A Two-fer

I sure hope I'm mistaken, because the last time something drifted up to the lost Greek Heavens, the Gods were not amused.

"One more, and we will open a store," Zeus boomed atop Mount Olympus. He meant business. And apparently would go into business.

And it's so like a God to benefit from the suffering from the comman man. He only gave us these frisbees so we would know the sorrow when they were gone. They'd float higher and higher each time, directly proportional to the fun we were having that gray summer day, until they strayed too close to the clouds. It went up, over, and out.

"You know what, Zeus?" My best friend Skip challenged, "You go ahead and open your store. No one's going to shop there because we'll tell them all you're a Commie. Pinko scum!"

I'm not sure why, but the next 18 hours were filled with the torrential downpour of sheets of rain and ice. Although rain and ice are made of water; this precipitation was made of blood and car exhaust.

"Great, thanks Skip." I said sardonically. "Now it smells like blood and car exhaust. I'm pretty sure that's what is staining my 1970's bell bottoms and 'The Boss' T-shirt."

"Shh, shh, shh..." Skip motioned with his hand. "Do you hear that?"

There was nothing but silence.

"Exactly." Skip's mind hummed along like a perpetual motion machine. "With all this apocalyptic mumbo jumbo, no ones in the mood to buy stolen frisbees."

He was right. There was no sound of cash registers, cash machines, or cash being taken from divine wallets. All I heard was blood and car exhaust coming back to earth. And it was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard.

"And besides, we can open a blood and car exhaust store now," Skip said.