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Nerding Day: Armor of God Force III

Added 2024-12-31 13:00:10 +0000 UTC

I love them so fucking much.

Armor of God Force promises sentai bible study and delivers magic. The Power Inquisition is art. The Knights Turbo burn two fandoms and sell the ashes. A clueless prequel to nailing fruit to the wall.

Oh, right. In case kids find “think less, pray more” too complex, each episode ends with a full-costume, direct address breakdown of themes. Usually by Pastor Jay, with lore-authentic condescension. But sometimes Chris and Jessica feel judgy. I didn’t think youth groups were ruinable, but Armor of God Force has ambition. Our heroes risk adding children to their loss record.

Other faiths can match their body count, but the born-again own reverse propaganda. Gospel media’s harder to defend than geocentrism ever was. Cite all the bones or history you want, you’ll never outdo a rapping pastor. Or today, a pastor played by a former rentable event Tupac. That’s not a gag. Pastor Jay had the first creative job killed by AI.

Even when shots are in focus, Armor of God Force struggles to build up its heroes. The sweet spot between invincible and braindead eludes it. Most wrestling, battle manga, and playground games clear that hurdle, but Armor of God Force folds. God’s weakest soldiers endure themed beatings until Satan’s schemes get bored and self-terminate.

But enough preamble: ARMOR ON!

I’m finally saved.

Test the Spirits opens on Red winning a fight.

Give him a sec.

Take it in. It’s your Christmas miracle, unless you love polio. Action faith lets Chris land half a kip-up. If that’s a new word, you did one the last time you woke up late. Still, Red’s on a streak.

Oh, it’s the Danger Room.

Sorry, Spiritual War Room. Still, surprising for a team of Sentinel donors. Maybe that’s why it’s hidden behind the porn couch. Either way, Chris should turn off Narrative Mode. He loses more fights than human decency. I get taking breaks to heal, but sloth makes the next suplex worse.

Chris still quotes scripture in the Holodeck, which sounds like trash-talking a graphing calculator. Your first tic-tac-toe win’s rewarding, but nothing to crotch-chop at Satan over. The scene feels extra pointless, since this is a Jessica episode. Sparring the “shadow demon” pays off nothing and builds to less. But we do get something new.

First, Chris uses the shield of faith, which reflects all attacks and new information. No skeptic’s annotation can pierce it.

Then today’s Party City Ringwraith kills itself bouncing a superior attack off the shield. The monsters tend to be Chris or Jay’s size, but I wouldn’t overthink it.

Finally, there’s a Birdemic III explosion. A cleansing campfire, freeing Jay and Chris to stand in the same shot again.

Fresher insanity lurks in the story. Like when Jessica, this episode’s lead, finally shows up. Before Pastor Jay can start the usual insults, she drops some hammers:

It’s a crisis! Heather’s casting endgame glyphs, and missing mass! Why do other shows try? Other than us never seeing Heather the Wytch, or Jessica battle a fallen friend with real powers, or Jessica do much of anything. What can compete?

Elsewhere, I’d assume incense and doomed poetry. Here, I know it’s Malleus Maleficarum magick. The witch war is real. The blue armor’s notched with centuries of high-effort murder. Those notches can’t all be Jay, or even mostly. He barely has the grit for human conversation: he launches right into a guilt trip, ignoring the witch crisis. Like Leslie Ludy before her, Jessica’s a former reprobate.

See, Jessica’s from the mean suburbs. Before the force, she sold uncut paganism.

As a pusher, she seems happier and more productive. Jessica studies a loose mixture of yoga and Obi-Wan quotes, and teaches other lost souls from her local McDojo. There isn’t a self-hating pastor in sight. Sure, “Yoga Time” sounds like a place to learn backbends and mistranslated zen koans. But they’re really sin koans.

Like most of Satan’s illusions, the studio looks like shit. More like shit. Practical shit has an edge on digital shit, before or after slop printers. Throwing a porn couch pillow on the floor would beat a Snapchat-grade green screen.

Here’s the oath of the hellbound:

An open heart? That’s a devil-hole.

After meditating once, Jessica trips balls into the fourth dimension. The void melds vintage Star Trek budget with modern Star Trek effort. Mid couchlock, she finds Kara, goddess of self-love and tranquility.

You might love Armor of God Force tilting New Age nonsense. I’m pissed: I bet they’d hit intra-church heresy or gender panic first, with a double payout for both. Each frame shitting on wiccans costs me money. I’ll never be able to eat uptown again. Eat shit, Sam.

I’d call Kara her own cosplayer, but that’s a micro-industry. She’s six grand of gear and labor away from being her own cosplayer. Most of Otacon would take a bullet before that tiara. Kara’s closer to her own V-tuber.

Kara has a tip for her best and only priest.

Probably fine.

Back on Earth, which looks emptier than the void, Jessica gets the best email I’ve seen this year. The nonsense family sends for holidays and weddings can’t compete. I’m happy for your new baby, but they’ll never make me smile like this. Her manager’s leaving retiree money behind for porn couch salvation:

The least muddled takeaway of Jessica’s flashback? Jay’s great. We never forget Jay for too long. Think Hulk Hogan’s booking, but much sadder for black people. After watching an endless speech on evil spirits, Jessica meets Jay for a backup speech with no kicking, jokes, or drama around the pill. Focusing highlights the core lesson: acting lessons are priceless. I’d quote it, but I have limited time alive, and Armor of God Force convinced me there’s no encore.

As a counterpoint, Kara introduces “Transcendental Master Jesus.” I’m…not sure I get it. The fake Jesus bit scans, but the joke sprints past hippies into nonsense. I’m used to interfaith hate with footnotes and block quotes. Armor of God Force improvises around a half-remembered Woodstock documentary.

My mistake: reading for plot, content, sight, or sound. They make it confusing when, despite having and introducing her own decoy Jesus, Kara hates when Jessica says Jesus.

Kara really hates it. Think “Beetlejuice” in reverse. For the spirit/demon/dealer of zen heresy, she has a stick up her root chakra.

The third time, Kara’s mask falls. To the extent there was one. By now, even Jessica’s just going through the pre-reveal motions. If you didn’t notice Kara’s a demon, you may be a Chris. The untwist gives us the show’s second best transformation. We’ll hit the first later.

Excellent. Hopefully Kara-Prime has a new flavor of backlash. Preferably, a suit with joints. But I’ll settle for that lightning effect again. I can’t see it without smiling.

We’re in business. If Jessica finds her (new, proper) faith, we’ll have a proper origin issue. If she gets Sheev’d to death, we’ll have a fun paradox. I can’t lose.

Hell yeah. I’ll buy into the premise. Jessica can Armor Up for the first time, and win a fight with a demon. Let’s get purging.

What.

She just fucks off.

In a superhero origin story. Companies, creators, and children mass-produce these like Fords. The format’s tattooed onto nerd brains. Anyone that would even consider this premise knows it. How do you dick it up this badly?

Sure, “you need God to breathe or tie your shoes” is the theme. Deliver that theme through punch. One punch, on one demon, and you own the Christian Sentai market. One punch, and Bob Iger makes you a millionaire. Do it. I’m a spiritual mannequin and I’m rooting for you.

GET UP. PUNCH HER. PUNCH THE DEMON.

Note: Kara isn’t her nemesis. We don’t revisit this next episode, or ever. Kara still happily wanders the land, beating devout ass. Handing out concussions like coal. Among Bibletown’s leading causes of death, Kara sits between ectopic pregnancy and other Christians.

There you have it. Before joining the Force, Jessica had confidence, inner peace, and her own business. Now she has two competing eating disorders and foam armor. Armor on!

Addendum: Pastor Jay does this episode’s real breakdown, summarizing more of modern life I’d like.

The title card is essential.

I’ll miss this show. It’ll take hours to find new gospel insanity.

We’re not done with false idols or false finishes. I’ve saved a certain failure for Christmas. It’s too late for my wallet, but Armor of God Force finally remembers to hate rival churches. Specifically, Olsteen-style hedge funds. If your church has a trademark, Pastor Jay resents you. In fact, if your church has four people, Pastor Jay resents you.

I see that couch in my dreams.

“How’s Action Leviticus different from primetime mass?” asks a straw heathen. It’s not! But this show sank like a brick, so I’ll forgive shots at better products.

The Profit introduces Max Profit. Not your declined surgery, but the only character enjoying Armor of God Force. While Synastor (Satan in a tin can) struggles with Miltonian depression and the team struggles with breathing, Max Profit thrives as a megachurch grifter.

The contrast stands out:

Max plans to get slightly richer by killing the Power Clergy and taking Jay’s offscreen followers. Doable. But he’s already loaded, and waiting for the team to meet a pissed-off fruit fly seems easier. I suppose we’re in a fantasy setting, where the wealthy go to insane lengths for more gold.

After a rant on false prophets, the plot yanks Jay out of town. His mom’s sick, which I’ll be psychologically ready to joke about by 2050. Before I can spiral, Max steps in as substitute teacher. And gives a sermon mixing Foghorn Leghorn and Nergal.

It’s so close to working.

To be clear: Max’s actor blows. He chokes on the scenery he chews. But he’s having fun, and his character has a sane-ish point. He’s crushing the land of the blind. I’d call Max my favorite, but MechaSatan’s perfect. And Max sets up this gag:

Boo. That said: Max is a fucking werewolf.

The one from the beatings above! What a rich tapestry. I must have the healthiest mind around. It’s a shame that I’m wrong, and reality is much lamer.

Stop me if this seems convoluted: Max keeps a werewolf around, to make people suspect he’s a werewolf. Then, when he’s not a werewolf, the werewolf can surprise no one, because they know there’s a werewolf around. After rewatching this episode of children’s television four times, I’ve decided the answer is “fuck it.” Though the script insists that Max is a spiritual werewolf, including dog puns every six seconds.

Then Max just…watches his pet die. Without twitching. Holy wars might be turn-based.

Jay hits the post-episode breakdown, and sounds miserable about the win. And Earth. He might seek death.

This one’s a nice yardstick for my sanity. The Profit targets a shared foe with the same zeal as eating, love, gaming, girl, and evilution. And sucks. Deeply. Powerfully. If I gave The Profit a pass, I’d retire from Lunatic Studies to write Thunderbolt Fantasy fanfics. In my home by the ocean, minutes from a school where students haven’t heard of Copilot or taken state-sponsored DDTs. Some of my wives would have trouble adjusting, but they’d pull together into a found family. And I’d still visit my best friend Kenshiro a few times a year.

Alright, my sanity’s dead. But I have one more fable for you.

Here’s the best transformation in the series. And the first lawsuit. Take a careful look at this title card:

At first glance, that’s fucking Iron Man. Not a parody–just a yellow Iron Man, who was already yellow. That first glance was correct. Trust your instincts, they’re your only guide through the fog.

Scratch that, I’m overreacting. This lightly edited art is also Idol Man, a mortal distraction from Christ. “Special Blasphemy Edition” may be the show’s best intentional joke. I’m laughing from a heathen perch, but it’s there.

Naturally, Chris is a big fan. At this point, Chris reads less like a true believer, and more terrified of dying alone. Jay’s micro-cult offers a home big enough for both of his brain cells. Satantron takes note, a fistful of Exxua, and advantage.

First, Lucifer 2.0 transforms the megacorp-copyrighted Idol Man into an Original Character.

Think Pagan Homelander. Next, the Morningstar transforms Chris into a comics podcaster.

The saddest kind, behind wrestling and moving right along. But neither transformation’s my favorite. That honor belongs to Chris’s brief, noble struggle against the series formula. For a moment, Chris stands his ground. He defends the God he kind of believes in maybe.

Leading Chris to what poet Johnny Mundo calls “Slamtown.” It’s instant. Faith does nothing here, even by series standards. I’m convinced Sam Harris is producing, and season two will go all-in on race realism.

Then Idol Man stops kicking Chris long enough to hit his finisher: turning into a golden calf. And suddenly, I’m down again. This stroke of insane literalism is all I wanted from this premise. And year. The rest felt like a longshot.

During the rematch, he pushes the nonsense further. It’s an open challenge to Iger and his brood. Disney Command is unthawing lawyers from the 1950s to erase this footage. No one else has ever paid for it, so they might take me out too. It’s been an honor.

Right, focus. It’s Max again.

While this round tries a little harder, Idol Man has a telltale spark of life. He has to be Max, everyone else is sleepwalking. Still, there’s a backup twist again. One the show hides artfully: a story arc. Something that happens in one episode matters in another. And both matter in the finale! It’s like watching squirrels invent fire. Most episodes have less connective tissue than a pitcher’s shoulder. Or mine. But megachurch resentment sparks a miracle.

The finale still sucks, but that’s 2025’s problem. Among others.

With my lunatic goggles on, I see Idol Man’s point: hero worship is a bit like worship, sans bombs and untaxed land. And Infinity War stopped two frames short of putting nails in Stark’s palms. I’d make that point with a Christian Babysitter’s Club, Christian Jazz Band, or Christian Florist. Not another armored closet alcoholic. BaptistBorgs have a very on-brand tone, and the brand sucks.

My worthiest foe. Play us out, Chris.