Contrary to popular belief, the Greek God Of Thunder Zeus and the Roman King Of the Gods Jupiter were not the same being.
Sure, they look alike, but the truth is they’re not exactly alike.
You can easily tell them apart by the thunderbolts. Zeus prefers javelin-like lightning strokes with small jaggies in them while Jupiter prefers massive strokes with only three or four jaggies.
I learned this from Vulcan, who has the manufacturing contract for both.
And, yes, Vulcan actually is Hephasteus. But his real name is “Leslie.”
Try being a big macho blacksmith with a name like that.
Just as Mrs. Butterworth’s bottle has a human shape, so does Mustard Man Mustard. But it’s not the shape of Mustard Man.
It’s shaped like Howard B. Kremple, former vat inspector. His untimely death resulted in a large settlement with his family, the disposal of three tons of Mustard Man German-Style Mustard, and the distinctive shape of the Limited Edition bottle.
It resembles Kremple in all but two regards:
Howard was completely bald.
Howard wasn’t smiling like that when they pulled him out of the vat. His face was locked in a hideous, silent scream.
Still, it’s better than nothing.
Abraham looked in his mug, frowning.
“Is there a problem, sir?” asked the steward.
“Is this coffee?” asked Abe.
“I don’t think so,” said the steward.
“Okay,” said Abe. “Is it tea?”
The steward sniffed the liquid in the cup.
“It’s neither,” said the steward. “It’s bourbon.”
“Bourbon?” said Lincoln. “Ah. Bring me the rest of the bottle, then.”
Lincoln looked out the window of the rail car.
It would be nice if they were moving. Or were still hooked to the engine, for that matter.
They’ll come back for me, he thought. I’m the President.
He sipped and smiled.
Such magnificence, birds spread in flight.
I watch the images every ten seconds through my monitors.
Standard film is 24 frames per second. This is 240 times slower.
A lot can happen in ten seconds.
We’re supposed to watch and count Mexicans trying to sneak across, but we’d rather count rabbits and wolves.
Frozen in time, they look like angels.
Soon, we’ll get a live feed from these Observation Stations. And they will turn the gun turrets back on.
As I said, a lot can happen in ten seconds. It can really mess up your aim.
George was free. No more of the space crap. The endless reworking and tweaking of the movies had finally come to an end. Besides, all futzing ever did was annoy fans and make the stack of hate mail grow faster.
He could hand the remaining video games and TV series to subordinates.
Just independent films for George.
But still, after everyone was gone… he enjoyed making his little alternations.
What harm could that be?
He clicked on the “Jar Jar” file, dragged it over the “Casablanca” icon, and selected “Render.”
The credits came up.
And then, his lunch.
Just like Heinz marketed green ketchup for kids, there was a blue Mustard Man as well.
It looked cool and it glowed in the dark, but it tasted revolting. But not as revolting as the music they used in the commercial.
Take the rhyme “The Muffin Man” and substitute “Mustard” for “Muffin.”
Sing that six times in a row without gagging. I dare you.
They stopped making it when the glowing blue dye was found to cause blindness in laboratory rats. Or was it ovarian cancer?
Something like that.
We lost a fortune on it.
Still, it looked pretty cool.
Dear Loyal Fans,
Mustard Man would like to thank all of you who have written him in the past three months.
This has all been one huge misunderstanding. What I thought was a sampler pack for a condiment manufacturer’s convention in Istanbul turned out to be 10 kilos of high-grade heroin.
This was not my heroin. Mustard Man is strictly a coke and pot kind of guy. Needles are disgusting, messy things.
I’m sure that this will all work itself out. My lawyer assures me.
Once again, I thank you for your support.
Mustard Man (aka “Prisoner 0175236”)