The Liver Eaters

They were spread-eagled on rocks for as far as the eye could see, an unbroken line of chained figures. The nearest looked up with interest at the new arrival.

"So, what are you in for?" he asked.

"Stealing fire from the gods," answered Prometheus. "How about you?"

"Routine blasphemy," sighed the other. "Called Zeus a horse's ass."

"Whew!" whistled Prometheus. "Seems mighty stiff for what you might call a peccadillo. My name's Prometheus. What's yours?"

"I'm Horatio," replied the prisoner, attempting to offer a hand in greeting.

"No, no! Don't get up!" Prometheus grinned twistedly. "Not much point in trying, eh? How're you getting on with the eagles?"

"Don't even ask," groaned Horatio.

"Well, I intend to do something about this," fumed Prometheus. "Outrageous is what I call it! Not to mention excruciatingly painful! I intend to give them a piece of my mind!"

"I wouldn't do that," cautioned Horatio. "They're already getting all of your liver, and daily, at that. You don't want to make them angry."

"Well, I don't intend to sit still for this!" insisted Prometheus. "Er, lie still."

"Ok," sighed Horatio. "In that case, I'll tell you what to do. Write a nice, polite letter to your eagle, explaining your objections and asking that he not eat your liver anymore."

"Why nice and polite?" asked Prometheus indignantly. "This is the bird that feeds on my internal organs. While I'm still using them!"

"Like I said, you don't want to make them angry. It does nothing to help your case."

"Ah. So, does it do any good, this nice, polite letter?"

"Nope. Not a bit," replied Horatio. "They're liver-eating eagles. Didn't I tell you that?"

"Then what's the point of writing the letter?" screamed Prometheus.

"It might make you feel better," offered Horatio. "You're the one who said he wanted to do something."

"Yeah, but I meant something efficacious," Prometheus explained. "I thought that was obvious. Isn't there anything else a titan can do?"

"Hmm," mused Horatio. Then he brightened a bit. "There are the elections," he said.

"Elections?" cried Prometheus in disbelief. "You mean, we elect our tormentors?"

"Yep," replied Horatio. "There are two different species of eagles to choose from."

"And the other species doesn't eat our livers?" asked Prometheus hopefully.

"No, they eat our livers, too," said Horatio.

"Then what's the difference?" sobbed Prometheus.

"The other eagles promise to be more humane about it," answered Horatio.

"Then what's the point of the elections?" asked Prometheus.

"None, really, I suppose."

"Ok, but maybe the 'humane' eagles really are better. Why haven't you kicked the incumbents out and given the other ones a go?"

"Because," explained Horatio, "the incumbents say they're the only ones who can protect us."

"Protect???" gasped Prometheus. "From what?"

"Bad people who want to hurt us," said Horatio.

"You mean, worse than tearing out our livers every night?"

"Don't know," replied Horatio. "The eagles aren't very specific. But we're too frightened of these shadowy bad people to dare risking a change. Better the liver-eater you know than the evil who-knows-what you don't."

"But there must be some recourse," persisted Prometheus. "I refuse to believe that we're just stuck with these liver-loving vultures."

"Eagles," corrected Horatio. "But you're right. There is something we can do."

"There is?" cried Prometheus hopefully. "Well, tell me what it is!"

"We can have a big concert and sing protest songs," concluded Horatio smugly.

"Concert?" babbled Prometheus. "Protest songs? How will that stop an eagle from eating my liver?"

"It won't," said Horatio.

"Then what's the point?" wailed Prometheus.

"It'll make us think we're doing something, of course. You're not expecting results, are you?"