Spiritual Warfare

So you're wondering where we've been all summer.

For the rest of the staff, I cannot speak. As for me, my tale is a humbling one, over which my head is still spinning, but this summer turned my life so upside-down that ... well, it's partially the reason why you're still here in September to read this. I know. That's hard to swallow, especially considering the tale I'm about to tell you, but such is the fate of a man of my calling. My only challenge now is to maintain humility as I retell my quest, the best way of which to start is to just come out and say how it started...

I met an angel.

Not a hot woman. An actual angel. Of the Lord. I met him ... or more accurately, he found me ... near the park back in June.

It was laundry day. I had just thrown in a load of wash, and decided that it was a perfect day for a walk in the park. So perfect, in fact, that I didn't even let the fact that the only clean clothes I had left were the shirt and pants I bought for Halloween last year when I went dressed as Jack White stop me from enjoying a the day. I couldn't even find my shoes. Whatever. They just finished paving most of the luscious greenery in the park with asphalt, anyway, so barefoot it was.

It wasn't until I actually reached the park that I realized that what I thought was asphalt was, in reality, a solid, black void to hide the fact that my sprite was poorly constructed. You see, though we are created in God's image (Genesis 1 or 2:something), He is limited to using only three colors and transparency to create each of us. So my Jack white pants were red to match my hair, which I recently dyed, my only clean shirt had to match the whites of my eyes, and it turns out I was wearing skin-colored shoes the whole time. With no colors left to work with, the Lord chose to make my eyes, mouth and armpits see-through. Which was fine as long as I stayed on the street. It was not until I walked on the grass that I realized the limitations of this 8-bit planet on which we live.

I didn't venture on the grass long before I felt something pulling me to turn around. I wasn't sure what it was at the time, but I felt something about that building calling my name.

Describing the first time I saw an actual angel of God is hard to put into words. It was sort of a mixture between the awesome realization that angels exist, and the realization that angels look like bald Cabbage Patch babies in puffy altar boy robes. A melting pot of emotions, if you will. Especially when you throw in the confusion I felt after he explained the mission on which he was about to send me...

God wanted me to throw fruit at people.

 

At first I thought this was some kind of symbolic language. The Bible's full of poetic, flowery metaphors, right? No. It turns out that the angel offered me an actual pear to throw at people, and beaning that Fruit of the Spirit at my fellow townspeople's melons would exorcise the demons from them. I admit I was reluctant at first. I figured if demons were so allergic to fruit, wouldn't I have noticed by now? Then again, I'd never really seen anyone get a pear thrown at them. They always frowned upon food fights in grade school. That was when it hit me. I went to public school. It was frowned upon because somebody apparently knew that throwing fruit promotes religious evangelism. It all made sense to me now. Well, the science of it, at least. I still wasn't quite sure why the Lord had chosen me to carry out His work, besides maybe a lack of options. The only other people in town that hadn't been possessed were little kids with green Troll doll hair, holding balloons.

 

It wasn't until the green Troll kid taunted me with a raft that I saw what the Lord was trying to do. He knew that I'd be hesitant to single out anyone as sinful or demonic. He knew how tolerant I was to all people, and so He was ensuring that I'd get pumped into fighting for His cause by sending me on a quest He knew I couldn't possibly turn down. I don't know why I didn't pick up on it before. The park, the angel in the building, and now the raft ... it was all clear now.

 

God was sending me into a holy roller's ripoff of The Legend of Zelda.

 

He knew I wouldn't be able to resist. Perhaps I should've been annoyed that He was trying to trick me into carrying out His mission by setting it up like a Zelda game, but my park didn't even have buildings. The guy had a building built overnight just to get me to play his stupid video game. I figured that was at least worth some attention. I'm not one to turn down an opportunity to throw things at people in the name of the Lord. Even if throwing pears isn't exactly as awesome as stabbing monsters with a sword, but I was trying to save people, and it doesn't work quite as well if I make them leak blood.

Not that that stopped anybody else from carrying knives. The park was full of knife-carrying biker gangs who really weren't out to get me so much as they were walking around in rectangular patterns waiting for someone to walk close enough to them, so that they could stab them. Perhaps they were the deadliest of mimes trapped in imaginary boxes. I hid from them by standing on top of what I guess was supposed to be a patch of burnt grass, or mulch. Nobody would be bothered to notice a floating white shirt and pair of eyeballs standing in the corner.

 

I did end up hitting the bikers too hard in the head with the pears, because their hair and clothes were immediately drenched in red. Then they fell to their knees in prayer and disappeared, leaving behind doves with numbers on them. So God was sending me to kill people. I just needed the fruit to save them first, at the last instant before they died. I was like a Jesuit. A Jesuit blessed with the power of deadly fruit and an accurate throwing arm.

The doves represented souls. For some reason, the faster people in the park left behind souls worth the same as five from their slower brethren. So it was true ... running was healthy for you. It enriched the soul, multiplying it by five. If I hit the Flash in the head with pear, he would leave behind like 500 souls. No wonder superheroes hang around so long without aging much. Their super speed elongates their life spans. I was learning so much about the important things in life.

 

My cell phone was running out of range, so I found a sign over by the pond that I thought indicated to be a good spot for being able to give the Nintendo Power tip line a call to figure out what to do next. Not only did I remember that Spiritual Warfare wasn't an officially licensed game, but it turned out that the sign was actually a badly drawn set of stairs leading to a passageway under the pond.

 

Inside, after fighting a man running around and CARRYING A BOULDER IN FRONT OF HIM at the same time as he threw real, live demons at me—which I just realize I made sound like nothing, but that's what that son of a bitch gets for poking his head out from behind the boulder and eating it after one pear to the face—another angel, or perhaps the same one—they looked alike, but I didn't stick around long enough to think to ask—gave me a Belt of Truth and told me I could use it to move heavy things. Try to wrap that concept around your head. I mean, I know the angel didn't want to directly rip off the Power Bracelet from Zelda, but "belt," "truth," and "moving heavy stuff" are three completely unrelated concepts. Don't get me wrong. It was still nice to finally be able to hold up my Jack White pants and not worrying about lying about my waistline next time I have to buy a pair after I PUSH THE ENTIRE MALL over to my house. So I don't have to drive, I guess.

 

One of my favorite parts about soul-saving was that every ten or so people I sacrificed to the God of Food Fights, an angel would show up and send former Nintendo Fun Club President Howard Phillips to ask me Bible trivia questions. If it sounds silly to you, you really ought to read your Bible more. Right near the beginning of the book of John, it reads "For God so loved the world, that He gave us Howard Phillips, that whosoever could answer his trivia questions, shall be granted some extra dove-shaped souls and make his bow tie spin like he just got kissed in a Tex Avery cartoon."

Also, the correct answer to that question on the left is "every creature." I always thought the Acts of the Apostles was kind of lacking, and I never understood why. Now I realize it's because there isn't enough scenes of St. Peter trying to explain to a swarm of angry bees that God loves them. If that was in the Bible, I guarantee you that agnosticism wouldn't exist. Peter vs. Bees. That's the answer. Right there. Now give me my five souls. Then ask me two more times for five souls each, so I can tear up a pair of jeans and resell them to you for twice as much.

 

Before pushing a boulder out of the way to finally leave the park and head downtown, I managed to acquire some other fruit to throw at endangered heathens. Each type of fruit represented a different virtue, which, while meaning nothing to its end use, which was me throwing it at people's heads, still made for interesting dinner discussion afterwards. The apple represented patience, mostly because I always ended up throwing it very slowly for some reason, and I could only throw one apple at a time. So while I waited ten seconds for my underhanded apple floater to totally miss a guy who had by then run to the opposite of the screen, I had to avoid getting his twin brother's rectangular running pattern as he appeared to chase me but then got sick of the chase and decided to turn right. My patience was tested to the point where I just stuck with pears. They represented meekness, and were perfectly fine until I discovered the awesome power of the fast-moving banana, or as I liked to call it, "the atheist's nightmare."

 

About a decade after I starred in the hit TV series "Growing Pains," I met an Australian man who proved to me the very existence of God by explaining to me how He made bananas to fit perfectly into the human hand, and shaped to be easily eaten by the human mouth. You know who else has hands and mouths that work perfectly with the banana's divine engineering? Monkeys. That sinner was trying to trick me into believing in evolution, but I was too smart for him. I wrestled the banana out of his hand before he could eat it, and chucked it at his forehead. He died instantly, but not before kneeling before the awesome power of the Lord's greatest fruit. This is why the banana represented faith in Spiritual Warfare. Because it takes a powerful foundation of faith to not realize that humans and monkeys have similarly-shaped mandibles and eatingables.

My faith, however, would still be tested, even on the very mission I was on to save the souls of others. You see, while downtown, I came across a certain bar...

 

Out of the bar stormed nearly a dozen men in pink business suits and matching hair. They seemed harmless enough; a guy who was comfortable rocking that much magenta couldn't have been much of a fighter, I thought. My mistake. When I got too close, they proceeded to make me flash different colors and remove a heart from my health bar. I didn't understand at first, as I'm slow at picking up on things like this, but it soon became clear to me that this was a gay bar. But I thought all that talk about God hating fags was just a fear thing that guys who liked hunting made up to keep the gays away from them.

Turns out that the Lord treats the human sexual mechanism as seriously as he treats that of the banana. So I was forced to commit a hate crime in the name of collecting souls. Then I walked up on high and stepped to the edge of the little girl holding a lollipop and watching the whole massacre. All she did was warn me not to go into the bar. But why should I? Who knows how many unclean souls are in that bar, drinking themselves to eternal damnation?

 

How I wish I had listened to her.

Upon stepping one foot into the bar, God's angel reprimanded me for even thinking of walking in by stripping me of my Belt of Truth and hiding it in a place I hadn't even gotten to yet. I tried to explain that I figured starting an evangelical food fight in a place of great sin would be a soul goldmine, but he wouldn't listen. Perhaps he was bitter at the whole thing from "Dogma," where God took away the angels' ability to imbibe alcohol. I can't think of any other explanation for why a guy who works for a man who could turn himself into wine would want me to stay out of bars in my search for lost souls.

Something was up. Perhaps it was just my temper due to alcoholism, but I had a valid, over-21 driver's license, and God's angels didn't want me in bars. His method of getting me to reclaim souls for Him—tricking me into thinking I'm playing Zelda—seemed like a gift at the time, but in reality didn't seem like the kind of bribery of which He'd be fond. Something was up. And I made sure to tread carefully as I searched for my confiscated belt and the rest of God's armor.

Though my discovery of a EXPLODING SWORD made me feel a little better and a lot more awesome about everything. That's the one thing that set Spiritual Warfare apart from any Zelda game. My sword EXPLODED when it hit things. God had granted me the "Snakes on a Plane" of swords.

And still, I felt concerned about my brief lack of faith in God's plans for me as his spiritual warrior. I needed to find someplace quiet to sort out what exactly it was that was puzzling me.

 

The middle of suburbia would do. in a little development area of the city known affectionately as HOUSES. Nothing better to allow me to meditate on the Lord's plan for me than a quiet stroll along hey wait a minute is that a ninja?

Why are there ninjas running around in the middle of Wonder Bread Suburbia? Why does that house have a tiny door and garage? Is it the custom-made mansion of a midget with a compact car? Why do bad things happen? So many questions, and it looks like this wasn't the place to find the answers. So I went to the one place where I could get purge my feelings of doubt...

Church. Of course! There, I could find meaning to my mission, and why the sudden outbreak of demons was plaguing my city. I found the sanctuary empty, save for a large book of scriptures, on which was left a cryptic note, telling me to search for the Shield of Faith in the Demon Stronghold, the entrance of which could be found in the prison. Perhaps the demons hid their secret passageway to invade our world above behind an inmate's Rita Hayworth poster.

Or perhaps the prison was just easy enough for a regular guy like me to break into without too much trouble from several guard dogs. My ease of entry troubled me. Sure, I was getting a little better at the whole stealth thing, having just breached the security of a demon-infested airport hours before. Hey, I was an American white male, and my fruit weapons weren't made of liquid, so nobody even looked at me. I was like a ghost.

That wasn't a Klan joke. I swear.

Still, the demon stronghold was not difficult to find inside the prison walls, and with my explodey sword in hand, I pretty much walked right through the entire stronghold almost unscratched. I don't describe my journey through the underground maze, because there really isn't much to tell. Oh look you guys lava and little devil guys and HOLY J. JEHOVAH JAMESON LOOK OUT

 

This is my enemy? Is it supposed to be Satan, or like, a blow-up doll of Satan from the South Park movie? Am I supposed to be frightened of the Prince of Darkness, or did God's programmers go lightweight on the horrific depiction of the Dark One so that this would still sell to children parents of children? Whatever its tactic was, I was quick to reach for my sword and some grapes without letting Balloonzebub get a word in edgewise.

"Your faith ... it has become rocky during your quest ... hasn't it?"

/stands in silence, stares coldly in hopes to invoke the power of rock legends The Eagles

"You question your mission. The ease of your entry worries you ... does it not?"

I was wondering about that, but I just figured that was because I'm really awesome, and if you'd like me to believe differently, I have a pomegranite with your face's name on it that I think you'd like to meet.

"You speak as though you have courage, but your confusion shines through. In truth, you know not why or how you are here."

/stares silently

"Do not attempt to convince me that you did not question why your God sent you on a murderous rampage through your own city ... and that is what it was."

I ... I was saving them.

"You knew nothing about them. You gave an entire city full of people you have never met fatal concussions ... all because you believe you've been blessed with the gift of being a hero in a video game. I can see right through you."

Shit, I forgot the pupils of my eyes were transparent pixels.

"What else did we forget?"

Shit, my laundry! brb

"There is no laundry. It is in your former state of self-awareness."

wah?t

"Did you not once wonder why your God never spake to you directly in sending you on His holy mission?"

... No? I mean, the guy never spoke directly with his own mom when He impregnated her with ... Himself. Wow, this Trinity thing sounds really nuts when you bring pronouns into it.

"There is no mission from God. I tempted you into believing you should be here. I constructed that building in the park. I sent my fallen angels to misguide you on a quest you actually think you can win."

What makes you think I can't win?

"You are dead, boy. You've died, and this is your Purgatory. And I am the very stain on your soul."

Wait, Purgatory isn't supposed to have lava. I call bullshit.

"Who are you to determine the nature of your fate? One can choose the paths they walk down, the buildings in which they walk, and fruit with which to peg strangers who are harmless unless you touch them.

"Your imperfect deeds are far from pardoned enough to be rid of me. You shall be forced to wander around this game of Spiritual Warfare until your sins are made up for in the prayers of the living."

My sins? I didn't think my soul was that dirtied that I'd have to sit through a Purgatory in an ugly world of Link Goes To Sunday School.

"No one ever does. It is one of humanity's gravest miscalculations."

"Just what are the chargest against me?"

"You have not used your talents to their full potential."

"Aw, come on. I write for a great website that I love."

"You updated like three times all fucking summer."

That's a sin worthy of the uncanny valley of marrying my love of Zelda and religious tradition?

"Writing about wanting to write more is. You put too much thought into rants about wishing you had more in which to put thought. You made resolutions to learn and do new things and then refreshed MySpace every twenty minutes. Your lack of priority for your talents and passions is a far worse offense than any of those guys in the pink suits every committed."

So God doesn't hate fags? I knew it!

"Do you hate the things you make?"

Sometimes.

"Thus your presence here. All men should be lovers of their every creation."

And my penance is to be trapped in a Zelda clone and not be scared by its boss?

"Your penance is to see what it's like to be part of a creation that was made half-assed while its creators judged the sins of others. You will be stuck in a creation that taught not to steal by borrowing too much from something they wanted to emulate."

Imitation is the best form of flattery.

"They aped fucking Zelda, dude."

Hey ... yeah! You're right. I'm not staying in this pile of preachy unoriginality. Shut yer pie hole, Alfred E. Morning Star. It's on like donk

 

And before I could finish, the demon breathed fire in my face, ending my game before I was ready.

And no WAY I'm going to remember that password. That's just ridiculous.

I can't take it in here much longer, friend. I've learned from my mistakes. We'll go back to updating the website weekly. Anything to get me out of this Purgatoryhole.

Please, for the love of God and all His children's stupid video games, PLAY THE SPIRITUAL WARFARE ROM and help my red-headed step-counterpart out of here.