Her eyes narrowed. “That is not the boy I raised.

Oh, this is not the time for us to get into that meshugenah debate again! Look, the point is that Jesus of Nazareth, who is a very big deal to the Boss, regardless of whatever metaphysically bewildering relationship they may have, has gone missing, on the eve of the single most important event in the history of Creation. The sentence parses, don’t look at me like that. And, through a comical series of events far too elaborate to detail here, you and I are going to be held directly responsible unless we figure out a way to fix this, and I mean yesterday! And I’m not being poetic, we’re angels, we can totally do that.

The crucified figure had not been idle. A series of elaborate twists activated a cunning mechanism; the base of the cross blew apart, revealing a winding metal spring at the base. At the same time, there was a whir of machinery, a grinding sound of metal against metal, and a series of spindly steel tubes emerged from the head and arms of the cross; and as the jolly old elf grunted and arched his back, the giant laser-mounted pogo stick heaved into the air, leaving in its wake waves of devastation, and a merry, menacing cry of “Ho-ho-ho!

And dozens of tiny hands reached up, and cast back dozens of tiny hoods. The robes fell away, revealing a motley of brightly-colored, dwarfish creatures, perched atop one another’s shoulders, brandishing outlandish tubes of a shiny substance none present had ever seen before. With preternatural speed and precision, they were trained upon the wild-eyed Romans, and after a few frantic pumping motions, streams of fluid arced through the air towards them. Wherever they landed, upon flesh or armor, steam burst forth, and the soldiers screamed in agony. Many of them were seasoned, having put down rebellions throughout the Empire, but all of their training and experience failed them in the face of elves wielding super soakers. Super soakers filled with battery acid.

Every muscle in his body tensed for action, adrenalin pounding through his tiny veins, he crept down the stairs, keeping to the corners (where he knew they creaked less). He peered around the bottom of the stairwell into the living room, and there he saw a lean, bearded man, clad only in a loincloth and a crown of thorns. When he bent over the Xmas tree, Tony saw that blood flowed freely from his bare hands and feet. Before the cherubic prepubescent could stop himself, the words flew out of his mouth: “You’re not Santa!

There he was, skipping lightly across the surface of the water. He caught my eye and gave me that shit-eating grin again. “Be of good cheer. It is I. Be not afraid.