The Continuing Adventures of Angle the Angel

"This is getting stupid!" shouted Pastor.

"Just keep shooting!" Angle hollered back.

Angle was an Angel.  In many languages his name and form of being was not humorous.  In English it was rather humorous.  Angle did not find this fact very humorous at all.

Now, the natural form of an angel is utterly terrifying to most people.  Witnesses to such a sight are immediately overcome with uncontrollable fear, panic, and involuntary bowel movements.  For this reason an angel will spend most of his time visiting Earth in the assumed guise of a human, unless he's heralding a divine decree and needs the audience to unquestionably know just what sort of being is before them.

Angle spent a lot of time on Earth.  But he had never settled on a particular human appearance that he fancied.  He constantly tweaked his form by growing, shrinking, thinning, fattening, and outright changing his entire look on occasion.  Currently his form closely resembled Tom Selleck.  Tom Selleck without a mustache, anyway.  Except Tom Selleck without a mustache doesn't really look anything like Tom Selleck at all.

And this is exactly what Angle looked like.



Pastor, on the other hand, looked exactly like a pastor.  If one were to picture a pastor, Pastor would come awfully close to fitting that image.  Pastor had the build, height, and even hair of a pastor.  He looked exactly like one.  Except that he was sitting next to an angel who looked like Tom Selleck without a mustache (which doesn't look anything like Tom Selleck), speeding down a twisting, mountain highway in a Jeep with its top down, all the while shooting a heavenly weapon at a pack of demons that was chasing them.

"I am shooting the Compys," replied Pastor in agitated frustration.  "It's not working!"

The demons chasing their Jeep were not really called Compys.  Their actual name was far too long and unpronounceable to be used in daily conversation.  The hosts of Heaven began referring to them as Compys in 1997 when two bored angels went to a showing of The Lost World: Jurassic Park.  That was the Jurassic Park movie without Sam Neil.  During the film, one of the angels joked that the Compsognathus dinosaur, which was as small as a chicken and hunted in packs, humorously resembled those demons with a name far too long and unpronounceable to be used in daily conversation.  His companion agreed with such uproarious laughter that an usher was required to escort them out of the theater.

Two consequences resulted from this incident.  First, all the angels and anyone that associates with angels now refer to these demons simply as Compys.  Second, those two angels still have never seen any of The Lost World past the part where the Russian cosmonaut from Armageddon is attacked and killed by Compys.  They insist to one day see the rest of the movie, but so far haven't found the time.

The Jeep swerved sharply as Angle found himself driving a little too close to the edge of the winding road.  He had to do a better job of keeping his eyes on the road while arguing with Pastor about the best way to kill Compys.

"Use the Wind Gun!" he continued shouting.

"I am using the Wind Gun!  Nothing it shoots out is working!"

"Just keep firing," Angle insisted, his grip tightening over the steering wheel as they approached another sharp turn that they were traveling at way too fast a speed to navigate safely.

Pastor continued to point the bulky, bulbous gun behind him.  The midday sun gleamed off the weapon's shiny surface which was composed of some manner of shimmering heavenly steel.  It was quite heavy, but in a way that was light and easy to hold.  It was wholly unwieldy, but in a way that made it accurate and easy to aim.  And on occasion, when Pastor pulled the trigger, it did shoot out wind from the long barrel.  But it wasn't really a wind gun.

The Hebrew word sometimes translated as "wind" (approximately ruach) actually has a variety of meanings, including breath, spirit, soul, and perhaps even odor or smell.  It also had another rare meaning that had long been lost to the scribes.  This obscure meaning roughly translates to "gelatinous, foul smelling fish soaked in lye."

Through pure happenstance, and unusual monk named Hank rediscovered this definition during the Crusades.  Most people never listened to Hank.  Everyone stopped listening to him completely as soon as he began expounding the theological merits of eating fish soaked in lye.

For reasons unknown, Hank migrated north to Scandinavia to spread his new found gospel of the foul fish.  For reasons even more unknown, many people in Scandinavia actually accepted it.  They dubbed it lutefisk and ate it as a sacramental meal revering the concentrated power of divine creation.  As previously, though, this meaning was once again lost and today nobody really knows why anybody eats lutefisk.

But they do eat it.  Many Lutheran churches in the American Midwest still hold lutefisk dinners periodically.  Mostly this is done in an odd attempt to acknowledge and honor their Scandinavian heritage.  "My great-grand daddy ate this, so I'm going to eat it!" said a Minnesotan Lutheran once before spending the next forty-five minutes in the bathroom.

Unbeknownst to these lutefisk eaters, they're actually partaking in a long lost sacrament, participating with God and the world in experiencing the grand power of creation.

So, while the gun Pastor frantically fired was commonly known, at least to those sorts of beings that commonly know these sorts of things, as the Wind Gun, it actually operated on the premise of the word's many meanings.  It would cycle through shooting out blasts of wind, spirit, breath, and even smell.  These emissions were hard for Pastor to differentiate, but eventually he began to notice another, more unique, projectile shooting out from the gun's barrel.

About every seventh time he pulled the trigger, a translucent, quivering, fishy substance of questionable odor shot into the air towards the Compys.  And when this substance hit a Compy the results were devastating for it was being hit with the concentrated power of divine creation.  The same devastation happens inside the stomachs of all who partake in church lutefisk dinners.

Once Pastor realized this effect (on the Compys, not Lutheran digestive systems) he timed his shots carefully so every seventh shot, the lutefisk shot, would be a direct hit and obliterate a Compy.  He cheered and hollered with excitement as the ravenous pack of demons was reduced to slime on the pavement.  Satisfied, he set the gun down, turned around in his seat and relaxed as Angle slowed down to a less hazardous speed.

"So, where are we going again?"

"To see a guy," Angle calmly replied.

Pastor was skeptical.  "Is he actually a guy or, you know, something else?"

"No, no, he's actually human.  His wife, however," Angle smiled wryly, "is actually a 12 foot tall spider."

"Evil spider?"

"Mmhmm, aren't they all?"

"Right," Pastor leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes.  "Save the man, kill the giant spider."  Before long he was napping as Angle the Angel drove them to yet another adventure.