Bill was watching Independence Day again. As always, he watched straight through to the end of the closing credits. It was a film that made him feel good. It made him feel a part of something big and bold. The human race, finding itself threatened with annihilation at the hands of alien invaders, banded together and defeated the intergalactic interlopers. Damn right. “Don’t you mess with the people of Earth, Fuckers,” he mused to himself.

He glanced at the clock. 2:00 p.m. Having nothing else to do with the remainder of this slow-moving Sunday, he clicked over to the final moments of the Steelers game. With less than two minutes on the clock, Roethlisberger lobbed a Hail Mary to Brown in the end zone, breaking the tie and securing the victory. Damn right. “Don’t you mess with the Steelers, Fuckers,” he mused to himself.

Click – a rundown of the day’s headlines on CNN. American forces were converging in the waters around the Korean Peninsula, gearing up to attack the DPRK should Kim Jong Un make good on his threats to launch missiles at the American territory of Guam. Damn right. “Don’t you mess with the U.S.A., Fuckers,” he mused to himself.

Jim Acosta moved on to a story about Pat Toomey holding the floor in an ongoing filibuster designed to thwart Senate Minority Leader Chuck Schumer’s newest proposed gun control bill. Damn right. “Don’t you mess with Pennsylvania, Fuckers,” he mused to himself.

Bill glanced at the clock again and remembered that there was a neighborhood association meeting at the community clubhouse in half an hour. He was the treasurer and he never missed these meetings. On this afternoon’s agenda was what to do about Penn Ridge West’s new construction plans that could potentially invite a large amount of traffic into his quiet little suburban enclave. This, he felt, would unduly affect the quality of life for Bill and his neighbors and he intended to do everything in his power to prevent this development. Damn right. “Don’t you mess with Penn Ridge East, Fuckers,” he mused to himself.

Donning his jacket, Bill stepped outside and noticed a new wasp’s nest suspended between a porch pillar and the upper edge of the front door. He grabbed a broom and swatted at it, dodging the kamikaze insects as he crushed the fallen grey honeycomb structure beneath his boot. Damn right. “Don’t you mess with the Davis home, Fuckers,” he mused to himself.

The Gods were lounging on Mount Olympus when Aphrodite said to no one in particular, “We don’t ever interact with those cute little beings on Earth anymore. Does anyone know what they’re up to?”

Zeus took a sip of ambrosia and smiled lovingly at his capricious daughter. “The same as always, my dear. A lot of flexing and posturing and puffing of chests until they’re faced with a crisis, at which time they still react predictably by blubbering and shaking their fists at the sky, as if we would be so indiscreet as to keep our lair in such an obvious location. You really shouldn’t concern yourself with them, Sweetheart. I assure you, they are of no consequence.”

“No consequence,” echoed Aphrodite as she placed a plump strawberry between her lips. “I know I’m a fucker, but it’s just been so long since we’ve messed with them. I always found that so much fun.”


10 thoughts on “Braggadocio

  1. Great, I’m going to spend the next hour at work trying to figure out the secret location of Olympus now. I always suspected it was moved to the Hollywood Hills some time in the late 20th century. Now I realize that, too, may be too obvious.

    If I find out they’ve been living among us, and George Clooney is Apollo, and Donald Trump is the Skyfather, I’m going to be horribly pissed.

    Don’t mess with me that way, fuckers.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Most of them are reposts of old stuff from Two Voices, many of which you’ve already read. Sooner or later, my reposting will taper off and then I’ll be back to all new material. For Ningun Santuario I’m going to make it available in an archive folder and then commence new installments,

      Liked by 1 person

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