Clint snap-aimed and fired his Colt. The man's stetson whirled off his head. So did part of his skull. The second gunman bounced up and fired a shot at the Gunsmith. The bullet struck the dead flesh of Clint's cover. The Gunsmith fired back and saw a crimson spider appear at the man's shoulder. The gunman groaned and bolted for the side exit. Clint pointed his Colt and squeezed the trigger. The hammer struck the firing pin and drove it into an empty chamber.

But Jesus called them to him, and saith unto them, Ye know that they which are accounted to rule over the Gentiles exercise lordship over them; and their great ones exercise authority upon them.

It's called the Beast for a reason: You literally hold on to your hat -- and your sunglasses, and anything else that isn't secured -- for a 30-minute joyride. Painted to look like a bright green, sharp-toothed shark, this 70-foot racing boat zips down the Hudson, skips over waves and zooms past the Empire State Building and other landmarks at up to 45 mph.

You'd suppose A finished generation, dead of plague, Swept outward from their graves into the sun, The moil of death upon them.