Jenz Last NaNo Post

Yep, this is it, kids. It cuts off in a really awkward place, but this is as far as I got before the trial started. It's over now, so hopefully I can get back to it, but for the time being I gotta get out as many query letters as possible before all the NaNo folks do. Yes, I'm mercenary that way. But hey, there's only about 160 literary agents in the U.S. (that I know of) what represent My Kind of Material. I've bugged 15 or so of them, so only 145 to go. Then on to the UK and Canada, I guess. Anyway, I hope you've been enjoying this weird little trip to La La Land. I know I have.


Everybody knows about the Stemmons witches, but since you’re not everybody and you might not know about the Stemmons witches, here’s the deal. They aren’t really witches, for one thing. They’re “Three Hooded Figures,” by some Mexican sculpture artist or other, and for years they’ve sat in front of the Market Center building on the I-35E Freeway, affectionately known as the Stemmons Freeway, the Freeway of Death, Land of the Speeding Motorcycles and half a dozen other less friendly monikers. They’re–well, they look like three hooded figures. They don’t even really have faces, which was what took me so aback when the elevator doors opened. They’re just kind of rough carvings into bouldery shapes of rock. I mean, this is the sort of art that when I see it I want to grab the artist by the lapels and yell something nice like, “EARN your frick’n hundred thousand dollar city contract, sculpture boy!” But, on the other hand, there’s truth in advertising. They’re supposed to be three hooded figures. They sure as hell are.

They’re also somewhat of a local legend. An urban legend or whatever the hell, which is what you believe in when you don’t get dragged into the middle of some crazy multidimensional adventure involving the gods of Asgard, a giant black hole, the end of all reality and, oh yeah, a guy named Loki. The legend is that if you come to see the Stemmons witches at midnight, preferably under the light of a full moon, then they come to life and start moving around. But only if they don’t know anybody’s watching. Apparently that’s important. This legend got started some time in the 1970s, when any number of illicit substances that could make you think that inanimate objects are moving around were in high circulation among local college students (who seem, for some reason, to start most of these legends). I heard it when I was a student at TCU in the early Eighties, though, by which time the consumption of illicit substances had moved up a notch and involved stuff that scholarship kids like me could not afford. I did, however, have occasion to drive over to Dallas after six on a Thursday to see if we could stay up until midnight and watch the Stemmons witches to see if they came to life.

What happened instead was that security chased us off the property and threatened us with arrest if we ever came back. Which, I gather, was starting to happen all the time, so the powers that be finally moved the Stemmons witches from the front of the Market Center building and put them in the courtyard of the World Trade Center, not the seven-towered masterpiece in New York City that shouted “We Are The Commercial And Cultural Center Of The Entire Civilized World And By God Don’t You Ever Forget It” but a weird little two-story job that was built around this big magnificent courtyard. I think the idea was to have lots of foreign embassies rent office space in there for purposes of, I guess, world trade. What happened
instead was the bottom dropped out of the economy the year after it was finished (but the year before President DiCaprio was elected) and the whole area never quite recovered to the high-end rents it was designed to expect. The World Trade Center was primarily leased by massage therapists, a court reporting school, and the Salvadoran Consulate which, I suppose, couldn’t find space up the street on Prudential Avenue. And through it all the Stemmons Witches stood in the courtyard, solemnly being hooded and standing around not coming to life except at midnight under a full moon when nobody was looking.

Well, they were sure as hell moving now. The one in front grabbed me by the shirt front and pulled me out of the elevator. I didn’t even know they had arms under those hoods. I was a few feet off the ground before Cheryl could start screaming and by the time she did, the other two Witches were picking her up and shaking her. The first one, which had me, said something to the other two that sounded like stones being ground together and they dropped her. Then they all converged on me, just as security showed up (a little late to save me from being eaten by statuary) and people around the lobby finally figured out something weird was going on and ran
this way and that.

Then Loki, who I’d almost forgotten about in the confusion, winked into existence next to the Stemmons witches. He yelled something in Old Norse that sounded like a piano being tossed downstairs while fighting off a pack of rabid wolves and the statues froze again. Well, the three Witches froze, anyway. The ones outside, who were watching this through the window with fascination, didn’t seem to be affected at all.

“What the hell was that?” I demanded, picking myself up from the ground.

"Help,” Cheryl added from some distance above me. The Hooded Figure that grabbed her had frozen with its arms–I guess they were sort of arms–up in the air. She was suspended from the arms at around armpit level.

Loki reached up and yanked on one of her legs while looking up her skirt. She came loose and landed on top of him, which if you ask me was what he had in mind all along. In any case, he ended up with his head up her skirt and she ended up–never mind. Let’s just say I reached down and pulled her to her feet as fast as possible.

“Damn,” said Loki from the floor.

“Thanks,” said Cheryl, who had completely missed Loki’s attempts to grab her crotch.

“Welcome.” And, to the security guards and startled onlookers, I added, “What? Haven’t you people seen anybody attacked by the Stemmons Witches before?”

As I said it, another ripple went through the air. The nearest Witch lunged at me. Cheryl screamed, and I grabbed her and backed away. Loki, whose prurient interests were for once distracted by the much more exciting problem of saving his skin, skittered backward across the floor until he ran into me. “Don’t just stand there!” he bellowed as the Witch lurched after us. “Run!”

“Run?” I exclaimed, ducking a swinging stone arm. “Run where?”

“Just run!” Loki got to his feet and pushed us toward the main doors.

Cheryl came to this conclusion faster than I did. She ran – surprisingly fast in the high heels–across the big marble floor, ducking around security guards and pushing past the startled onlookers. I followed behind her, and we reached the main doors of City Hall just as the first swish of a stone arm went through the air above my head. We sprinted outside, the doors shut, and the first of the Stemmons Witches slammed right into it. The glass, which was bulletproof, didn’t break, but it did bow out in an alarming kind of way that suggested it would fail eventually, given enough time and enough impacts from a big concrete boulder.

Loki popped into existence next to me again. “Well, that was just great!” he yelled, flapping his arms for effect. “Why don’t you just walk up to Thor and punch him in the eye next time for good measure? And steal his hammer?”

“I think we already did that one,” I said, between pants. I was a little out of breath.

“What I’m telling you. Stop pissing off powerful beings.”

As he said it, the Stemmons-Witch-in-charge thudded off the inside of the door again. The other statues-come-to-life drew back. “We need to keep moving,” Cheryl suggested. “Where’s your car?”

“The usual place.” We all sprinted across the street toward the library, under which I left the car for my five-minute commute across the street after I dropped off Pandora (the better to be ecologically correct under the DiCaprio Mandate, you know.) We got into the lobby just as shrieks arose from across the street behind us. “Okay, that’s it. We’re getting Pandora.” I ran over to the elevator and pressed the DOWN button.

“Pandora?” Loki raised his eyebrows. “Cute little redhead, glasses, worked at TCU Library?”

“Once, a million years ago,” I retorted. “Now she’s a cute little brunette with glasses and I’ll thank you to keep your paws off her.”

“Ouch,” Loki said as we stepped into the elevator. “Do I detect a spark of jealousy?”

“We’re married in this incarnation of reality,” I said. “So paws off.”

“Mel Gibson’s going to be heartbroken,” Loki said.

Cheryl elbowed me. “You never told me you had a crush on that senator from California.”

“It’s a long story.” The elevator doors opened and we spilled out on L-1, home of the parking garage, the city print shop and, oh yeah, cataloging. I pushed through a door marked Employees Only and steered our little party of three through a maze of cubes.

Like I said, it breaks off in kind of an awkward spot. Sorry about that. If I finish it and stick it on Lulu for $4 a pop, will you buy it? My oral surgeon and I will thank you.

Jenz Eighth NaNo Post

Having broken rocks on the freeway for most of the evening - er, that is, written query letters most of the evening - I felt like editing something that did not require any thought whatsoever. So here 'tis. We left off with Annie and co. going to check out the bouncing penises of Dallas on the front lawn of City Hall:

Loki sighed and slid off Cheryl’s office chair. Cheryl’s eyes widened when she saw the size of his cock, and his downy coat of fur. “Um, he should put some pants on,” she said, a little embarrassed at the impropriety.

“I doubt too many other people are going to notice him,” I sighed.

“No, she’s right,” Loki said. “This is City Hall, after all. It’s a masterpiece of chaos. I’ll just meet you out there.” He disappeared.

Cheryl gasped. “Where did he go?”

“Downstairs,” I said. “By the express elevator. Look, I’m sorry. I’ll get your chair cleaned.”

“No, that’s okay.” Cheryl put her hand on the back of the chair as though it might bite her. “Does, um, does he drop by often? Because I’ve never seen him before.”

“God, I hope not,” I said, sincerely. “In a nutshell, the world’s probably in great danger and I’m probably going to have to do something heroic now. Or maybe Loki is. I’m not sure. Last time I didn’t know what was going on either, and–”

“This has happened before?”

“I told you it was complicated. Let me go down there and see if I can sort it out.”

“I’m coming with you,” Cheryl announced.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I do. I’m coming with you.” She pulled her chair back into the hallway. “I’m your secretary, and if the world’s going to need saving, you’ll need me to take notes.”

“You’re not my secretary, you’re the department receptionist,” I said. “In fact, last time I checked you were an admin assist II.”

“Oh, are we comparing government service points now? I’ll pass the secretary’s exam someday, you just wait.” She stalked past me to the elevator.

Great. Now I’d hurt her feelings. I ran after her. “Cheryl, wait a second.”

“Forget it. An AAII can take notes just as well as a secretary.” She had a notebook in her hand, and a small pen. “Just pardon me if my shorthand squiggles aren’t quite what they should be just yet, okay?”

“People use shorthand anymore?” I followed her into the elevator.

“Yes, and if you were paying any attention to the numerous emails and the reams of continuing-ed sheets I’ve been sending you, you’d know that.”

I’d definitely hurt her feelings. Well, there was nothing like dragging her into some weird multidimensional adventure to make up for it. “Look, I’m sorry. I can explain.”

Cheryl was in no mood to be mollified. “You already did. You said Loki is the Norse god of chaos and he’s here because the statues are coming to life and something about saving the world.”

I was a bit taken aback. “I thought you didn’t believe me about the statues.”

“Why wouldn’t I believe you? I have eyes, don’t I?” Cheryl sounded like she was about to cry. “It doesn’t take an AAIII or higher to have eyes, you know.”

“Cheryl, I’m sorry,” I said for what felt like the third or fourth time but was probably only the second. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings–”

Then the elevator door opened and I was face to face with the Stemmons witches. And for a while I forgot all about apologizing.

Feeling Sorry For Myself, Inc.

Hello all. I am sick, mopey and feeling sorry for myself. I think I just have a cold, since I'm not running a fever or "progressing southward." It just so happens to be a long weekend, though, in which I had fond ideas of going to the North Texas Mensa RG and hanging with the smart folks, riding my bike around the lake a couple of times and lots of other stuff I'm not actually up to doing. Well, to be honest I did go to part of the RG this morning and heard a fascinating lecture on how the Mafia killed JFK, followed by another one on the leadership skills of Julius Caesar. In between there were games of Scrabble and one of Are You Smarter THan A Fifth Grader (answer: Not so much) and a pretty decent, if not exciting, trivia lunch. But then I got very tired and had to head home, wrap up in a blanket and apply cats topically.

Luckily for me, there's lots of food in the house. Or maybe that's not so lucky. Anyway, there's food. I'm craving bread and butter above all things. No idea why, but if I could get away with chowing down an entire stick of butter I'd probably do it. Yes, my doc just fiddled with my doses of meds. Yes, me and food get weird every single time somebody fiddles with my doses. No, I don't think that's fair. Yes, it's fabulous that I haven't gained any weight. Look, I'm feeling sorry for myself, okay? Quit bugging me with all this positive thinking crap.

I do have some honest to God good news to report, though. One of my query letters got a nibble. Well, at least a reply. No, I think it counts as a nibble. The agent had some good tips and when I responded with a question, she actually answered it (oops, I said she. Okay, it was a she. That narrows it down to half the literary agents in the country, excuse me for living.) Anyway, that was pretty cool. I gotta do some stuff to my query letter which I'm kind of avoiding by writing this blog post.

Tammy was over here a while ago, picking up the leftover lasagna of which there was tons. She's pretty good company. And in about an hour I'm probably going to lose consciousness because that's just how it goes for me anymore (pox on the whole circadian rhythm thing, anyway.) But maybe I'll feel better tomorrow. I certainly hope so. Being sick sucks. So I go back to tinkering with my query letter. Maybe I can still get a few more out before the other NaNos.

Hmm, I should throw in something Buddhist-y. Okay, how about this: "Freedom means being able to choose how we respond to things. When wisdom is not well developed, it can be easily obscured by the provocations of others. In such cases we may as well be animals or robots. If there is no space between an insulting stimulus and its immediate conditioned response, anger, then we are in fact under the control of others. Mindfulness opens up such a space, and when wisdom is there to fill it one is capable of responding with forbearance. Its not that anger is repressed; anger never arises in the first place." -Andrew Olendzki, " Calm in the Face of Anger ," Tricycle, Fall 2006.

Okay? Okay. I'm going now.

Jenz Seventh NaNo Post

 I looked down. One of the sculptures at the far end of the lawn appeared to be moving. I’d never liked this particular sculpture. Depending on your mindset, it looks like six misshapen and partially melted giant grey rotting Hersheys Kisses, or six misshapen giant grey rotting cocks and balls. Or, I suppose, lumps of poo. Well, my mind tends toward the dirty so I pretty much call them the Six Dicks of Dallas.

The Six Dicks were on the move. First one, then the others and finally the whole group began to bounce around. At first it was just an experimental bounce or two. Then they bounced a little more excitedly, and pretty soon they were bouncing around in earnest. I watched one in particular go boing boing boing boing boing across the lawn toward the fountain, scaring hell out of the WFAA news crew and bringing around of uproarious laughter from Bill and his gang of crazy friends. Then it went boinging back the other way, boinged around its fellow bouncing penises, and boinged up and down around the rest of the group. This particular round of boinging must have been some form of communication, because pretty soon the whole gang was boinging up and down together in unison. This would have been hilarious if it hadn’t been so deucedly weird. It was like watching a Keith Haring drawing that had somehow come to life.

“I did that?” I asked Loki as the penises started to boing toward the group of animal statues looking up at my window.

“I told you to can it on the Skadi jokes. Look what you did.”

“You gonna tell me what’s going on?” I asked. The group of boinging penises had reached the WFAA crew again, scattering them to the four winds. As I watched, they boinged up to the longhorns, hopping easily over the Crime Scene Do Not Cross tape. The longhorns seemed to recognize them, or at least, they weren’t too bothered by the boingy new arrivals. In fact, when the lead penis went up to the lead longhorn and snuggled up next to it with a weird chirpy purrlike noise that I could hear even through the window, the head longhorn didn’t even flick it with its tail. Instead, it nuzzled back, which was among the more disturbing things I’ve ever had to witness. Maybe the longhorn was a gelding and it was meeting its former genitalia, all grown to large angry life and boinging around on its own. I think I’d be just fine with never seeing anything like it again.

“Oh, why not,” Loki sighed. “Skadi’s this sleeping giant. You reordered all reality and it pissed her off.” He frowned, thinking. “Yeah. That’s mainly the gist of the thing.”

Cheryl poked her cute blonde head around the corner. “Hey, have you seen my ch–what the hell is that?”

Loki looked offended. “Well, nice to meet you too, Toots.”

I groaned and rubbed my temples. Naturally, Cheryl could see him. That meant I wasn’t hallucinating and couldn’t console myself with the notion that I’d temporarily gone insane. Sigh. “Loki, Cheryl. Cheryl, Loki. Pasnakomtyez.”

“Spaciba,” Loki said. “Radavats skhadeetvee.”

I elbowed him. “Don’t be rude. That’s ‘pleased to have sex with you,’ not ‘pleased to meet you.’”

“I was serious. She’s hot.”

Cheryl was, of course, goggling at us. I decided to keep it simple. “Cheryl, Loki’s the Norse god of chaos. He’s here because, um, because the statues are all down there and, um, it’s his fault.” Which was simple enough.

“Why are you in my office chair?” Cheryl asked. Which wouldn’t have been the first question that came to my mind, but am I Cheryl? No, I am not.

“Because it’s fun.” Loki pushed himself around in a circle. “Good thing I don’t have one of these. I’d spin myself around all day long.”

“Should I call security?” Cheryl asked me.

“I doubt it would do any good,” I said. “Him being the god of chaos and all, I’m sure he could scramble their walkie-talkies and keep them from getting to a working elevator.”

“Hey,” Loki protested, as if I were giving away state secrets.

“Look, it’s a long story,” I finished. “We’re going to check out whatever’s happening downstairs, right, Loki?”

Loki looked blankly at me, then at Cheryl (well, actually at Cheryl’s perkily perfect size-B breasts, but anyway, in Cheryl’s general direction) and then back at me. “We are?”

“Yes, we are,” I said, even more pointedly. “Come on.”

Jenz Next-in-a-Series NaNo Post

 I dropped my bag instead, which had the same effect. “Argh! Goddammit!!” Loki looked up from the screen and glared at me. “You did that on purpose!!”

“Hey,” I said, ineffectively. “You’re on my computer.”

“No I’m not. I’m in your chair.” He spun around once, just for effect. Then, stopping, “Why do I feel like we this conversation have before had?”

“What?”

“Forget it. Annie Sipkins. I’m Loki of Asgard.”

“We’ve met,” I said. “And I distinctly remember not liking you.”

“No, you’re wrong. You thought I was great. We danced, we drank, we fucked like bunnies...”

“Well, I’ve re-ordered all reality since then,” I told him. “And I remember very distinctly not liking you.”

“Argh! Goddammit!!” Loki waved his arms at me. “Don’t say that!”

“Don’t say what? I remember not liking you?”

“No, that you can say. Just don’t say that other thing.”

“That thing about re-ordering all–”

“Sssst!” Loki put his finger to his lips. “That’s what I’m saying!”

“Fine,” I said, exasperated. “Get out of my office chair. I need to sit down.”

Loki hopped to the floor. He was about four, maybe four and half feet high, and his feet er, hooves, didn’t quite reach the ground from my chair. He walked–waddled–past me to the door, and for one glorious second I thought he was leaving. Then he came back with the chair that belonged to Cheryl–well, it belonged to the City of Dallas, but Cheryl sat in it most of the time. I could tell it was Cheryl’s by the traces of long blonde hair draped over the back. “There,” he announced, plunking into the chair. With a push of his tail he spun himself around again.

“I don’t want to hear about it,” I said.

“About what?”

“About whatever you’re here to bother me about. And don’t even try kidnapping me to some other dimension because I’ve got metal taps on my Soft Spots now.”

“Sorry,” Loki said. When I looked up, “Oh, relax. No kidnapping’s going to happen. But I’m positive I’m going to have to drag you back out of your boring, mundane little life–”

“Actually, I kind of like my life,” I said.

“–and involve you in some heroic quest or other,” Loki finished, as though I hadn’t spoken. “Because in case you hadn’t noticed, things are getting a little weird down Dallas way.”

“Yes, I had noticed,” I retorted. “And I’m positive that it’s all your fault.”

“No, actually it’s yours.” This startled me and at the same time didn’t surprise me at all. “You’re the one who burned the Tree of Life.”

“Yeah, well, so what?” I shrugged. “I mean, it’s all still here, isn’t it? The world and all that stuff you like? Pop-tarts? Librarians? Tetris?”

“Sure,” Loki conceded, which surprised me. It wasn’t like Loki to be so darned agreeable. “But there’s always consequences. Any time you do something, you’re gonna create side effects, like ripples in reality.”

“Like that butterfly flapping his wings off the coast of China–” I began.

“And starting World War Three off Papua New Guinea. Exactly. And when you do something like re-ord–” He stopped, clapped his hand over his mouth, and then resumed, “Do that thing you did, well, things can really get weird. Whole planets can disappear. Epochs can be erased. To say nothing of pissing off giants.”

“I’ve pissed off a giant?” I glanced down at the animals, which were still looking up at me with great interest. “Which one?”

“Not any of those,” said Loki. “Skadi.”

“Scotty?” I almost started laughing. “Beam me up?”

Loki rubbed his forehead. “Look,” he said. “I know you’re trying to be funny, but that joke gets really old after the first ten thousand or so years.”

“A thousand pardons,” I said, giggling. “Or is it more like, ‘Scotty! I need more power!’”

“I thought you didn’t watch Star Trek.”

“New reality, new rules. ‘Scotty! You get his tricorder, I’ll get his wallet!’”

“Cut that out,” Loki said. “Seriously.”

“Or is it more like, ‘Scotty! How much longer to repair this goddamned engine?”

A ripple went through City Hall. I felt my office start to wobble under my feet, and the windows shook just a little.

“Warned you,” Loki said as it passed.

“Warned me about what?”

He tossed his head at the window. “Take a look.”

Why Jen Bailed On NaNo, And Other Stories

Folks, I have to bail on NaNoWriMo for this year. I have a really good excuse, though. I'm in court. (I've always wanted to say that.) Seriously, for most of last week I was getting stuff ready and for most of the last two days I've been sitting in a courtroom listening to a really sad story unfold. It's gonna last at least another week and maybe right up to Thanksgiving. And seeing as I'm crawling home after seven most nights and passing out on the floor (well, actually, Joan makes me go all the way into my room - very annoying) I am not coming anywhere near the necessary word count that would make winning NaNo possible. If the only way to win is not to play I choose to bail. Well, actually I choose not to have any more stress than necessary because frankly there's a lot of it right now. But in case you've gotten fond of the silly posts from the still-unnamed sequel to No Accounting For Reality, those will continue off and on. As soon as I catch my breath. Meanwhile, it's back to the briefs, boys, or as they say in court, litigate this!!

Jenz Fifth NaNo Post

“Okay, this is getting a little ridiculous,” I said to Bill as we stood in front of City Hall,
watching the menagerie. The electric neon Pegasus was the most interesting of the lot. It didn’t exactly fly, quite, but it did flap its wings and leap once in a while, carrying it over the backs of the cows and the small stallions and the giant warhorses. The warhorses, especially, were a little ridiculous. I mean they had to be ten feet high at the shoulder, and not even Clydesdales get that big. Or that coppery green.

“They been comin’ in all morning,” Bill told me. “First the one with the wings. Then the two big ones. Then the smaller ones. I think they came from farther away.”

“They did,” I said. “I’m pretty sure they came from the front of the Marriott on
Stemmons Freeway.”

Bob tilted his head and looked at me sideways. “You think so?”

“I’m pretty sure. I go past them every Wednesday to see my shri–er, I go that way a lot.” I squinted at the ten-footers. “You ever hang around outside the Trammel Crow building, Bill?”

“Not much,” Bill said. “Security’s pretty good over there.”

“Oh,” I said. “I was just thinking those looked like the horses from out front.”

Bill looked at me. Looked at the big horses. Looked back at me. “You know
somethin’,” he said, “I think them horses mighta just walked down here from the Trammel Crow building.”

“That’s what I was saying,” I said. And then I thought of something. “Bill. Let’s go see
if they’re still there.”

“If what’s still where?”

I rolled my eyes. “If the horses are still in front of the Trammel Crow building.”

“You go ‘head,” Bill said. “I’ll stay here ‘n keep watch.”

So I got back into my car, drove up Ervay and over to Pearl, and kept going until I hit
Ross. Sure enough. In front of the Trammel Crow building, where two large statues of horses normally hung out, there were two large pedestals where there should have been two large statues of horses. And one security guard on his cell phone, loud enough for me to hear even inside the car; “No! I’m telling you, somebody stole the horses! Yes! Those horses! Yes! Both of them! No! I didn’t see anybody out here with a goddamned crane and flatbed truck! Look, come see for yourself if you don’t believe me!”

Knowing I shouldn’t, I pulled the car over to the corner, as close as I could get to where the guy was yelling into his cell phone. “Hey!” I bellowed, in that tone of voice that brought absolute silence to a meeting of overexcited junior accountants.

The guy looked up. “What?”

“Your horses are down at City Hall. In the front yard. Under my window.” I didn’t need
to add the “under my window” part, but I couldn’t resist.

“Oh.” The guard blinked a few times. Then, back to his cell phone, “Never mind, Jack. I got a line on where they wandered off to.” Pause. “No, I didn’t mean that in the literal sense. I meant that–never mind. I’ll call you back.”

I was about as involved as I wanted to be on this one, so I rolled up the window and drove back to City Hall. The media was already arriving, staking out camps around the fountain. Bill, who had somehow established himself as master of ceremonies, was steering them this way and that. Some police were stringing a much larger string of Crime Scene Do Not Cross tape around the new herd of animals (I’ve heard of animals) that now consisted of the longhorns, the stallions and the Really Big Horses (I could swear one of them was ten feet tall.) The neon-colored Pegasus, in an apparent agony of impropriety, had sort of frozen next to a tree in hopes of not
being noticed. People noticed. You can’t be flashing electric blue and red around here and not be noticed, unless of course you’re a Dallas police officer.

I went up to my office, pondering What This All Could Mean. Loki never warned me
that when I re-ordered all reality, I might inadvertently bring a bunch of statues to life. Was I supposed to do something about this? Because honestly, I was a bit baffled. And it would have been a bit arrogant of me to assume I was the center of the universe, wouldn’t it? Just because all the statues were standing under my window staring directly up at me was no reason to believe any of it had anything to do with me. Furthermore, it was probably just a coincidence. Just because I could remember the Time Before, when George Bush was President of the United States (that one always gave Pandora the giggles; she said it was something about absolute proof of the Peter Principle, which I didn’t get, and that it was probably just as well I was in this world, where he was Commissioner of Baseball, which I certainly did) didn’t mean any of this had anything to do with me. I mean, who was I, anyway? Just some mousy secondary auditor who’d been kidnapped by the gods, done battle with the
powers of Asgard in the form of the Dallas City Council, died and lived to tell about it, and oh yeah, saved all of reality from imminent implosion. Pish. It had ended happily. I had my nice city job, my adorable wife, my fat little house cat, my President DiCaprio. So what if there were a bunch of statues roaming City Hall. It had nothing to do with me.

Thus reassured, I opened my office door. And there, in my office chair, was a short
dwarflike being with hooves and a tail, playing Tetris on my office computer. “About time you got here,” he said. “I’m about to break ten million. No! Don’t say anything! Break my concentration and I’ll curse you for all eternity!”