Bathroom Monologue: Why I never saw Underworld 2

In a world where no one believed anymore, where salt and silver had lost their power, where the cross could no longer scorch children of the night, the armies of darkness rose up to conquer humanity. A lone, babbling preacher in New York City's Central Park stood between the the dark lords and their conquest. The vampires laughed and threw him down. Dracula, who had just been resurrected for the eighty-fifth time and yet still looked totally G.Q., spat on his crucifix and chided, "You have no more power in this realm, old man!" "Oh?" The preacher said, then faced the sky and shrugged, "Alright then. Your turn." And with that, the sky did split open, and the hosts of angels, who were none-too-pleased at the vast underrepresentation of their badassness since their righteously awesome victory over Satan in the War of Heaven, came a-raining divine blades and sulfur. When the greatest (and thereby sexiest) of the vampires and werewolves rose up to tear at the holy host, a giant hand slapped down on them from the sky, and a resounding, omniscient voice boomed, "OH, I'LL HAVE NONE OF THAT SHIT TODAY." And to the terror of many a mortal, he said it in Arabic. Then did Jesus, freshly pissed off from viewing the Passion of the Christ, descend on the zombies, an AK-47 in one hand, a machete in the other; and he was flanked by Mohammed and Moses, who both for some reason kicked copious ass with flaming nunchuks. The vampires were done for, the undead were satisfactorily re-deaded, and when the werewolves and witches finished defecating in fear, they tried to make a break for it, but were headed off by Zeus, Gilgamesh, Glooscap, Ra, Anansi and Odin (all in New England Patriots football gear, for some reason), who, with the hosts of Valhalla and Tartarus, proceeded to stomp the living crap out of them. Little Goth girls, Emo boys, Hollywood directors and Philosophy professors across North America sobbed into their Hot Topic pillows, until Satan himself (with a Hell of a lot to prove after the savage beating Michael gave him during that whole "War of Heaven" deal) personally opened portals between their bedrooms and the Inferno, and let his minions go all Doom III on their asses. That went down in history as the night religion had enough of popular culture's anorexic, tattooed, pale, cynical, leather-wearing dumb ass.

(Note: Two years later, Michael Moore made a documentary about the hypocrisy surrounding that night's events; the Holy Ghost let it go until He saw Moore on the O'Reilly Factor promoting the already over-advertised blockbuster)