Dr. Mojo Steals Fire From The Gods

i.

Now when Dr. Van Van Mojo moved to the big city, the people had no fire. They cooked their food and heated their apartments with the magic called electricity, but they could not light their pipes.

When Dr. Mojo learned that the people had no fire, he was furious. "I've carried my dope pipe all this way," he cried, "and I've even scored a bag of weed. But however shall I smoke it?"

Dr. Mojo tried hot knives, but they were troublesome to handle. He tried baking brownies, but that took too much work. He just wanted to smoke a bowl with his friends.

Dr. Mojo asked his friend, Mr. Turtle: "Wherever shall we find some fire?"

"Try the palace of the gods," Mr. Turtle replied. "There you will find Athena, keeper of intellectual property. She holds the patent to fire."

"But where shall I find the palace of the gods?" asked Dr. Mojo.

"It sits atop the Olympus Office Tower, the tallest skyscraper in the city," said Mr. Turtle. "But beware! It is guarded by the dread Wackenhuts."

A chill ran down the doctor's spine at the mention of the evil Wackenhut warriors, but he knew he must brave the danger to bring fire to the people.

So Dr. Mojo visited his friend, Reverend d00d. Reverend d00d was a hacker and a breaker of codes. But Reverend d00d could not help.

"I can teach you how to build a bomb, or even to engineer a plague. But if someone owns the knowledge," he said, " it is protected by the foulest of guardians."

"That's terrible," said Dr. Mojo.

"You think fire is tough?" said Reverend d00d. "Try cracking a DVD. They'd track me around the world for sharing four lines of code."

But the reverend was talking to the doctor's back. Dr. Mojo was already out the door, looking for his friend, General Ludd.

General Ludd was an anarchist and a treehugger. Surely he would help with the liberation of fire.

But the general wasn't so sure. "Is this really an appropriate technology?" he asked.

"Huh?" said Dr. Mojo. "I need it to light my pipe."

"That's just a human need," said General Ludd. "How will this affect the larger ecosystem?"

"This is for the good of oppressed people everywhere!" cried Dr. Mojo in desperation.

"See?" asked General Ludd. "People, people, people. You need to quit being so anthropocentric."

But it was too late. Dr. Mojo was already out the door.

The doctor walked along the sidewalk, thinking. How would he ever steal the secret of fire?

Soon he was approached by three punk rock kids. "Hey, mister," said one. "I'm Crusty, and this is my brother Rusty and my other brother Lusty. You spare a dollar?"

"Sure," Dr. Mojo said. He reached into his pocket and handed over a fistful of change. Then he stopped in his tracks.

"Hey!" cried the doctor. "Maybe you can help me. I'm trying to steal fire from the gods."

The three brothers looked at each other and grinned. "Yeah, the gods shut down our squat," said Crusty.

"They said we couldn't live anywhere if we didn't pay something called rent," said Rusty.

"We'd sure like to get back at them," said Lusty.

So Dr. Mojo followed the three punk brothers to the park. They sat and talked for hours, until they had a plan.

ii.

Bright and early the next morning, Dr. Van Van Mojo made the rounds of the thrift stores. He bought four suits, four tab-collared shirts, four ties, four briefcases and four pairs of wing-tipped shoes. He stopped at the drugstore for shaving cream and razors, scissors, soap, hair gel and cologne. Then he rounded up the three punk brothers and took them to his apartment.

Mr. Turtle was still sleeping when they got there. He jumped right up and ran around the apartment in his underwear, tidying up and kicking his dirty socks under the couch.

"Who are these people?" he cried. "What's going on?"

"Mr. Turtle," Dr. Mojo said quite formally, "please meet Crusty and his brother Rusty and his other brother Lusty. Crusty, Rusty and Lusty, meet Mr. Turtle."

Mr. Turtle shook the punk brothers' hands, and then Dr. Mojo explained: "We're on a mission, but we need a fifth member for our team. Will you join us?"

"OK," said Mr. Turtle. The doctor brewed up an extra-strong pot of coffee while he explained the plan.

Then the doctor and the three punk brothers took turns shaving, showering, cutting their hair and changing their clothes. Soon they were all clean-cut, clean-shaven and dressed to kill. Meanwhile, Mr. Turtle put on his rattiest hippy clothes, dreaded up his hair and prepared his protest sign. Then they all set out for the Olympus Office Tower.

Mr. Turtle approached the building first. He walked up to the front door with his sign that read, "Free the Prometheus Five." Then he started chanting, "A slogan, repeated, will never be defeated! A slogan, repeated, will never be defeated!"

The three punk brothers giggled as the they saw some of their friends come running up. "A protest!" the new punks cried. "A protest!" Then a crowd of hippies appeared, someone started banging on a drum, and all of a sudden, a full-fledged protest was happening.

Uniformed Wackenhuts ran around in a panic. "Are they protesting us?" they cried. "Who's the Prometheus Five?"

An especially large Wackenhut approached the impromptu protest. "Who's in charge here?" he bellowed.

"We have no leaders!" cried the punks.

"We are all leaders!" insisted the hippies.

With this, the Wackenhuts grew fearful. They called for reinforcements, sealed off the building and began pulling on their gloves.

Now Dr. Mojo began to sing softly under his breath. He sang the song of Obi Wan, the ancient warrior whose mind trick had fooled far more menacing enemies than the Wackenhuts.

He sang until the protest had developed into total chaos. Some of the hippies were chanting, "No violence! No violence!" Some of the punks were chanting, "Whose streets? Our streets! Whose streets? Our streets!" The Wackenhuts had formed a line and pulled out their pepper spray. One old bald guy was trying to ohm the Wackenhuts into submission. And in the middle of this, Mr. Turtle waved his arms and wailed "All is well! All is well! All is well!"

Into this maelstrom stepped Dr. Mojo and the three punk brothers, disguised as slick young lawyers and imbued with the spirit of Obi Wan.

Dr. Mojo marched right up to the biggest, ugliest Wackenhut. "What kind of reception is this?" he cried.

"Sir, I have to ask you to move along," the Wackenhut said.

"Move along?" Dr. Mojo cried indignantly. "I came all the way from the New York office for an appointment with the Board of Olympians. Don't tell me to move along. What's your name and badge number?"

"I- uh- but- I...," the guard stammered.

"Oh, forget it," Dr. Mojo snapped. "Just get me to my appointment."

"Yes, sir!" The Wackenhut snapped to attention and saluted.

The Wackenhut led Dr. Mojo and the three punk brothers past the wall of guards, through the front doors, beyond the security desk and into the lobby.

"I'll take you right up there," the guard said. "Just in case any of the pinkos have infiltrated the building."

"Why, thank you," Dr. Mojo said as they all entered a secure elevator. The Wackenhut produced a key and unlocked the control panel. He pressed a button marked "exec suite" and the elevator started up.

Up, up, up they rose, until they reached the two hundred and thirty-fifth floor. The doors slid open and Dr. Mojo turned to the Wackenhut.

"You may return to your duties now," he said.

"Thank you, sir," said the Wackenhut. He rode the elevator down as Dr. Mojo and the three punk brothers stepped forward into the palace of the gods.

iii.

The hallways were paved with marble, and the sharp click of Dr. Van Van Mojo's wingtips on the floor echoed through the hum of the fluorescent lights. The doctor looked back and saw the three punk brothers rooted in place, unwilling to move forward.

"Come on," said Dr. Mojo. "What's the problem?"

"Security cameras," said Crusty.

"All over," said Rusty.

"They'll see us," said Lusty.

"Let them see," cried Dr. Mojo. "We are not thieves nor agitators. We are corporate lawyers from the New York office. Now follow me, and don't forget your briefcases."

The three punk brothers took a step forward, then another and another. When no alarms sounded, they grinned in relief and scurried to catch up with the doctor.

They advanced down the hallway, past doors with signs like "Zoning" and "Janitor" and "Burnt Offerings." Then the corridor turned to the left, and as they rounded the corner, they came face to face with the First Guardian.

It was a Wackenhut, but like no Wackenhut they had seen before. He stood greater than seven feet tall with muscles that bulged through his uniform. In his left hand he held a massive billy club, and an enormous pistol was gripped in his right. Most remarkable was his head, however, for in place of a human head, he bore the countenance of a dog.

"Who are you?" the dog-man snarled.

"I'm Dr. Mojo, of course, and these are my three auditors. We're from the New York office," he said.

"New York?" said the Guardian. "What are you doing here? Where's your passes?"

"Passes?" said Dr. Mojo, feigning surprise. "No one issued us any passes. Must've slipped their minds, what with the protests and all."

"No passes, no admittance," the dog-man said, hefting his club.

"Well, in fact," Dr. Mojo said, "we may have the proper authorization in my colleague's briefcase here."

Crusty stepped forward, opened his briefcase and displayed the contents to the dogman.

"Mmm," said the Guardian. "Donuts!"

A long silence ensued. The dog-man licked his lips. Finally he broke the silence.

"Um...," he said. "Could I have a donut? The one with the sprinkles?"

"How bad do you want it?" Dr. Mojo asked.

"They only give me dog food," the Guardian whined. "Dry dog food! I'm almost a real cop. I want donuts!"

"Will you let us pass?" asked Dr. Mojo.

"Well, OK," said the dogman, his eyes fixed on the donuts. "Just this once. Seeing as how you're from the New York office and all."

Crusty handed over the briefcase and the Guardian grabbed for the donut with the sprinkles. He paid no further attention to Dr. Mojo and the three punk brothers as they walked down the hall.

They continued down the hall until they came to a door. In front of the door was a desk, and at the desk sat the Second Guardian.

She had a pile of papers next to her computer, and she was marking them up as she shuffled through them and typed notes on her keyboard. Her most notable feature, though, was her head, for instead of a human head, she bore the countenance of a vulture.

"Who are you?" she snapped as soon as she saw Dr. Mojo and the three punk brothers. "Do you have an appointment?"

"You mean you're not expecting us?" huffed Dr. Mojo. "I am Dr. Van Van Mojo, and these are my assistants. We're from the New York office."

"New York office? We don't-" the Guardian started.

"So you don't know about the audit?" Dr. Mojo cut her off.

"Audit?" The Guardian's beak dropped open and her leathery face turned pale. "I'm not ready for an audit! I'll have to cover- that is, balance the, I mean-"

The bird-woman's voice trailed off as her fingers flew across the keyboard and her gaze locked on the screen. Rusty stepped forward, opened his briefcase and produced a hefty stack of papers the size of a phonebook.

"Here's all the forms you'll need to start," Dr. Mojo told the Guardian as she grabbed the paperwork. "Just start with the Instructions for Requisition of Backlogged Documents Concerning Requisition Process he/23/ahd, Requests for Information Concerning Backlogged Requisitions for Instruction Manuals for Requisition Backlogs."

The Guardian grabbed her pen and started frantically filling out tiny boxes. She was oblivious to Dr. Mojo and the three punk brothers as they opened the door and stepped through.

They entered a small waiting room filled with ferns and back issues of Olympian Weekly. An old man in a red velvet jacket was mopping the floor.

"Hmm," said Dr. Mojo. "I'd expected one more Guardian, but there's only this old janitor."

Dr. Mojo and the three punk brothers started to cross the waiting room, but the old man blocked their path. He waved the mop at them and said, "Is Athena expecting you?"

"The Third Guardian!" cried Dr. Mojo. "The dread Cleaning Man of the Gods! Quick, Lusty, your briefcase!"

Lusty fumbled with the latch until he got the case open. The doctor reached in and grabbed a slim pamphlet, then he turned to face the final Guardian.

"How do you like working for the Olympians?" he asked.

The old man shrugged. "It's a living. Better than those Aesir. Took a year to clean up after that Ragnarok business, then they couldn't even pay me."

Dr. Mojo put on a shocked expression. "They didn't pay you?"

"Nah, they were all dead," the Guardian grumbled.

"Rough breaks," the doctor said. "These Olympians treat you better?"

"Well, they ain't up and died on me yet," the old man chuckled.

"It's a start," said Dr. Mojo.

"Yeah, and they even let me sleep in my broom closet since I can't afford to rent a place," the Guardian added.

"How kind of them," said the doctor. "Here, let me show you something."

He handed over the pamphlet. On the front was a black cat and three letters: IWW.

"Let me see that," the Guardian said, opening the pamphlet to the first page and reading aloud: "The working class and the employing class have nothing in common."

The old man sat in a chair and put his feet up on the mop bucket. "Yeah, I better check this out. You boys go right on in."

"OK, remember the plan now," Dr. Mojo told the three punk brothers. "You draw her out and I'll loot the office."

He stood beside the door as Crusty yanked it open. Athena sat at her desk, muttering over paperwork. She looked up in fury. "Who are you?"

"We're from the New York office," Crusty said, "and we're here for the audit."

"What audit?" Athena said. "What New York office? You are foolish to disturb me, mortal."

"They called the audit to reassess your performance," said Rusty. "Ever since they figured out Ares was better than you in a fight."

"Lies!" screeched the goddess. "Who told you that?" She rose to her feet.

"And Ariadne's a better weaver, so what's the point in having you?" Lusty chimed in.

"You dare!" Athena cried, walking towards the door.

"And everyone knows Aphrodite's the fairest!" Crusty shot back.

The three punk brothers took off running, and not a moment too soon. Athena shrieked, grabbed her spear and shield, and was after them like a shot.

As she crossed the waiting room, the mop bucket slipped from under the old man's feet and rolled into Athena's path.

"Oops," said the old man as the goddess went down in a spray of soapy waters. She soon regained her feet, however, and rejoined the chase.

"Clumsy me," the old man said to Dr. Mojo. "I like this part in here about the historic mission of the working class to do away with capitalism."

But Dr. Mojo was already in the office and rifling through Athena's desk. He soon found what he was looking for- a package of disposable lighters.

Just then, though, he heard a flapping sound and he looked up. A large owl had flown in the window and was perched on a file cabinet, watching his every move.

"Whooo are yooouu?" hooted the owl.

"Just your friendly neighborhood burglar," said Dr. Mojo. "I'm from the New York office."

"Guards! Guards!" screamed the owl. "Guards!"

"Uh oh," said Dr. Mojo. He dropped the lighters in his briefcase, clutched it to his chest and ran for the window.

Looking over his shoulder, he saw Athena running back towards the office. She must have forgotten about the three punk brothers when she realized she was being robbed.

She must have forgotten about the mop bucket, too, because she took another spill in the middle of the waiting room. Dr. Mojo heard the old man chuckling to himself: "structure of the new society in the shell of the old! heh heh heh!"

Then the doctor closed his eyes and dove out the window.

As Dr. Mojo fell, he sang the song of Superman. When he opened his eyes again, he was flying level, and he'd sprouted a red cape.

"Cool," said Dr. Mojo. He'd always wanted a cape.

He looked down and saw that the protest had escalated into madness. Protestors had donned gas masks and were building barricades. Motorcycle police were charging their lines. Reporters had erected a forest of cameras, antennae and sat dishes with a thick understory of powercords and cables. The air was thick with tear gas. Everyone had forgotten what the protest was about. Mr. Turtle, of course, was long gone.

Dr. Mojo circled the building until he saw the three punk brothers slipping out the back service door and escaping down the alley. Then he turned for home.

Before long, he was sitting around his living room with Crusty, Rusty, Lusty and Mr. Turtle. They'd used one of the stolen lighters on the ceremonial Hookah of Victory, and they were very stoned.

"Here's to the Prometheus Five," said Dr. Mojo. "Long may we burn."

And so from that day forward, the people had fire to light their pipes. But to punish them for stealing a patent from the gods, Zeus decreed that all lighters should be childproofed. The people were greatly hassled by this until Crusty, Rusty and Lusty solved the riddle of removing the childproof mechanism.

But that's a story for another day.

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