Ionic dissonance would be the most detached way to describe the events at hand. The events at hand are a nameless doll jamming a plasma blade through the hull of the DeathScytheHell. If the DeathScytheHell’s hull is pierced, its pilot, Duo Maxwell, the self-proclaimed God of Death can’t maneuver. If the God of Death can’t maneuver, the Libra will never collide with the Peacemillion. The Libra will in turn collide with Earth. White Fang will get their pyrrhic victory. Duo Maxwell’s fleeting, final memories will be a soundless gasp in low orbit in the shadow of a dead world that will be heard by no one. However, this is not how things are meant to be. All life on Earth is not meant to end in 195 AC. That soundless gasp must be heard somewhere thorough the cosmos. Someone must right this.

Chicago, 1998. A message has breached the confines of space and time and that message is galactic terror, global extinction. Fortunately, Steven Quincy Urkel has heard the call. While utilizing a sonic algorithm to predict the perfect Grown and Sexy Slow Jam for his first dance with Laura Winslow at their impending nuptials, which had come down to “Are you that Somebody” by Aaliyah and “All My Life” by K-CI and JoJo, he heard a cry for help from beyond. A single defeated voice muttering from the void, “Evil puppets?” The utterance was followed by the laugh of a man consigned to his fate to die below the stars with his face alight by the azure glow of the now dead Earth below him. Fear gripped Steven Quincy Urkel, along with the tiniest amount of what he had hoped was butt sweat.

Steven Quincy Urkel’s third greatest sin had come home to roost. His first greatest sin involved a frankly underwhelming breakfast cereal. His second greatest sin involved the creation of a really shitty board game. Yes, they had shitty board games for everything then, but this one was really ass. The third greatest sin of the man they call Urkel was when he ripped a hole in space time in young Judy Winslow’s bedroom. Yes, in an attempt to stealthily place love notes on Laura’s pillow from the adjacent bedroom, he tore reality asunder. Unfortunately for young Judy, she had gone up the stairs to bed one night, opened her door, and had been sent, well, somewhere that was not Laura’s pillow. Steve now knew that the mystery door had assumedly sent Judy into the frigid vacuum of space. He lamented this for a moment, but then immediately forgot about her, much like her parents. However, this time the forgetting of Judy Winslow’s existence did not involve an ambrosia salad that was chock full of mind altering substances and an impromptu performance by reunited 80’s pop mainstays New Edition that was chock full of trigger phrases about only having one daughter, which was how the Winslow’s had managed to seemingly forget that they had two daughters. They had all been reprogrammed to think that Judy’s bedroom door had led to a haunted linen closet.

The only other time the portal that resided in Judy Winslow’s bedroom had been used was when Steve had used it to banish malicious sentient puppets Stevil and Carlsbad to the beyond. As a man of science, he would briefly wonder how Occham would feel about evil puppets being sent into a mystery door leading to the tide changing in a futuristic robot war being the simplest explanation for anything. He then thought about his sweet Laura. After the turgidity in his pants subsided, he knew that he would have to take action. With the rapidity of a possessed gazelle, which is how his Kenyan ancestors would have described it, he made his way to his laboratory. He rummaged through his fantastical inventions that would make even Tesla say, “Oh shit, son. This is some fucked up dark arts, philosopher’s stone, alchemy type shit right here.” He affixed a future divining helmet, that honestly looked like a colander with some wires attached to one of those early 80’s cable boxes with the knob on it, to his head. He turned the knob and saw the future. He saw a future full of Gundams, one of which had wings. In brief, the future he saw was something that seemed, and I quote an unnamed source, “It seemed really cool when I was 19 and smoking year 2000 nugs and a lot of dirt weed all summer, but when I went and read a bunch of wikis about it in my office in my mid 30’s, it kind of seems like sci fi gibberish, and you can only get the old DVDs from 2006 of it, and they’re like two hundred bucks on Amazon, so fuck that.” The best description would be giant mechs fighting because of interstellar colonial secession and shit.

With the knowledge needed now at hand, Steve knew that he could not save the future alone. He would need his most trusted ally at his side. No, not Grandmama. There are some problems that cannot be solved by even former Charlotte Hornet Larry Johnson in a dress. He needed Carl Winslow, as Carl had to pilot his own Gundam, the Carl Geese.

Beloved Chicago constabulary, Carl Winslow, was attempting to have a lovely Saturday afternoon. He had procured a sumptuous chicken ptarmigan sub from his favorite sandwichery. Their sandwiches tasted so good that if he had early onset CTE he would sing to his sub. In addition to his sandwich, there was going to be a very nebulously named “Comedy Marathon” on a cable channel with no name. He had hoped it was the 3 Stooges, even though every time Curly asked, “Did I do that?” Carl would let out the tiniest splash of rage urine. For a flittering moment in the Winslow living room, Carl “I assure you my name is not Al Powell” Winslow was serene. The door would then fling open, Steve Urkel would bound through, and all hope for Saturday would be lost. Knowing that Carl would immediately protest even hearing about the future and its Gundams, and given the fact that Steve Urkel could do anything that wasn’t putting out a grease fire, Steve had created let’s say a series of hand signals that would immediately catch Carl up to date on all of the exposition. It was that or smart farts.

Anyway, after Steve had finished making yet another mockery of the laws of God and man, he spoke, “So, Big Guy…”

“Dammit Steve, I already know you’re going to come at me with some mess about how we have to save the future, or you’ve got a shrink ray, or one of you or your clones drank a potion that made you Elvis, but we are not doing it today. Today, all I want to do is sit on this couch, eat my sandwich, watch some comedy, and maybe teach Richie and 3J a lesson about the importance of honesty.”

“But Carl the future of the planet is at stake here. Stevil and Carlsbad have teamed up with White Fang to decimate the planet. The fate of the Earth Sphere Unified Nation hangs in the balance.” Replied Urkel.

“Steve, I don’t care if it’s White Fang, Side three, or the Duchy of Zeon. I only care about the duchy of me on this couch eating my sub and watching black three stooges.”

At this moment, Eddie, eldest male Winslow child, general disappointment, walked in very briefly to say, “Hey, Steve, if you need to sing with some far future fly fillie, you know I’ve got you. I did sing with Shaunice of ‘I love your smile’ fame, you know.”

“Eddo, this ain’t Macross.” Sniped Steve.

Eddie proceeded to fuck right off out of the living room, defeated. As Steve was realizing this was getting him nowhere, he knew that he had to play the King of Hearts, which honestly, we’re not even going to get into G Gundam here, anyway. Instead of this hand of his burning red, his voice got increasingly nasal, and he called out, “Laura!”

With that the ebony enchantress that had beguiled Steve Urkel for years entered the living room. Laura Winslow, the scourge of Myra Butros Butros Monkhouse, even though Myra was always kind of hotter than Laura, stepped in to mediate. In a deft, assured tone she simply stated, “Daddy look, we both know that it’s just easier to go with Steve on this. He will never stop. He’s like the terminator but with an inhaler and an accordion.”

Carl replied, “You’re right honey. Maybe in the third movie it’ll be the Urkel-nator.”

Urkel chimed in, “Come on big guy, even though we’re going to go hundreds of years into the future to fight in a war of secession fought by giant robots who are secretly being manipulated by sentient puppets that are soulless clones of you and I, making a sequel to Terminator 2 is fucking ludicrous.”

Everybody laughed, as they had no idea what horrors the Terminator franchise held for them in the years to come. And with that, Urkel’s plan was put into action. Urkel and Carl suited up for Steve’s return to the unflinching abyss. A team of Urkel bots would wait dormant for centuries, until Gundanium, the most lazily named of the science fiction metals, was discovered. The Urkel Bots would then go about crafting the Carl Geese and the *sigh* Laura Gundam and have them waiting at the exact spot Carl and Urkel would emerge from the improbable, conceptually terrifying, cosmic oddity that was Judy Winslow’s bedroom door.

Even without proper training in Gundam piloting, the Carl Geese and the Laura Gundam cut a swath through White Fang. The name Urkel was writ in blood and specifically in comic sans across the cosmos. A bunch of amusing character interactions with the cast of Gundam Wing that I’m going to assume nobody cares about occurred. It should be noted though that half of these interactions were kind of awkward and revolved around most of the Gundam pilots having never actually met a black person before.

The Libra never did crash into the Earth. The Gundam fighting that had led to this was described as, “Holy fucking shit. That was amazing. The nasal guy had these laser swords *light saber noises for a bout fifteen seconds* and they were just fucking shit up. I felt bad for the other robots. It was the most violent, unnecessary yet compelling thig I’ve ever seen. It almost makes you forget that 85% of Endless Waltz was kind of boring. That’s how good it was.”

All that was left was the final confrontation. On a dusty shore, the location would always be a secret, as marked graves lack a certain mystique, Stevil cradled the long-deceased Carlsbad. Stevil had known he was defeated for some time, but even one without a soul can fear the unknown. Dejected as he was though; he did not recoil when he heard those footsteps. He did not recoil when he heard the inhaler click. Stevil only said this, “They call the other one the god of death, but you. You’re what we should be afraid of. Gods have laws. You have to believe in them for them to keep existing, but you though. You’re something else. There are no laws to you. Nobody has to believe in you. You just do whatever you want, damn the consequences. I’d imagine gods play you when they’re wee babes.”

“Got any cheese?”

A single shot rang out and scene.

“So, that’s your pitch?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, cool we’re cancelling Family Matters effective immediately.”