazy grey hair, long diminished from its former auburn glory, held a Walther P99 to the head of a man, who was wearing a bag on his head. They were inside the window of a Walgreens, further proving my theory that drug stores were evil.

Nye gestured to me, and I followed. I failed to call the police, as it was as it was supposed to be… good versus evil. God versus unwitting tools of Satan.

“Who are you?” He said, his lips not moving at all. (After all, ventriloquy was an art of Lucifer.)

“Don’t play dumb with me, Nye. I know who you are: a pawn of Satan, just as you know that I am the warrior of God on this sinful Earth."

“Um, what the fuck? Drop the Bible.”

I had not noticed, that in my wrath, I had lifted my Bible far above my head, and my spittle covered Nye’s face. “Reveal your captive, fool!” I said, and struck the handgun out of his grip.

“Ow, asshole. Ok, ok.” Nye said, taking the bag off of his captive.

“Mike Pence?” I asked, barely believing this stroke of chance. And it was indeed the man.

“Now, I’ll let Mike here go if you take off the mask and go away.”

I was in a terrible situation. “If not?” I asked, knowing the answer.

Nye moved his lips not at all, but as he nodded, I knew he grinned. “Boom.”

I reluctantly removed my mask.

“You….?” Nye asked, slowly removing the gun from Pence’s head.

“Yes, you FOUL SINNER!!” I practically screamed, striking across the face with my Bible. The mask, which I had not realised was a mask fell off. It was but a common criminal, wearing a rubber Bill Nye mask. I checked the gun—it was unloaded. I had revealed my identity to my favourite politician.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!"

I screamed and dissolved in holy lightning, returning to my Priest-Cave immediately.

I had much to contemplate.