It was a rather quiet day on Mount Olympus and the gods were beside themselves with boredom. They lie around on plump chaise and silken pillows gorging on ambrosia and imbibing Dionysus’ wine as if the tankards would never run dry, because, well, they would not.

Zeus pushed his rather large frame from the lounger on which he had been draped and cleared his throat with a thunderous cough. Athena, though normally fully aware of her surroundings, had grown lazy in these modern days of disbelievers, jumped wildly from a pile of silken pillows; flowing hair a tangled mess that more resembled a haggard mess of dred locks, wielding dulled spear and bent shield.

Zeus laughed. Other gods, slowly began to rouse themselves from a drunken haze to look at dear Zeus. (He had already brought out Thunderbolt to play with while he waited for their attention, which worked quite well most days.)

“What we need, is some attention,” Zeus announced. “Earth has grown fond of ignoring the old gods. So what do you propose?”