Zeus Grants Stupid Wishes: A No-Bullshit Guide to World Mythology (19 page)

So there’s this place in Idaho or Montana or something, and it has no moon.

Everyone hates it , because how are they supposed to have sexy late-night disco parties?

Electricity has not been invented yet, my friends.

This is what was once known as BAD TIMES FOR DISCO.

So everyone gets together and they’re like “Guys we need a MOON.

Then we can truly boogie

ALL NIGHT LONG

without someone tripping and putting his face through a disco ball like LAST TIME.

I mean, whose bright idea was it to bring a disco ball to a party WITHOUT ANY LIGHTS?

But okay, let’s see . . . What do we have a lot of that we’re not using?

Oh, that’s right.

ANIMALS.”

So they call up all the animals, and they are like “Okay here’s how it’s gonna be:

One of you is going to crawl up into the sky

and curl up into a ball and reflect sunlight at us while we boogie

ALL NIGHT LONG.”

And Fox

who is dumb and eager to please

is like “OH MAN, GUYS I WILL BE THE BEST MOON.”

So he runs up into the sky

and he curls himself up into a ball

and he starts reflecting the PANTS off that sun

which is quite an achievement because I didn’t know the sun wore pants.

But here’s the problem, my friends:

Fox is WAY TOO GOOD AT HIS JOB.

It’s like straight-up daylight all over the place.

Everyone caught with their wangs out on the dance floor

totally embarrassed.

So everybody’s like “Sorry, Fox

but we need a little more mood lighting for this sexy party we’re having.

Gonna need you to step down from the sky.”

And Fox is like “Aww, okay.”

And then Raven is like “OH SNAP NOW’S MY CHANCE.

NOTHING IS SEXIER THAN BLACKLIGHT.”

So raven flies up there and balls himself up

but as everybody but Raven already knows

black is TERRIBLE for reflecting sunlight

so pretty soon everyone is right back to putting various parts of their anatomy through disco balls.

DID YOU KNOW: Disco balls are not actually in this story and I am just making that part up.

Anyway, everybody gets their shit straightened out and cleans all the blood off their faces and wangs

and then they’re like “Okay, Raven

I know we said we wanted someone to be less good at their job

but we did not mean for someone to come in and drive the failbus straight off a cliff.”

So Raven slinks back down to earth, all humiliated

because at least Fox only got fired for being too GOOD at his job

and it is at this point that Coyote decides to make his move.

He shows up like “GUYS, LOOK AT ME.

MY FUR IS EXACTLY THE RIGHT COLOR.

THIS IS ONE JOB SITUATION

WHERE RACIAL PROFILING IS TOTALLY OKAY.”

And everyone is like “Well, we are uncomfortable with your rhetoric, but okay.”

So Coyote gets his ass up in the sky and curls into a ball

and it’s perfect, it’s great.

Everyone is dancing up a storm

but not a literal storm.

(That would be bad and probably interrupt the dancing.)

No, this is a figurative storm

composed of gyrating pelvii and windmilling dangly bits.

It’s great. You would have loved it.

But then Coyote gets all bored

’cause this dude has some serious ADD

so he starts using his privileged position up in the sky

to get all up in everyone’s business.

He’s all peeping in the ladies’ windows

like “HEY, EVERYONE

SUSAN JUST INVENTED THE STAR-GROPE.

COME LOOK.”

And everyone comes and looks

except for Susan, who doesn’t come at all

because a screaming busybody moon is the ultimate mood killer.

Coyote also uses his moon powers to keep homeless guys from stealing food and to cheat at cards.

So everyone gets pissed off, and they decide to fire him.

But he’s like “HAHA, YOU CAN’T REALLY FIRE ME.

I’M THE PERFECT COLOR.”

and everyone is like “Dude

there are pretty much a hojillion animals with the same color fur as you.

Case in point: Rabbit

and Rabbit is not such a fucking spaz either.”

so they send Rabbit up to be the moon

and Rabbit ends up being pretty chill about the whole thing

FOREVER.

And that is why Coyote is always howling at the moon.

It’s because he just cannot get over that stuff that happened that one time.

So the moral of the story

is that we should seriously consider firing the moon

because I didn’t know we could do that

and I bet we have the technology now

to genetically engineer a WAY BETTER MOON than some dumb rabbit.

So first, a quick disclaimer:

Throughout this section, I’m gonna be calling the United States of America “AMERICA”

and you are going to deal with this

because America is just flat out easier to type than “The States”

or “The U.S. of A.”

or “That Big Basket of Jerks under Canada”

But second off, don’t you think it’s weird

that of all the myriad ethnic groups we have shoehorned together in this wide western world of ours

our predominant mythological tradition

is tied to a bunch of ancient dead dudes whose religion no one even worships anymore?

Now, I’m not denying Greek myths are super sweet

there is nothing better, if you want to watch a bunch of children boinking and killing each other.

But I feel like it is my duty as an American

to raise awareness

of some goddamn AMERICAN MYTHOLOGY UP IN HERE.

But there’s a problem:

America is not very old, my friends.

We have not had time to develop a really spectacular cast of magical jerks to talk about.

Oh snap, wait a second.

I totally take that back.

We’ve got a whole pantheon of crazy dudes to choose from

and they are called

THE FOUNDING FATHERS

but I could write a whole other book about those guys

and maybe someday I will

so for now, you’re gonna have to settle for a whirlwind tour

OF THE MYTHOLOGY WE’VE MADE SO FAR.

Now, normally in these creation myths

we start out with a vast ocean

and then some guy comes along and puts land in it.

America is no exception.

This time, the ocean is called the Atlantic Ocean

and the guy is called Christopher Columbus.

The only difference is that Columbus doesn’t MAKE the land

he just finds it, on his way to go find something else

because apparently some gods put it there a long time ago and forgot to tell anyone about it.

There are also already people in this America place

but that’s not a big deal because people are pretty easy to get rid of.

See also: the biblical flood.

Anyway, for the time being Christopher Columbus names these people Indians

because that is the name of the people in the place he was supposed to be looking for

and he is still laboring under some misapprehensions.

Time passes

and a bunch of Christopher Columbus’s friends show up

a whole pantheon of legendary bastards called the conquistadors

and they populate the land with themselves

while depopulating the land of everybody else.

Then even MORE time passes and some other guys start showing up

from this place called the BRITISH EMPIRE

which sounds like it must be a pretty nice place.

Like, the sun never sets there so it’s basically an eternal beach party all the time

but with more fog.

But even so tons of dudes keep getting on boats and leaving

and sailing across a WHOLE OCEAN

to get to this hip new America place everyone is talking about

because Britain is nice and everything

but it is totally played out.

Amongst the British dudes who show up

are a bunch of people who are practicing this crazy souped-up version of Christianity.

In this scenario, they will be our CHOSEN PEOPLE.

They meet all the requirements:

(1) They are the dudes who ultimately get the promised land

and (2) They get the promised land by killing a WHOLE BUNCH OF PEOPLE.

Yeah, basically what happens is that they’re hanging out in America for a while

when suddenly, the king of England

(who is named George)

starts being a TOTAL DICK.

He’s like “I PUT ALL YOU PEOPLE IN THIS NEW LAND.

NOW YOU HAVE TO PAY TRIBUTE TO ME.”

But all the American dudes are like “No way!”

And then instead of killing them with a massive flood

like a REAL divine emperor would have

King George tries to kill them with an army of really flashily dressed guys.

But as we have already established guys are REALLY easy to kill

and they are even easier to kill when they are covered in bright red dress-coats

so the Americans just get a whole bunch of guns and shoot at England until it goes away

and then they shoot at the conquistadors until they go away too.

Then they shoot at the natives

and then when they run out of natives they shoot at each other.

Then they’ve still got a lot of bullets left over so they have to keep finding more people to shoot.

Also, I think someone writes a constitution?

Anyway, that’s where America comes from.

So the moral of the story

is that the primary ingredient for a successful nation

is guns.

I SAID, JOHN HENRY WAS A STEEL-DRIVIN’ MAN.

Do you guys know what that means?

That means that he was a dude who worked on a railroad

and his job

was to KILL MOUNTAINS.

Now, the way he did this

was that some poor sonofabitch named Little Bill

would hold a steel drill in place against the rock

while John Henry BEAT ON IT AS HARD AS HE COULD

WITH A TWENTY-POUND HAMMER

and Bill had to keep turning the drill after every strike

and eventually the drill would get dull

so he had to swap it out

for another drill

that someone would hopefully hand to him at about that time

WITHOUT MISSING A BEAT

and then they would bring the old drill to a blacksmith

so the blacksmith could fix it

and then bring it back to Bill so he could switch it out AGAIN

and meanwhile John Henry’s hammer is just whistling right past Bill’s junk

or face, or ribs, or wherever he has to hold the drill

in order to make sure the rock is getting brutalized in the right direction.

Meanwhile, John Henry has it easy.

All HE has to do is heft a TWENTY-POUND HAMMER

over and over again

with perfect accuracy

all day

through solid rock

never stopping, never getting tired

under constant threat of rockslides and disfigurement.

So this is this guy’s job.

Now John Henry works for a pack of rat bastards called the C&O Railroad Company.

I know they are rat bastards because one day John Henry’s railroad team

rolls up on this big, big mountain

and the railroad crew is all like “Oh wow, bummer.

Guess we better start going around this mountain, huh?”

And aforementioned rat bastards from C&O

are like “NOPE.

GOIN’ STRAIGHT THROUGH THE MOUNTAIN.

IT IS ONLY LIKE A MILE AND A HALF THICK.

YOU GUYS LIKE HAVING JOBS, RIGHT?

SO
DO IT
.”

So they do it

most of these guys are freed slaves

so they don’t exactly have their pick of the crop as far as employment opportunities go.

This goes double for John Henry

who is not only a freed slave

but also an UNSTOPPABLE BADASS WHO NEVER QUITS.

So every day all the steel drivers go to work

and they fling themselves mercilessly at this mountain

and like twenty people die

but John Henry just keeps abusing that stone

making a solid ten-foot tunnel every day, at LEAST.

So, you know, great for him

but all his friends are still dead

and the dicks at C&O are getting impatient

so when this traveling salesman shows up with a steam-powered drill machine

they are like “SIGN US UP.

P.S.: Everyone who works for us is fired now.

ESPECIALLY JOHN HENRY.”

Now John Henry is the kind of man who takes absolutely no guff from anybody.

It is unreal how little guff this man takes.

Like, if there were a great big pile of guff by the side of the road

and John Henry walked by

that pile would remain completely undisturbed

because he would take none of it.

So when he sees this guff coming his way he just sidesteps the lot of it

and then he turns around like “Hey, traveling salesman

I bet I can drill harder, better, faster, AND stronger than your candyassed machine.”

And the traveling salesman is like “YOU’RE ON.”

So the next day John Henry lines up next to this machine

along with his trusty shaker Little Bill

and TWO twenty-pound hammers

and they get. to. work.

So John and the drill are staying pretty much neck and neck

even though the drill doesn’t have a neck.

Maybe the drill is even doing a little better

but then it gets STUCK in a hole in the rock

and John Henry just goes grunting and flailing and sweating

FOURTEEN FEET INTO THE HEART OF THAT MOUNTAIN.

BAM CLINK CACHANG POW BOOM PEW PEW PEW.

I DON’T KNOW WHAT SOUND A HAMMER MAKES.

So, final score:

Newfangled steam drill: nine feet.

One man armed with nothing but sweat and hammers: fourteen feet.

Oh wait.

Did I forget to mention

that since John Henry is using two hammers, he drilled TWO HOLES

while the steam drill only made ONE??

So really, the score was nine to TWENTY-EIGHT.

Yeah.

But there’s some bad news too.

See, as soon as he finds out his score

John Henry puts down his hammers and dies

because he just hammered that rock so hard

he gave himself a stroke.

It doesn’t say in the ballad

but I like to think that his last words were something like

“. . . Damn right.”

Anyway, then he’s dead

so I think they end up using the steam drill anyway

although they have to cancel work for like a week

because everyone is convinced that John Henry’s ghost lives in the tunnel

also later on it turns out that the tunnel is notoriously unstable

because it is a bad idea to use contests to construct structurally delicate railway tunnels.

But none of that matters

because the real hero of this story

is Little Bill

who held two drills

right next to all the tenderest parts of his body

against a solid stone wall

while an absurdly muscular dude repeatedly charged toward him

flailing two twenty-pound hammers.

And he kept holding those drills

and turning them

and shaking out the stone debris

and switching out the drills when they got dull

FOR THIRTY-FIVE MINUTES

AND TWENTY-EIGHT FEET

and he
didn’t
have a stroke

or even poop himself a little.

So let’s hear it for Little Bill

the real American hero.