How I Acquired The Cloak Of Invisibility, And The First Thing I Did With It

Actually, I’m not really sure how I acquired the damn Cloak, but it must have been a reward for one of my Odyssey adventures, which the gods have deemed to erase from my memory until a future time. I believe it was woven from Ariadne’s thread tossed aside in a forgotten ball, once Theseus made his escape from the Labyrinth.

But who wove it, and who gave it the power to make one invisible? And who presented it to me, and for what accomplishment? Alas, these truths remain hidden to me for a while longer…thus I must proceed with my tale without the benefit of any history. (Perhaps it was my spill in the River Lethe, battling some sort of beast or another, that washed away these memories.)

The Cloak itself is velvet black, with a honey shimmer to it…as if a lock of the Golden Fleece. were woven into its threads. It BELONGS to me…it KNOWS it belongs to me…as whenever I fling it about myself, it always falls upon my body in the most artful manner. It complements, it embraces, it cherishes me with dear caresses, and never clings! Yet it slides off with not a moment of pause–once I release my grasp–and falls graciously to the floor with a pleasant “whoosh”. Neither static-y nor clingy, no dirt or dust ever gathers upon it…for which I conclude the unknown existence of some Polyester-blend goddess (perhaps the offspring of that rotten cyclops Polyphemus, who once chased after some lovely trifle of a mortal named Esther. Perhaps the Cloak’s power of invisibility came from the blinding of this cyclops by Odysseus).

So I stand on the banks of the River Lethe, contemplating all the delicious adventures that will be mine, as the invisible voyeur of others’ adventures…when along comes fickle Eros. As I am presently concealed beneath the Cloak, he would pass right by me without knowing I’m even there…except for my stepping in his way, for which he is unexpectedly knocked over. After gathering his arrows, Eros stands up, stares at my new gift of the Cloak of Invisibility…and after a few moments says, “Dude: I have a great idea where you could use that Cloak.” (And where could that be?) I think.

“The Bedrooms of the Gods of course,” brags Eros, “why, you could write the steamiest novels the world has ever seen, by merely recounting what you witness! You’d be an overnight sensation, a romance novelist par excellence, and a multi-millionaire to boot!” (I would also know what tickles Apollo’s fancy) I muse, as one mortal who is very hot for a particular deity or two.

“Oh, yes, why, the benefits to your personal life would be enormous,” admits Eros. “You would have ANY God you want by the balls, and caress them whenEVER you please! I must apologize for tempting you
with mere lucre, Ezekiel…as I know you value the immaterial over the material, as should any seeker of truth. Now, just think what all that money could do for the poor, the lame, and the downtrodden!” (Then let’s go! You need not convince me further…I’m hot to trot.)

We arrive at the Bedroom Palace (teleportation? flight? memory still hazy, try again later) somewhere on the eastern slope of lofty Mount Olympus…which contains secluded chamber after chamber, to satisfy even the most finicky demands of privacy for which any goddess or god could wish. Solid, thick oak doors trimmed in eggshell white and 24 caret gold-plated brass fixtures, are so sturdy not even Hephaestus‘s mighty hammer could batter them down.

“Let me show you the bedroom where Apollo and Zeus do the nasty”, Eros leads me down a long, long hallway until we reach a room whose door he pushes ajar. I hesitate.

“Go right in, no one’s home. I’m right behind you” whispers Eros, nudging me through the entrance. We stand amid silken tapestry and drapes of purest white, purple, and gray that grace tall windows and a ginormous bed against the far end of the room. Rose-scented candles in sconces and on small tables lend a soft, gentle light to the entire room. Eros guides me into a closet large enough to fit a banquet table and all its guests. “You can hide here, in their wardrobe,” speaks Eros. “That, plus your Cloak to shield you, will make you completely secure from their finding you.”

I am about to ask some pertinent questions–such as how long do they partake in their love making (knowing that a single minute to a god is a century to a human, and that I could easily starve to death, or grow old and die in this closet, long before they’re even done with foreplay…thus you can understand my concern)–when Eros suddenly jumps back, says “I hear them coming”…then quick as a flash disappears.

I am left standing amid all the masculine trappings of war gods: the musky scent of leather and rough cloth soaked in godly sweat nearly puts me into a heavenly swoon! But I stand determined to witness what no mortal eyes have ever witnessed before: Zeus boinking the daylights out of Apollo! (Or is Zeus a bottom? Or are they more egalitarian in bed, than elsewhere? Do they like to french kiss? How much foreplay? Or are they rough and ready from the get-go? These juicy details, and much more, I am soon to find out!)

I hear voices and the door creak open, then shut. The Cloak of Invisibility is fully flung over my frame as I stand, shaking, knees wobbling in anticipation of my daring plunder into the most personal aspect of the lives of gods! A deep voice booms: “I don’t remember leaving the door open, do you? Is anyone here?” I stand, frozen, barely breathing. “Check the closet.” Arms push around the voluminous robes sliding on their hangers, but fortunately pass right by the spot on which I stand. I cannot see who it is. (Apollo or Zeus?) Not that I can’t see through my Cloak (of course I can), but the clothes shielding me that cover the Cloak block my view! Drat! I need to move a little forward…well, let’s wait till they calm down and get to bed.

“Uh, hey stud…lock that door will ya. I think we should, uh, mess around for a time. Don’t you?” I hear them disrobe: the gentle “shush” of togas falling, and the rattle of buckles. Again, one (I can’t see who) approaches the closet and plunks a heavy sword against the wall…it slides and crashes right onto my foot! Ouch! I better hold my breathe! Ouch! Damn friggin’ sword…must weigh as much as a horse…my foot is throbbing, god, this ain’t so much fun any more! Egads! Ouch, ouch ouch!

I can’t help myself; a moan wells up from my throat.

“Wait! Did you hear that?”

“What? Who could hear anything after that sword crash? Deafening! No, I didn’t hear a thing.”

“Well, I heard something, and it came from that closet!”

“And just what do you think you heard, little missy? Sure it’s not your bat ears ringing?”

(Little missy? One’s a fem? I can’t believe this! Wait’ll I get my book published! Uh-oh, he’s coming back to the closet!)

“Huh, maybe it was just an echo.” Arms swoosh through the clothing once more, and I stand frozen in fear. “Wait, what’s this?”

“What’s what? Lemme see what you’re talking about.”

I still can’t see either one of the gods, though their very breaths warm the cloak under which I tremble.

“Okay, whoever you are, come out of there now…we see you!”

(They do? I don’t believe them, they’re calling my bluff. After all, no one’s grabbing at me.)

“We can see your feet, fool! Look!”

(I look down and lo and behold! The Cloak of Invisibility hangs its hem just inches above my toes. I am not completely covered! I sigh, and drop the Cloak, and all pretense…and step out from behind the
wardrobe, to see…not gods, but goddesses! A pair of uber-dykes! What the hell is this all about?)

“Who are you?” demands the busty platinum-blonde, now hastily robed in a bedsheet.

(Ezekiel, madame…Ezekiel Joseph Krahlin.)

“Madame? You call the great goddess of the sacred hunt, Artemis, ‘madame’? Just where do you come from, little Ezekiel?” speaks the other, a voluptuous nymph of seaweed hair and piercing yellow-green eyes.

(Ummm…San Francisco, planet earth…that is, in my waking life. At present, I presume I’m in one of my vision dreams.)

“One of your vision dreams? Ha!” mocks Artemis, “Tell us who put you up to this or I’ll flay your skin and feed it to the Harpies!”

I’m not about to reveal my source…not when I’d have the wrath of yet another god upon my soul. So I just stand there, trembling, but lips firmly shut.

“Eros, eh? I should have known! That little imp is always messing up Mt. Olympus whenever he gets the chance!”

Too bad, they can read my mind. (He told me this is the bedroom of Zeus and Apollo.) I plead.

“That’s your excuse, mangy mortal?” hollers Artemis. “You were going to spy on gods? This amounts to hubris of the highest order. I hope you realize the consequences of your heinous act!”

(Ummm…being chained to a boulder and having an eagle pluck out my liver for all eternity?) I venture an educated guess.

Taken aback, Artemis first glances at the nymph, then at me, than again at her partner…and they both burst out in laughter. “Come here, Ezekiel”, Artemis gently takes my arm, and leads me to a chair where she urges me to sit.

“No harm shall come to you, mischievous mortal. It is Eros who should take the blame. I have a plan for vengeance, but it will take me some minutes to work it out. Please enjoy Sylvia’s company in the meantime…I’ll be back shortly.” And with a wide grin on her beatific face, Artemis departs.

Sylvia and I have a heartfelt conversation about the homeless lesser gods in Olympus, and what can possibly be done about it, if anything.

Finally, after the passage of a little time, Artemis returns. “Boy have I got a treat for you, Ezekiel!” And she tugs my arm in a wish to escort me to parts yet unknown.

Artemis, Sylvia, and I (carried in Sylvia’s strong arms, due to my injured foot) proceed down enormous corridors, to yet another heavy wooden door, through which we enter. There, tied by his four limbs to the posts of a water bed, kneels Eros on all fours, his nether end most prominent. Sylvia sets me on the floor, where I stand, staring in disbelief: I do drool. “He’s all yours for the next twenty minutes, Ezekiel. I’m sure you’ll know what to do!” says Artemis, and they depart.

I do indeed…for twenty of the most beautiful minutes of my life, in sheer Tantric bliss! And this experience has shown me why, when spelled backwards, Eros means “sore”! So this ends the story of my winning the Cloak of Invisibility, how I first used it, and how I lost it in the heat of the moment before I ever got to use it more than once.

ADDENDUM: Were those succulent twenty minutes, the minutes of a god, or of a mortal? I leave you to ponder, and eat your heart out.

The Exalted Land Of Andor

July is the best time of year to visit the Lilliputian nation of Andor, for they celebrate their Independence Day (July 1) all month long. The Andorians, descendants of the Basque people, were separated due to a disagreement over whether or not to allow AIDS carriers into their territory. The Basques (located in the Pyrenees Mountains between France and Spain) aggravated this dilemma by attempting to push all suspected homosexuals and/or lesbians into the Bay of Biscay.

The entire Andorian populace, totalling just and/or only 144,000 males and/or females, rose to the occasion in defense of brotherly and/or sisterly love, and beat off and/or creamed the attacking majority of breeders and/or homophobes. Radio Free Andor claims that the potential and/or conceivable casualties and/or victims of both sides withdrew before any blood and/or other vital fluids could be lost;

thus and/or therefore (and/or hence) making their sudden secession and/or revolution the first peaceful one in Iberian and/or world history. Non-Andorian and/or non-Basque tourists who served as unbiased and/or non-partisan witnesses, claim that the Andorians and/or “Gay Basque Houses” won because of a clever and/or Trojan-like strategy to stockpile surplus artillery and/or munitions in their bulging basquettes and/or chests.

The Andorian cottage and/or village industry is renowned for its beautiful basquettes and/or chests (traditionally worked with one of the artisan’s left and/or right hands in his and/or her lap and/or that of the apprentice). Some historians and/or ZekeKrahlinologists claim that this tradition and/or practice originated from the Lap-landers, who kept falling into Andorian basquettes and/or chests on their migration and/or march north, where they could settle and/or eke a living…without being persecuted for their love of reindeer and/or packed snow and/or sperm oil. (Another reason and/or explanation why they were travelling north in the first Place and/or originally, was because, at one time and/or another, the European continent and/or land mass tilted and/or sloped from south to north and/or southeast to northwest and/or south-southeast to north-northwest, while the Lap-landers were mounting their sleighs and/or reindeer.)

Since the origin of the Basques remains shrouded and/or hidden in prehistory and/or before they knew how to write, likewise and/or also must the roots and/or seed of Andor remain buried in a misty and/or questionable gap in the annals and/or bowels of antiquity. A curious note and/or point of fact in the Andorian Royal and/or Court Archives, is that Andor never claimed to be ruled and/or governed by a Queen…though one would tend to raise an eyebrow and/or two when considering and/or viewing the Royal Wardrobe: a wide and/or copious variety of expensive furs and/or stoles (said rationale and/or excuse being: “For the cold, mountainous air of winter, and/or going to the opera.”).

The territory and/or span of Andor is a mere and/or meager sixty-nine square meters of virgin and/or undefiled parquet floors (hence the many signs and/or notices: “Slippery and/or slick when wet”)…equal and/or equivalent to 2,716.53 square feet and/or roughly one-half of a square mile. All Andor-ogenous zones and/or territorial boundaries are demarcated by straight lines and/or lines of straights (from which the national pastime and/or recreation, “Slap-and/or-Pinch-the-Butt-of-a-Border-Guard-and/or-Sentry,” arose).

Fortunately and/or thank God Andor’s population and/or citizenry (alias and/or A.K.A. “Andor-oids”) numbers and/or is about 144,000…and housing for each one and/or every Andorian was easily accommodated and/or provided by the erection of one grand and/or luxurious condominium complex and/or hotel…with 53 restaurants and/or cafes, 192 bars and/or lounges, 18,422 vibrating Greek statues and/or sculptures and/or busts,

271 dog-grooming emporiums, 422 barber shops and/or hair-styling salons, 6,001 paraphernalia and/or sex-toy shops, 310 different flavors of Perrier, and 1 live white unicorn and/or little silver pony with a horn (free to roam the premises and/or grounds, often seen and/or merrily splashing and/or cavorting in the numerous marble fountains and/or spas overflowing with Aqua Vita and/or divine semen)…

to mention only a few and/or several of the many wonders and/or miracles that daily and/or every twenty-four hours bless this great and/or incredible city-state of Andor. This leaves the rest of the land open and/or available for disco dancing and/or hopscotch (for which reason and/or purpose the floor tiles are laid with alternating and/or staggered shades of hot pink and/or fuchsia and Jet-set black and/or ebony).

Andor’s national flag was inspired and/or stolen from the flag of America and/or the U.S.A. and/or U.S. of A., in that it, too and/or also, has thirteen and/or 7-plus-6 alternating red and white stripes and/or bars, with a large, dark and/or navy blue patch in the upper right (and/or left, depending onwhich way you view it) corner. Only instead of 50 stars and/or pentagrams, Andor’s flag proudly and/or snobbishly displays 50 white and/or Pink Princess phones…the exact number and/or amount of telephones required for each Andorian residence, per their Declaration and/or Manifesto of Independence and/or Liberty and/or Freedom and/or Fun.

But and/or however, on one side of the bottommost and/or lowest stripe, are these inspiring and/or rousing words:

DIAL NOW AND/OR LATER GUYS ARE WAITING

On the other side are the equivalent and/or similar words for dykes:

DIAL NOW AND/OR LATER GALS ARE WAITING

We hope, on your way and/or trip from one great and/or famous European and/or world capitol to another, that you do find and/or discover the time and/or inclination to visit and/or reside in the first new nation and/or state to be born of the New and/or Aquarian Age: Andor and/or NUGREECE. Visa and/or Mastercard are welcome; as are the currencies of Spain, France, and/or Monopoly. Andor’s own currency depicts and/or shows a circle of unicorns dancing around the motto and/or slogan: “E. Pluribus UnICORNum,” and a portrait of the first horse to land on the moon: “Captain Randy Seabiscuit and/or Soupcracker.”

Statuettes and/or miniature dolls of Captain Randy seabiscuit and/or Soupcracker are available in any of Andor’s 78 souvenir and/or gift shops…with and/or without accessories and/or appurtenances such as: golden bridle and/or harness, four-legged equestrian and/or horsy spacesuit, bail of hay and/or bag of oats, groats, and/or love notes, space capsule “Mr. Ed I”, and his sidekick “Little Pony and/or Buddy” with and/or without plastic raincoat and/or moonglasses. Engraved and/or etched with neon pink and/or lime green and/or metallic and/or bright silver, Andorian and/or NuGreek currency is not only a delight and/or pleasure to spend, but makes great decorations and/or ornamentation for wedding cakes and/or honeymoon-suite wallpaper and/or bow ties.

—–the end and/or finis and/or th-th-that’s all folks!

The Origin Of Evil

Once upon a time–long long before Adam & Steve were created–Jehovah realized that the universe could never be complete without something called “evil”. He tried to explain this to the Host of Angels (his only companions at that early time; though numbering in the hundreds), but they were all confused and aghast at this shocking concept. All that is, but one: Lucifer. When the Big Cheese saw that only Little Lucy was not aghast (but simply confused) he called him into his inner chamber, where they could be alone. (Archangel Gaybriel served them each a pot of lavender tea before departing behind the curtains.)

“Hey Little Buddy,” declares the Good Master, “why aren’t you also shocked by my proclamation?” To which Lucky replies: “My Father, of course I am confused, but I’d never be judging you. After all, you’re our Creator…so even if I don’t comprehend one of your decisions, I still trust you. I could never conceive of you ever doing any wrong…even though this is the FIRST TIME I have become perplexed by anything you’ve ever said or done.“

Jehovah contemplatively sips his tea, then leans forward. “You don’t really grasp what evil is all about, do you?“

“Of course not.” shrugs Lucifer, “This is the first time I’ve ever heard of such a thing. And it does what, you say? Distorts truth and makes intelligent beings feel bad, and do wrong?“

“Why don’t I give you a visual?” resolves YHVH, who then projects a holographic scene that hovers between the two.

Therein, Lucifer witnesses the awesome advent of evil upon a newly created species called “man”. Wherein Lucifer weeps for the first time, some sparkly tears dropping into the teacup (which by the way is the primal origin of the Holy Grail). Lucy dries his eyes with the hem of his sleeve, and exclaims, “Oh, my father, what terrible betrayal. How could you wish such forces unleashed in any universe? But I can only trust your decisions, and offer to serve you in this outcome, as best I can. For as much as I abhor this new energy entering the cosmos, that you call ‘evil’…I also understand that it is a necessary process in spiritual evolution towards perfection. That without any evil in this world, humans would never be challenged to become the true hero that dwells within each and every soul.” Lucifer then takes a deep breath and sets down his cup. “Okay, Dad. How can I help you in this terrible mission?“

So with great sorrow and pride, Jehovah requests that Lucifer play the role of Master of Evil. This time around, Lucy is indeed terribly shocked, and lowers his head in shame and sorrow for some moments; then looks up and into the eyes of His Father, to say: “I will do this, only because if I didn’t, you’d be alone to carry this out. I wish to relieve your burdens as much as possible. For I do love you much!“

Jehovah took him up into his strong arms. “You are the only one of my angels who has never lacked in any way, complete faith in my plans. For that, I make you The Devil Himself, that you may tempt man to go astray. And in so tempting, each is offered the chance to resist temptation, and become a hero in overthrowing your seductions. You will be vilified, scapegoated, and ultimately despised by all but a few wise folks. Indeed, not until the end of this First Cycle of Creation, will the wrongs against you be righted, and will you be celebrated as My Most Beloved First Born.“

Having agreed to be partners in this Great Mission, Lucifer calls together a meeting of all the angels, and presents his case: to usurp the Creator and run the show ourselves. He is very persuasive, thanks to a gilded tongue, and manages to convince a third of the angelic host. War breaks out. So Lucifer dutifully plays out his incredible roles through history, including one of his “time out” past lives, where he is willfully sacrificed on a cross, to reaffirm his total devotion to One who asked of him this awesome responsibility. For with every seduction, Lucky always prays in his heart that you won’t be tempted.

MORAL OF THIS TALE

Evil is a necessary evil.

And if you really love your enemy, then one must also find
a way to love, and forgive, the Ultimate Enemy.