• The weather is terrible here. No sun. No rain. All mist. All gloom And I can't even leave. All roads lead back to --- Hades. Welcome Ladies! Want flowers. It just smells like death here. This is terrible. Gloom doesn't do much for the complexion.

    Call me Hades. Please. I'm rich. Just because you're an idiot doesn't mean your name is idiot. So. If you would. Refrain from the rich nicknames. No. Not Pluto. Not Polydegmon. Hades if you will.

    Hades is a retired bada**. Turned pale. And a bit uncreative. No wait. Yes. Creative. A poor kind of creative.

    I hear Paris Hilton's end is coming. Oh boy. What fun I'll have. Make her carry Cerebus in a purse. The purse must be roomy. I'll borrow Persephone's.

    Persephone is know for her BoHo style. Baggy purse. Flamboyant dresses. Earrings galore.

    Here come the d***ed. The worst humanity has to offer. The frothy dregs. From the mug of mankind. Metaphorically speaking. And I'm supposed to punish them. How to punish? But I'm blocked. Ideas. Need. Shakespeare...Eternal amateur poet. James R. Hamilton. Eternal diction practice. You there. You. Forever you have the word on the tip of your tongue. But you can never grasp it. And you. Hiccups forever. Eternal tazing. Sigfried and Roy. Mauled by tigers. Osama. Hmm. What to do. Trapped in unknown cave for eternity. Next. No. That's terrible. Everything you touch. Chocolate. Like Midas. But tastier.

    Oh no. My dilemma. Torture block. What can I do. How else could I possibly make people suffer? I've done it all. Hmm. I hear murmurings of a man. Mortal man. Sicker than I. I could get his help...What was his name? Dionysus? No. I know him. Disney? No. No. I hate him. Dr. Dre. Rapper. D. D. Dante. Yes.

    Persephone. Fetch me my parchment.

    Dearest Dante,
    I need new torture. Your heretics. Flaming tombs. Your politicians. Boiling pitch. And flatterers. I hate flatterers. You put them neck high in bulls**t. I lack your eloquent sadism. Magnificent cruelty. Poetic. Justice. If you will. I require your aid and I can't torture. My mind is dry of creative juices. Squeeze me a lemon. Press me some grapes. Refill my empty cup. With your twisted ideas. Bring me new torture.
    Signed,
    Hades

    I down the whole bottle of creativity. I am sadistic. I am cruel. Terror is my name. But less so. Begin an arsenal of tortures. My next unfortunate victim. Pity the fool. Forever swimming to the surface. Lungs bursting forever. Arms and legs doomed to cramp. God. I could do this forever.

    Now. My job eh? Glorious. Little bro Zeus gets supreme almighty god powers and super cool lightning bolts. And lots of women. Poseidon gets the oceans and lakes. 70% of the Earth's surface. And also lots of women. Me? The snively useless humans leftover from their snively useless lives. Death party! No. Gloom. Doom. Mist and murk. I had to kidnap my wife. What do I do? I watch dead people all day. The boredom is excruciating.

    I could choose not to be bored. But then I'd explode from stress. Sometime I take a swim in the waters of Lethe in hopes of making it all go away. Maybe if I forget I'm bored it won't matter. Doesn't work. I forget I'm a God. Invincible. Immortal. F***ing river. All the fish are dead too.

    It is too crowded. Too many dead things. Nowhere to put them.

    Take worship. Or, more precisely. Sacrifice. Having some financial troubles? Mutilate some black sheep and burn at any temple to Hades. 100,000 charred remains arrive on my doorstep every Monday morning. I hate Mondays. And sheep.

    Now I have charred remains scattered throughout hell. Problem: No one in the underworld eats. Solution: Store mutilated ghosts of sheep in the fields of Alicum. Problem with Solution: Said fields are intended as praise for heroes. Heroes are spoiled. They complain endlessly. Solution to Problem with original Solution: Ignore spoiled brats and return to excruciating boredom. New stress producer arrives. The snively humans reproduce like rabbits. Problem: Too many dead people and not enough room. Solution: Launch them into space. Maybe I'll throw them in the big blue. Let my brother deal with them. Dead in the water. I like this idea.

    I need a favor. I write a letter.
    Dear Zeus, Demeter, Poseidon, Assorted Sibling,
    I need a favor. I need this favor. A small thing really. No need to upset your nice cloud.I ask my favor. Humbly. Kindly. Seal letter.

    Dawn. Dead birds chirp. Stretch their wings. Hermes returns with a reply:
    Dear Hades,
    Assorted Siblings express insincere regret. Various excuses used. Emphasis placed on lack of funds.
    Signed,
    Your Adoring, Ever-Admiring and Loving Zeus

    D**m. The God of the sky wants money. As I mumble like a mother whose 34-year old son plays X-box in her basement. I write a polite declination.
    Fine. I'll do it myself. A*****e . The only good help I can get come from dead people.

    Biology is stellar like stars. But less distant. And. More visible in daylight. Biology needs revising. A new phylogenetic classification. Maternatum Legalium. Mother in laws. Characterized by. Alien digestive system. All food is terrible. Except hers. Low fat. Low calorie. Low carb. Low sodium. All fiber. In a word. Fodder. Organisms in phylum. Known to be sharp. Tongue included. Specimens observed. Obscenely possessed with offspring. Particularly concerned with dustiness of shelves. And. Aggressively invasive of offspring's romantic life. Caution. Avoid contact with eyes. And ears. Fatal if ingested.

    Made more confusing by. Five siblings. One hundred nephews. And nieces. My niece is my wife. And what about my mother in law? Oh. You mean my sister. Incest is best. No. It's fine. We're not actually related. But really we are.

    Kids. She wants children. She wants babies. Sure Persephone. No. That is a terrible idea. Can you imagine raising a child in the underworld. How dysfunctional they would be. What would they have for toys. Bones. Skulls. Cornfield children. They would be cornfield children.

    Persephone says. Bones and skulls. Whats wrong with that? Anatomy. Human anatomy. They'd have that down pat. Maybe become doctors. Discipline. Easy. Go roll that rock up a hill. Take a spin on a burning wheel. Yeah. They'd listen. They'd listen real quick.