On Nemesis

I forgot to do a follow-up post on our intervention to resuscitate Nemesis, the goddess of revenge, us being me, Ares, Aphrodite and a bunch of monsters and demi-gods. We goddessnapped Nemesis, who has gotten as thin as Ann Coulter though a lot more transparent, put her in a suitcase and brought her over to my place, the Snakepit Inc., to feed her mice and prayers. That's the way us divinities grow plump and powerful.

Anyhooow, the intervention was hard work. Hard. Work. What with keeping 'Dite from attacking the mailman all naked ('Dite, not the mailman, poor thing), and me trying to not end up in sack with Ares (too often). You know the drill by now. But Nemesis is truly doing better, trying on some goddess gear in front of my mirror, and I might even see faint outlines of her in it! Or at least I sense a puff of cold air moving when she runs by.

She runs by a lot, bursting into tears, because it's hard to wake up from a somnolent state to not being a really hawt and powerful goddess anymore. She'll get there, I tell her, being all kind and loving and nurturing as everyone knows us female godfolk are. Then she tries to throttle me and to rain locusts on me and to scorch her N letter (she got that from old Zorro movies) on my supposedly dead body. Sigh. The work is not yet finished.

We gave her political wingnut books to read to bring back that healthy glow of anger and taught her how to cruise the internet (except for this blog, for obvious reasons). My loveliest snake, the Artful Asp, serves as her fingers in these endeavors though Artful is pretty pissed off at the whole thing by now, especially at the number of "her" mice that Nemesis has been gobbling up and because (Artful says) the keyboard static is bad for snake scales.

But Artul must understand the need for sacrifice! The nation is at war, and she can't go shopping, given the lack of legs. So she might as well serve the country by helping us to get some revenge. Which requires Nemesis back on her feet, all informed and eloquent and with a booming and frightening voice, suitable for paralyzing the wingnuts in power. Or at least some kind of a voice louder than the current squeak. I keep confusing it with the air conditioner, and air conditioners are insufficiently scary. Not to mention hard to understand.

If this intervention doesn't work in a timely manner we'll have to use Nemesis as a sock puppet. One of the monsters could be her voice and I could be her brain and she could be dressed in a long blood-stained gown with all of us under it and the snakes could move her hair in a frightening manner. I bet it would work and look quite lifelike. Or deathlike, but you get the point. Sort of like the division of the labor in our current administration.