Bathroom Monologue: A longstanding daydream of mine

Jesus and Hercules were on the beach, locked in their normal conversation: whether the former’s lineage technically made him a demigod, or if that wasn’t the case, if the latter counted as a full god. Mortal mothers and king god fathers – there ought to be a rule. The Lion of Juda was about to smack him with the crown of thorns when two comely wenches challenged them to volleyball. Hercules, ever the horndog, dragged the Messiah along. Jesus was awkward close to the net but made some miraculous saves. And Hercules? No one could serve like the man who held the sky on his shoulders. Not even Atlas, who they played against the next week (partnered with Samson). No couple could best them. Not Mary Magdalene and Medea. Not Lao Tzu and Confucius (at the Chinese Olympics, of course). They even played against two of the hydra’s heads – three in the last set, following a nasty spike. Old habits. Next week they play Zeus and a mystery partner.