Smuthers: What kind of people did you invite for us tonight?
Myself: What makes you think people are coming?
Smuthers: Don't tell me we're having another show with no guests.
Myself: What makes you think the guests will be people?
Smuthers: Uh because they can talk?
Myself: Gods can talk.
Smuthers: Gods? You invited gods to the show?
Myself: Yes, I did. That's why we're in a real TV studio today. Wouldn't want them to feel disrespected.
Smuthers: You're talking about rock stars, right?
Myself: No. Gods.
Smuthers: How did you do that?
Myself: By believing in them. Gods can't appear unless you believe in them.
Smuthers: What if I don't believe in them?
Myself: It doesn't matter as long as I believe in them.
Smuthers: So where are they?
Myself: They'll be along.
(The floor shakes and dust falls from the ceiling.)
Smuthers: Oh no! An earthquake!
Myself: Don't panic. It's just our first guest. (A beautiful charioteer in flowing garments brings her winged horse to rest on the stage and takes a seat as the audience cheers. Presenting… the goddess, Magnesia! (Trumpet blast.)
Myself: Thank you for joining us, Your Highness.
Magnesia: My pleasure. It feels good to be believed in again.
Myself: How long has it been since they last erected a temple in your honour?
Magnesia: About two and a half millennia.
Myself: What a shame.
Magnesia: Oh, I understand. You mortals like to do things for yourself.
Myself: And you were once the chief goddess of philosophy.
Magnesia: Yes. That's why ancient philosophy is so advanced. Aristotle swore by me.
Myself: So now that you can no longer meddle in our affairs, how do you gods pass the time?
Magnesia: Gambling mostly. We place bets with each other on the outcomes of your wars and athletic competitions. We can still see all from our celestial perch in Mount Olympus.
Myself: And here's a question that only you might know the answer to. Why do bad things happen to good people?
Magnesia: (rising to leave) And now I must be off.
Myself: But you're the goddess of philosophy!
Magnesia: (boarding her chariot and taking the reins) I'm also the goddess of regularity. Wouldn't want to be late for my appointment with the hair stylist.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Commercial: Tasty Pastries
(A classroom.)
Teacher: And the gods were so angry at Prometheus for stealing their fire that they gouged out his eyes, spun him around, and made him play pin the tail on the porcupine with a live porcupine. You may now break for lunch. (The children get up from their desks.)
(At the table in the cafeteria.)
Girl: Is that pastry?
Boy: Yeah. So?
Girl: My grandpa said that pastry was the food of the gods. You better not eat it or you might wind up like Prometheus.
Boy: Aw, that's just a lot of hooey! (He bites spitefully into his danish.)
Girl: Don't say I didn't warn you.
(The next morning on the way to school.)
Girl#2: Is that Kevin?
Girl: I think so.
Girl#2: Why is he tied naked to a tree as a bird pecks at his liver?
Girl: Probably something he ate.
(Product shot.)
Announcer: Tasty Pastries. Because what the gods don't know won't hurt you.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Myself: Up next is a person well known for his gods-given superhuman strength - though he never had to work in a warehouse, stacking ranges by hand. The mighty Hercules! (Trumpet blast.)
(A gushing wind accompanies Hercules as he descends gracefully to the stage, landing squarely on his sandals. He takes his seat as Smuthers drools.)
Myself: No chariot?
Hercules: I prefer to land on my own two feet. Why was I summoned here?
Myself: Because the people have a burning question that only you can answer.
Hercules: Ask it then.
Myself: Was Newton gay?
Hercules: Gay? Well he wasn't as merry as Toot…
Myself: Sorry. I forgot that you might not be up to date with modern colloquialisms. Gay means homosexual.
Hercules: What does homosexual mean?
Myself: It's when boys have sex with other boys.
Hercules: Oh. That was so widely practised that we had no word for it. We just called it love. But Newton wasn't a boy. He was a centaur.
Myself: I know. But you must admit that he had a rather suspect laugh.
Hercules: I'm not sure he even had a reproductive organ.
Myself: And you?
Hercules: Yes?
Myself: You were never tempted by that cute little furry behind wiggling in front of you all the time?
Hercules: Great Zeus! I wouldn't do that to Newton! Why, he's like my own stallion's son.
Myself: Then why are you single? Women are crazy about you. Do you suffer from some sort of dysfunction?
Hercules: Is that what you think? I'll rape this mortal right in front of you if you need a demonstration.
Smuthers: (swooning) O-o-oh!
Hercules: I simply decided to stay single after the disastrous results of my last relationship.
Myself: (skeptically) Sure. And with whom was that?
Hercules: Helen of Troy.
(Commercial.)
Myself: And now… the Romans called him Bacchus, the Americans called him Jim Morrison… He's the god of drunken revelry and he's always out looking for a good time… I give you… Dionysus!
(The god appears in a billowing plume of green smoke as the Beastie Boys' Fight for Your Right to Party blasts through the loudspeakers.)
Myself: Thank you for being here.
Dionysus: I wouldn't miss it, Dave. We're very fond of your music, you know. It's great for partying and dancing.
Myself: Did you hear that, Janie? The gods celebrate my music! Cool! Which songs do you party to?
Dionysus: Well, let's see. There's that one about being too old.
Myself: Careful? That's not a party song. That's a slow, tragic ballad about some of my worst suffering.
Dionysus: It rocks. And then there's that one about how they laughed at your heartache as they made fun of you.
Myself: Whiner? Don't you think it's a little too painful sounding for a get-together?
Dionysus: Not at all.
Myself: Well, I won't question a god on his musical tastes.
Dionysus: Smart boy.
Myself: Too bad you gods have to take a back seat to Jesus now.
Dionysus: Yes, well, we tried to put up a fight when he got into that boat with his disciples, but he calmed the storm on us. That's when we knew we were licked.
Myself: Are you bitter about it?
Dionysus: Not really. You're in good hands. I can do a lot, but turning water into wine? God knows how that's accomplished.
No comments:
Post a Comment