Redundancy by Bob Hudson

“Explain to me again what’s wrong with making someone push a giant boulder up a hill and having it roll down at the last second,” Zeus said.

He was losing his patience with Melvin Sanders.

Melvin Sanders looked down at his watch. 3:00 p.m.

“Zeus you hired me to do two things. One was to trim the fat. The other was to modernize your brand. I can’t do either of those things without your cooperation,” said Melvin Sanders.

Zeus sat back in his chair, unsure if anyone even believed in this particular set of deities anymore. Everyone in the room knew they were on a sinking ship, but nobody wanted to say it out loud.

“Make them marry someone,” said Hera.

“Depends on the lover, doesn’t it?” said Melvin Sanders.

“Really, Melvin? We’re going there today? After all of the progress we made yesterday? They can have my husband. My ex-husband, Melvin,” said Hera.

She lit a cigarette.

Everyone in the room knew the goddess of marriage was going through a messy divorce, but nobody wanted to address it out loud.

Nobody was comfortable. None of them ever envisioned sitting in on a punishment-modernization seminar. Not even Melvin Sanders.

“How about a flight,” said Hermes. “Just a flight. But they never get there. They can have layovers, but they never reach their destination.”

“Yeah that’s true hell,” said Hades.

“I don’t know, I kind of like flying,” said Aphrodite.

“Oh please,” said Hades. “How about they have to listen to ‘She’s so High’ by Tal Bachman on repeat until they rip their own ears off.”

“You told me you thought it was catchy,” replied the goddess of love, pulling her cardigan overly-shut, trying not to give away to the rest of the room that she had spent a vulnerable weekend in the underworld.

Everyone already knew, they just didn’t want to address it out loud.

“Let’s try to refocus,” said Melvin Sanders.

Melvin Sanders knew coming into this meeting he was in for an uphill battle. He never wanted to be a consultant. Does anybody ever actually want to become a consultant?

These were his thoughts in that very moment. The very moment before he began to speak again.

“We’re rebranding,” said Melvin Sanders. “We’re not rewriting the book. Boulder rolls down the hill. Somebody just has to be stuck doing something. Nobody has had to push a boulder since the last time Poseidon got laid.”

This particular joke got a laugh, even from Poseidon.

No one was comforted, though, just distracted. Even to gods, a merman and mermaid’s reproductive biology remained a considerable mystery.

“A never-ending AA meeting,” said Dionysus, the god of wine.

“A permanent Atkins diet,” said Demeter, the goddess of grain.

“A weekend getaway with Hades,” said Aphrodite, who began to cry.

“Jesus,” said Hades.

“Who’s that?” said Zeus.

“Does it matter? You promiscuous swine,” replied Hades.

Hera had not stopped smoking since the meeting began.

“It’s all over anyways,” Hera said. “Can we just say that out loud? Can we just finally realize what’s going on here? We haven’t been gods since the last time Poseidon got laid, OK?”

Everyone laughed again, then sighed and then looked up at Poseidon.

“You know, to tell you the truth, I don’t even know if I have the tools for reproduction,” he said, bringing the mood in the room down. “I guess that’s what scared away my ex-wives. I just don’t think they envisioned adoption as a legitimate option.”

Nobody wanted to say anything. The memories of their reign together began to pour over them.

Melvin Sanders was getting to witness what no man since Hercules had gotten to witness. He was a man amongst gods, and they were revealing secrets unbeknownst to the Titans.

But his hour of allotted work time was almost up, and at no point was Melvin Sanders comfortable, as he was getting nowhere. He was on the clock. For the first time in his life, Melvin Sanders had lost control of a situation, and the uneasiness that came with this new sensation was palpable.

“Explain to me again what’s wrong with making someone push a giant boulder up a hill and having it roll down at the last second,” Zeus said.

“Excuse me?” said Melvin Sanders.

He looked down at his watch. 3:00 p.m.

Bob Hudson is a Browns fan. He writes to deal with the complications that come with being a Browns fan. He wishes John Cleese was his grandpa.