Finally, here it is: The long-awaited continuation of this epic tale. I've taken a few liberties with Greek mythology here (the understatement of the decade), but I hope you'll find the security measures to your satisfaction.

At any rate, let the madness recommence:

PART II:

Prometheus was extremely bored. True, it wasn't anything unusual since he and the rest of the Titans had been downsized 50 thousand years ago. However, the old excuses Zeus kept making about the "recessive economy" were becoming less and less believable. Surely the job market for immortal beings would be picking up again.

He sighed and picked up the classifieds. Ruffling the pages, he scanned the list of openings. Hmmm. "Wanted, for lucrative possibility in the field of environmental maintenance: You, too, can have the whole world in your hands! Contact Atlas today to find out how! (Requires heavy lifting ability, lots of free time.)" Well, that was definitely out. Prometheus had heard his little brother whine far too often about the Atlantic breezes mussing his hair to even contemplate this one.

But the next one looked far more promising. Intrigued, Prometheus started to read. "Wanted: Skilled immortal to create public for entertainment venture. Must have boundless imagination, ability to shape flesh from riverbank clay. Excellent benefits. Apply in person to 'Big Z', 5th Throne from Left, Palace of the Gods."

No need to cash in his severance package (two one-way tickets to the bottomless pit of Tartarus): Prometheus was going to Olympus!

"So, you're sure about this?" Athena was skeptical. She hadn't exactly expected applicants to come pouring in for the position, despite Poseidon's thirteen attempts to sign up disguised in various wig-and-chiton variations (he was rejected for excessive usage of profanities during the interview process.) However, this was getting ridiculous. The fourteenth consecutive week, and all they'd managed to drag in was an out-of-work former deity.

"I keep repeating," Prometheus said, "that I'm ready and willing to create something. I just need a few guidelines. How many limbs, status of evolution, size of reproductive organs, etcetera."

Zeus, reclining on his gold lamé Laz-e-God, pulled out his list. "Well, let's see. We need creatures with capacity enough to earn disposable income, but with small enough brains to be suckered into a scam which will drain their cash resources, to our profit. Preferably, they will also be sedentary, arrogant bastards who will antagonize their relatives, kill their friends, sleep with their neighbors, and provide other top-notch entertainment for the gods. And make my cotton-candy franchise a smashing success, of course."

"Oh, so you want Americans?" Prometheus asked.

The king of the Olympians shrugged. "Sure, whatever. Just be sure to toss in a couple of hot blondes."

"Will do, boss."

The gods cheered, showering Prometheus with streamers, gold flashes of light, and, inexplicably, fifty-seven claustrophobic goats. His mind brimming with ideas for the impending sculpting of mankind, he strode out of the palace to his bright new future, whistling a battle hymn and brushing goats from all sides.

This was going to be fun.

Back in Olympus, things weren't looking quite so rosy.

"How long do you give him?" Apollo inquired, strumming a jaunty tune on his lyre.

"Off hand," Hermes replied, "about three days. I'll bet you six wood nymphs and the island of Crete this doesn't work out."

"Done. Wait, that reminds me of a song." The god of music acquired a dreamy look and wandered off to the courtyard, where he sat, caught in rapture beside the happily dancing fountain. He flung an arm out in lyric abandon and impaled a swan.

The other gods began to lose interest.

Hephaestus grunted. "Oh well, whatever happens I'll still have my forge."

"And my bow," said Artemis.

"And my axe-I mean trident," Poseidon growled. "Although I'd #*&$#& like to use it on that *#%$ two-timing loser Prometheus. I mean, what kind of *##^ lousy name is that? It wouldn't even make a decent #*&%$ title for an indie punk band."

Hestia, the gentle goddess of the hearth, tried desperately to restore order.

"You're just bitter, dear," she said. "I'm sure everything will work out for the best. In the meantime, let's burn something!"

Everyone else shouted their assent, and roved off in search of flammable objects. They had great fun, shared many immortal bonding experiences, and destroyed several major landmasses. Finally, they returned to Mount Olympus, where its marble corridors echoed late into the night with the happenin' sounds of Apollo's latest composition, "Let's Party Like It's B.C. 124,099!"

Meanwhile, Prometheus began drawing up his preliminary sketches...

************************************************************************ All right, folks, tune in next week (actual time period negotiable) for the next thrilling installment, where all will be revealed. (Unless the world has been inadvertently destroyed by then, but let' s be optimistic, shall we?) Have fun!