Dr. Sebastian Brackenridge, world famous Demigod and Supernatural historian, social media influencer, pet video posting aficionado, and the gayest men in Great Britain digs up the true story of two crazy kids who fell in love and managed to screw everything up. Cupid and Psyche! Their story is a delicious romp that poses the questions "Are the Greek Gods a bunch of wankers and does Aphrodite really have a vintage 1979 LeCar?"
Outrageous, never serious and a huge ham, Dr. Brackenridge leaves his listeners shocked in this hysterical parody of a BBC radio program.
Dr. Sebastian Brackenridge, world famous Demigod and Supernatural historian, social media influencer, pet video posting aficionado, and the gayest men in Great Britain digs up the true story of two crazy kids who fell in love and managed to screw everything up. Cupid and Psyche! Their story is a delicious romp that poses the questions "Are the Greek Gods a bunch of wankers and does Aphrodite really have a vintage 1979 LeCar?"
Outrageous, never serious and a huge ham, Dr. Brackenridge leaves his listeners shocked in this hysterical parody of a BBC radio program.
You are listening to DBN. Demigod Broadcasting Network and this is Dr. Sebastian Brackenridge Presents: Exploring Olympus and beyond. Season 2.
Hello dear Chickens, yes, it is I, your decadently delicious Dr. Sebastian Brackenridge, coming to you from my ancestral home, Brackenridge Hall, located just outside of Windsor England.
Well we did it, Chickens! We have managed to take the world by storm and now my little podcast is off on its’ season 2 adventure. For our second season, don’t be surprised if I entertain topics that aren’t Mount Olympus bound. Makes you wonder what is rattling around in my seriously demented and more than slightly quirky mind. Well, let’s just see what we can discover.
Today I would like to talk about Cupid and Psyche, two crazy kids whom fell in love and somehow managed to make a complete mess of things. Now, before I begin, I want to get one thing straight. There are some who often confuse the Roman Gods with the Greek Gods and visa versa. It should come as no surprise that they are in fact the same Gods with different names. Whether you call a God by its’ Roman name, Cupid, or by its Greek name, Eros, it’s still the same bloody person. The same goes for the Roman version of Aphrodite, is in fact Venus. Both the same, slutty God.
So get comfortable, making sure you have your tea, jam and bread and let’s begin. I want to take you back to a simpler time, where Gods and Goddesses were a plenty. You see, dear ones, back then, there wasn’t an internet or even an Encyclopedia Britannica to find the answers to life’s troubling questions. So to explain why things were the way they were, man created deities responsible for things like the harvest, birth, death, the sun rising and setting, the changing of the seasons and of course beauty and love. Believe it or not, there was even a God for making up those bloody awful songs you can’t get out of your mind once you hear them like “Baby Shark”, “What did the fox say”, and of course anything from nickelback.
So, once upon a time, somewhere in the far far away land of Greece, there was a quiet little kingdom, ruled by a beloved King and Queen. I haven’t the slightest idea what their names were, so for the purpose of this lecture I shall refer to them as Brad and Sheila. Now, Brad and Sheila had three daughters, the youngest was named Psyche and was so stunningly beautiful that anyone who looked upon her thought Psyche’s beauty rivaled Aphrodite herself. I mean really, how beautiful can she be. I guess if Angelina Jolie, Scarlet Johannsen, Cate Blanchett, Gillian Anderson, RuPaul in full drag, and Penelope Cruz had a baby, she would look like Psyche.
As I mentioned Psyche had two sisters and they were…. How do I put this diplomatically? They were older and not what some would call beautiful, nor striking, lovely or stunning, more ….handsome. Yes, that’s it. We’ll go with they were handsome women. Think Bea Arthur, during her Maude days, and don’t you dare lecture me about how wonderful Bea Arthur was because she was a dear friend of mine, and I wasn’t afraid to remark to dear Bea that she had the body of a linebacker and looked like booger drag queen from Brent who has to run her own off because she couldn’t buy off the rack Marks & Spencers. But, I digress. Nobody remembers what their names were, so we will refer to them as Brunhilda and Ermengarde Von Beverhausen. You’ll soon learn why those names are perfect for the sisters, but back to Psyche.
Now, dear chickens, remember when I told you several lectures ago that the Gods were extremely temperamental with the emotional maturity of an 8-year-old boy who can’t stop giggling because his Mum has served up a plate of spotted dick for dinner. Well, they were incredibly jealous of anyone who dared to take the attention off of them and made Racheal from Glee, any one of the Kardashians and Perez Hilton look like Mother Teresa. Well, Aphrodite was the worst. That slag would never say to someone, “Dear, I don’t mind sharing the stage with you, just find your own light.” Aphrodite was more likely to say…. Well, she really wouldn’t say anything because is there any point talking to a smoldering pile of ashes? No there is not.
With such a beautiful creature in their midst and the kingdom clearly consisting of a lot of wankers, what could they have possibly done to make sure Aphrodite more than slightly miffed? No, they didn’t wear white shoes after the America’s labor day, nor did they do a smokey eye for a day-time luncheon.
Oh, no, chickens, they decided to turn away from Aphrodite and bestowed the blessings, tributes, prayers and attention to Psyche. Talk about the first version of the Jim Jones cult! Whatever you do, don’t drink the Kool-Aid at the company picnic! And being young, naïve, and…well, very flattered, Psyche accepted the blessings, tributes and prayers. Granted, it could be perilous for Psyche, as such tributes went from flower petals to full flowers, and full flowers became small token gifts, like gold coins (which are a suitable strategy when investing in your retirement). But these idiots didn’t stop there when they could bestow Psyche a glittery scrunchy or an Entemann’s coffee cake (I’ve always believed in keeping one in the freezer for the unexpected drop in). In certain drastic and definitely disgusting instances, they even conducted animal sacrifices for Psyche.
It’s one thing for the local butcher to present the family with a side of beef in honor of Psyche’s stunningly beautiful little toe, the one of the left foot, the right one was a bit wonky. However, it’s quite another thing when fans are chucking raw Virginia hams at you without the benefit of keeping them in the tin they came in, all because they liked the shimmery lip gloss you wore a particular evening. And don’t get me started about the live bull that was left on Psyche’s doorstep. Somehow someone had trained the creature to be an indoor pet, and the sweet natured thing thought it was a lapdog. Ever try to share a sofa with a bull? Well it certainly makes catching up on episodes of The Chilling Adventures of Sebrina the Teenage Witch very challenging! And selfishly , Brad and Sheila believed such worship could be used to secure their hold on the kingdom.
Well, as you can see, things were going in the wrong direction.
I wish I knew what the tipping point for Aphrodite. I don’t think it was the ham, nor the Entemann’s cake, and I’m pretty sure the gift cards to Aldi, Ebay, Harrod’s of London and Starbucks went mostly unnoticed. If I were a betting man, which I’ll have you know I am most certainly not, (side note: the asterisk on this statement excludes the fact that betting on such sports as Horse Racing (what’s good enough for Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II is Good enough for me) Cricket, Football (aka Soccer) and of course Polo, Rugby and MOST certainly the Highland Games, which might I add the Brackenridge Champion is currently #1 and has won the games for the past decade is not included in this statement.) So, once again, I abhor gambling, but I would have to say that Aphrodite could ignore everything, but the bull was something she could not.
So you’re wondering how Aphrodite punished Psyche because by all accounts Aphrodite was quite out of sorts. Some would say the goddess was not batting on a full wicket, to which I say that’s quite the understatement.
Well, Aphrodite yells for her son Cupid to come to her, which was rather annoying as he was sitting right beside her on the same fainting couch. You see, the problem for Aphrodite was simple: The more worshipers Psyche took away from her, the less status she had on Mount Olympus and the greater impact to her beauty, a core source of the goddess’ supernatural power.
And the two of them hatched a plan that was sure to take care of Miss “look at me, I’m just the bee’s knees Psyche”. Cupid would enchant her to fall in love with the lowliest creature, perhaps her pet bull, thereby bringing shame and mortification to the Psyche and her family. Not the most original form of revenge, but one can’t admire how delicious of it prank it was.
So off Cupid went, flitter fluttering over to Aphrodite’s private garden for some items he would need. You see, in the center of the garden were these two water features, two ponds with a fountain at the center of both. Hovering over each of the fountains, Cupid filled two small amber flasks, one with sweet waters from the one pond, the other with bitter waters from the other.
From Mount Olympus he flew with the two flasks and his bow and quiver full of arrows. Of course he certainly couldn’t take the car since because Aphrodite would never let Cupid behind the wheel of her vintage 1979 LaCar without his learners, which I find very sensible. All it would take is a single accident by Cupid and Aphrodite’s insurance rates would go sky-high.
An invisible Cupid hastened to Psyche’s private chambers, where he found the maiden asleep. He poured a few bitter drops onto Psyche’s lips and then touched her side with the point of one of his arrows. Psyche opened her eyes and the utter loveliness of her gaze caught the young God off-guard. Of course, terrified that someone was in her room, Psyche sat bolt upright in her bed and smashed foreheads with the God, which sent poor Cupid stumbling back as the same arrow pierced his side. Ignoring his wound, twas nothing but a scratch, Cupid rushed towards Psyche, the love for the maiden, caused by his injury filling every ounce of his being. Cupid, now desperate to undo what he had done emptied the flask of sweet waters onto her golden tresses. He flew from the chamber, hoping to figure out what he should do about Psyche and how he could do it without his mother finding out.
I told you they made a mess of things, but wait, there’s more and yes, it does get deliciously messier.
Alas, the damage had been done and poor Psyche gained no joy or benefit from anything. So, she wandered aimlessly throughout the castle and kingdom, not completely understanding what had taken place. Yes, eyes were still cast eagerly upon her and every mouth still sung the praises of her beauty. They really didn’t have much else to gossip about since the nominations for the academy awards, nor the golden globes hadn’t come out yet, but neither King, Royal Youth, or even the lowliest of peasant presented himself to ask for her hand in marriage. And much to the horror of the now tragically unwedable Psyche, Brunhilda and Ermengarde Von Beverhausen, her…..handsome sisters, both had succeeded in becoming married. Granted everyone in the kingdom knew it was a bit of a stretch to refer to either sisters as blushing brides and it was noted by many that their wedding gowns weren’t exactly white, but rather a dirty taupe.
It is well known, as it has been stated in history books, that back then daughters borne of a King were merely used to secure a strategic alliance. Her two sisters had provided solid alliances with the Kingdoms of such notable men as Prince Reginald the Hairy, of Edmonton, an electrolysis’ nightmare, and Prince Richard the challenged yet very chatty, of the grocer down the street, who suffered from…. Oh, how do I put this… from a micro-penis.
Poor Psyche was miserable, pouting at her empty popularity. If you ask me, dear chickens, she was a spoiled little brat, locking herself away in her chambers, yearning for something she took for granted.
Brad and Sheila were beside themselves with worry. They began to wonder if they had done something to anger the gods? I mean really! How dim witted can you be. Your kingdom worships one of the most petty, jealous, and vindictive Goddesses ever to exist and you wonder if you have done something wrong by allowing your entire Kingdom to ignore worship of said Bitchy Goddess and begin worshiping your mortal daughter? It’s enough to make a person move to the next kingdom over…. Well, maybe two over, the next one is a bit dodgy at the best of times. Very common indeed.
So they did what every parent who may or may not have ruined the life of their very pretty daughter/meal ticket: They come to see me: Dr. Sebastian Brackenridge, Oracle extraordinaire. Sorry chickens about leaving that fact out. Your deliciously decadent and daringly dashing Duke of Brackenridge is in fact a part-time world-famous Oracle. You’ve must have caught my commercials around 2 am on your local cable channel to call now as operators are standing by to patch you through for one of my amazing, pre-recorded predictions? No? Pity.
There I was, minding my own business, reading an old peasant woman’s tea leaves when Brad, Sheila, Psyche and that damned bull busted into my villa’s private courtyard. I was certainly in no mood for a drop in, as I hadn’t replenished my last entemann’s coffee cake, so I told them I was busy having Elevensies and pushed them off with a ridiculous prophecy that Psyche or said virgin…. I mean really, listeners, a virgin? That’s not what the team captain for the Brackenridge Cricket Team says… but I digress. I told them to drag her to yonder mountain top, truth be told, is was more of a hill, but by then it was all sixes and sevens to me. Drag her to yonder mountain top, I repeated, where she will marry a beast that neither Gods nor mortals can resist. Failing to do so would bring death, destruction, yadda, yadda, blah blah blah, and I shoved them out the gate and turned off my porch light letting them know their audience with me had come to an end. They can Vemo me the money for the reading at a later date.
Well, as you can imagine, my prophecy put the entire kingdom into a state of mourning. Everyone was wearing black in the middle of summer, and I’m not just talking about any black, because the Greeks do mourning like no other, I’m talking about heavy, 100% polyester black. Not even a poly-blend!
And in their mourning glory, see what I did there, chickens, was the Royal Family, especially Brad and Sheila. Anyone else thinking this may be a case of Munchausen by proxy? Draped in black from head to toe, Sheila walked around the castle moaning, crying, gnashing her teeth and tearing her clothes. At one point she became obsessed with her hands, scrubbing them over and over again, which isn’t like her at all. Everyone in the kingdom always knew to steer clear of Sheila, especially after she “dropped the kids off at the pool” if you know what I mean. She earned the nickname smelly hands Sheila without any help from me…. Well, maybe a little from me.
And in the middle of her mother and father enacting their 15th going mad with grief scene of the day, poor Psyche had just about enough and demanded to be brought to the mountain top just so she could get away from them. Her parents were definitely a day late and a pound short with their concern.
So just like any New Orleans’ funeral, albeit lacking a coffin or a corpse, a full marching band was secured, as the maiden took her place at the head of the draped in black mourners. A very somber Dancing Queen by Abba was played as they processed up the mountain. When they had reached a set of elaborate golden gates that displayed all sorts of mythical creatures as part of its’ design, Brad and Sheila kissed their child goodbye and turned away from Psyche as the band began a joyful rendition of When the saints go marching in. When the last of the mourners had flashed their tits or their junk for the last of the madi gras beads, and the last of the black umbrellas could be seen bouncing up and down to the band’s beat, Psyche, with tears flowing down both cheeks, opened the gates and was met by a gentle Zephyr, a soft breeze, which dried her tears and lifted her up, carrying her higher up the mountain, well, hill, to an unusual sight, a pleasant grove of tall and stately trees, with a glorious palace in the center. Unable to contain herself, Psyche entered the palace and continued to look in amazement at her new home. Everything she saw, touched, smelled, filled her with delight and happiness. I personally believe Psyche’s habit of licking doorknobs is rather distasteful, but who am I to complain. It’s safe to say that the palace was stunning to look at and beautiful to behold.
while she continued her tour, a voice addressed her, although she could not see the owner of the voice. “Sovereign lady,” The voice said. “All that you see is yours. So stop sticking things into the folds of your dress. You’re just knicking from yourself, you grubby little wretch. We are your husband’s servants, not indentured nor slaves, thank you very much, so don’t go getting any sort of high and mighty attitude, missy. We’re unionized and I can tell you my union rep will hear about the extra work that we’ll have to do to make a filthy and stinking mess like you presentable to the master. Just look at you. Might I suggest you take a long bath and scrub hard, then go take a nap. You may need to drain and refill the bath twice. No sense is you soaking in your own disease-ridden soup. I’ll come banging on ya door when supper is ready.”
As Psyche walked away, shocked as no one had ever talked to her in such a manner, she could hear the voice talking about her to another unseen servant.
“Did you see the state of her? If you ask me his grace has lost his mind bringing in that piece of filth into this house. One would think from the looks of her that we were either running a charity or that this was My fair lady! Grabbing things and sticking them God knows where. Whatever you do, make sure to wipe things before touching them. Goodness knows what she’s been after. I’ll be scrubbing all day to get rid of the slug slime she just left all over the place. Give me strength not to slap her before the end of today.”
I mean really! How rude can you be? This was no Mrs. Potts!
After being awaken with a loud pounding on her door and a voice yelling, “We hopes your majesty is well rested and ready for a cupper and some supper.”
Psyche rushed to the door and opened it, only to hear the voice clucking like a hen. “You could have run a comb through that rat’s nest,” the voice said. “Follow my voice…” It said, and then mumbled, “if you can hear me with those potatoes growing out of your ears, you filthy slag.” Psyche was led to an alcove was nearly fell forward as a chair was shoved underneath her. A table danced it’s way to her, and all sorts of dinner fare made its way, carried by unseen hands.” Psyche was amazed.
“And before you even dare to suggest it,” the voice said, “NO, the plates and the silverware won’t sing, “Be our guest.”
Psyche greedily enjoyed the food and wine, as invisible musicians played music. She dosed off during the ballet performance as it was rather boring since she couldn’t see any of the performers, but was jostled awake by a swift smack to the back of her head.
“Sorry, dear, there was a wee fly. I must have missed it.” The voice said.
I know what you are wondering. What about her beast of a husband? Well, he would only visit her at night, with all of the candles extinguished and although he didn’t feel like a beast, he certainly was a beast in the most delicious ways when it came to marital relations. She would have to be an utter idiot not to understand via touch that this wasn’t the monster she had be told about. A six pack of abs, massive chest, muscular arms, lips that were soft and so passionate, and hands that were gentle and eager all leads a person to believe that maybe this marriage wouldn’t be such a chore. And when she asked to see her husband, reaching for a candle to light it, her husband simply told her no and if she didn’t like it, she can shove off. You see, listener, he was giving her everything she ever wanted and judging by how she started each morning walking slightly bowlegged, even more, and the only thing he asked of her was to trust him that for now, this was the way things had to be. And as he always did before she awoke, come the morning her husband was nowhere to be found. He always left a note on his pillow that stated, your money is on the nightstand. And before you even say it, it was just pin money for the snack machine, nothing more.
Now, the average person would have been happy with this arrangement, but alas, Psyche became quite bored with the whole thing. For her, what was the point of being wealthy, if no one knew you were wealthy? Clearly, you can take the girl out of the trash, but you can’t necessarily take the trash out of the girl. So when her husband came to her the following night, she told him of her despair, claiming the palace that once filled her with joy, now began to fill her with frustration as it became more of a gilded prison. Paaaalease, girl, here’s a quarter and call someone who cares. After a few hours of resisting her husband’s charms, he finally relented and gave his unwilling consent to bring her sisters to the palace. Overjoyed with the idea of seeing her sisters, Psyche went back to business as usual and even let her husband have access to her back door. I know, dear listeners. SHOCKING!
The following day Psyche called out to Zephyr and told the wind what it must do. So off the wind went to retrieve her sisters, who were not expecting to go on a sudden vacation and were brought in a most unacceptable manner of appearance.
Brunhilda Von Beverhausen was brought to Psyche clearly mid-toilet, trailing toilet paper behind her. Ermengarde Von Beverhausen was delivered mid-dress and very naked indeed, as she struggled to get off the nightgown that now was stuck about her shoulders and head.
Standing disheveled in front of their beautiful sister, all three began to laugh at how ridiculous the whole situation was and both Brunhilda and Ermengarde embraced Psyche.
Psyche invited her sisters to stay with her for a few days and told them they only have to ask and her invisible servants will provide. She then took them on a tour of the palace.
Brunhilda Von Beverhausen looked at Ermengarde Von Beverhausen with a smirk. “Oh, look at me, my name is Psyche and I don’t just have servants, I have invisible servants.”
Ermengarde Von Beverhausen frowned, “didn’t she pull this before, her supposed boyfriend…. From Canada?”
And as if on que, the voice could be overheard complaining. “Oh, this is just great!” The voice said. “It’s bad enough we have to deal with the likes of her but now we’ve got her freeloading family too? Just kill me!”
Of course, with each step of their palace tour, Brunhilda and Ermengarde Von Beverhausen’s were incredibly jealous and grew to hate their younger sister. What did Psyche do to deserve such riches? Well we all know what she did recently. They felt being the older sisters, they were more deserving of lifestyles of the rich and famous? The very nerve of Psyche.
The following were days and evenings spent in pleasant conversations and numerous excursions, but a dark cloud hung over Psyche in the form of the thousands of questions her sisters plagued her with.
Questions like, “What does your husband look like? What color are his eyes and his hair? Is he tall, short, fit or fat? Was that dress that’s causing such a ruckuson the internet black and blue or white and gold? How big is his….talent….? Does he enjoy going… downtown, if you know what I mean?” And for her part, Psyche did her best to answer their questions, sometimes with the truth, other times with lies.
The two sisters reminded her about the oracle’s prophecy and wondered if her husband was keeping her fat so he could feed off Psyche’s blood, or perhaps he was devouring her soul bit by bit. How horrible indeed. Of course we all know if this was true the only way her husband could be doing this is through his meat and two potatoes. The horror of it all.
So the older sisters hatched a plan. They gave Psyche a sharp knife and a candle, telling Psyche to hide it in her bed chamber. After her husband had fallen into a deep sleep, Psyche was to retrieve both items, light the candle and finally gaze upon her husband. If the candle light revealed he was a horrible monster, or suffered from male pattern baldness and a nasty underbite, Psyche would plunge the dagger in the monster’s heart. If he was as beautiful as Psyche believed he was, she would dispose of the knife and blow out the candle, slipping back into bed without anyone knowing.
So that night, Psyche did what her sister’s suggested and after her husband slipped into a deep sleep Psyche snuck out of bed, grabbed the candle, matches and her very sharp dagger. With candle lit and dagger held high above her head, Psyche approached the bed and did not find a beast or monster. She found the most handsomest, the most beautifully sculpted, muscular God, Cupid, asleep in her bed. With a head full of soft and lustrous curls, chiseled features and…well, let me state this, he had zero body fat and definitely wouldn’t be shy to walk around butt naked the locker room. I’m surprised he didn’t have to pick the damn thing up and throw it over his shoulders, his talent was so big. And he had the most gorgeous gold accented wings that were tucked underneath him.
And as she was doing a silent victory dance, dripping wax fell upon Cupid, striking his shoulder. Cupid’s eyes flew open and he sat up, looking sadly at his wife. Cupid reminded Psyche that he only asked one thing of her and after giving her so much, disobeying his mother and sacrificing so much, she repays him with deceit and death.
And with a “Bye, Felicia,” he flew away, and as he did the palace and beautiful gardens vanished, leaving Psyche alone in a glen that was just outside of Brad and Sheila’s kingdom.
When she had calmed down because she was very upset… I mean really! Imagine losing all of that prime Man Meat and wealth in a blink of an eye. If Chris Evans, Chris Hemsworth, Chris Pine and Ryan Reynolds had a baby, it would have looked like Cupid. And don’t you dare lecture me for leaving out Chris Pratt. Pratt’s a brat, a minging tosser and a homophobic wanker that left his brilliant first wife, Anna Faris, and their son, Jack, after he was caught cheating numerous times (So the rumors say). I have no time for filth like that.
With nothing to do but lick her wounds, Psyche sought out the help of her dear, dear sisters, Brunhilda and Ermengarde Von Beaverhousen, who delighted in their younger sister’s suffering. And just like every bitch on toast, both sisters secretly believed that after such a horrible betrayal, how could Psyche not trust her own husband, what was that girl thinking, that they would be the one to sacrifice their own “happy”, I’m using air quotes, marriages to take the place of Psyche in Cupid’s opulent palace and also in Cupid’s generous bed. Without telling the other, both sisters returned to their homes and the following morning each called upon Zephyr to carry their fat asses off to be with Cupid. Well, poor Zephyr wasn’t available, as the soft, gentle wind was laid up with a bad back. You try and carry both of Psyche’s handsome sisters at once, after everything went to pot. Neither of them had an 18 inch waist to say the least. More likely they had an 18 inch kankle. So poor Zephyr was icing and also using a heating pad during his convalesce when the calls came from Brunhilda and Ermengarde Von Beaverhausen. Thinking Zephyr would be there to catch them, both sisters threw themselves out of the highest windows at their own homes, only to fall like 15 sacks of potatoes onto the courtyard below, killing them instantly and causing nearly 5,000 pounds and 15 pence worth of damage to each of their courtyards. I dare say that’s not covered under homeowner’s insurance.
Psyche was devastated, emotionally and almost physically as Brunhilda’s plummeting body missed Psyche by no bigger than the distance of a whisper.
Psyche wandered day and night, without food or sleep, in search of her husband. Off she went, from temple to temple, committing good deed after another, including the sorting of various gifts to the gods and the cleaning of their temples. Still, to no avail, cupid did not appear, but one God, the holy Ceres, felt moved by Psyche’s works of charity and spoke to her.
Ceres said when it came to Aphrodite, she could do nothing. Apparently, the two goddesses were in the same knitting circle and Aphrodite was the forth at Ceres’ bridge table at the club. Finding a replacement can be such a bother. The goddess suggest that instead of blindly running around, screaming Cupid’s name like that one char woman who stands at the Piccadilly Circus tube stop, screaming that she must get home and let out her pussy. She also warned that if her Pussy isn’t let out to do its business there would be hell to pay. I haven’t the slightest idea what she means. Best to ignore her. Ceres suggested to go to the source of Psyche’s problem, and eat some crow, do a little dance, make a little love and get down tonight… on your knees. Apparently everyone but Psyche knew that groveling can be beneficial with Aphrodite. So with an unceremonious shove, Ceres sent Psyche packing, for the girl had overstayed her welcome.
Taking Ceres’ advice, that is exactly what Psyche did, as she lay down before a statue of the goddess, kissing the cold marble feet in a secluded temple.
“Well, well, well,” the statue transformed into the goddess herself, “isn’t this a fine kettle of fish. It would appear the most useless and undeserving of servants has found her way back to her mistress’ temple. Or have you come to see my son, whom you have injured the only way such as he can be injured: You broke his heart. He lays, grieving, physically ill, too weak to lift his head from his pillow. He is wasting away for the love taken by you. But I am not the monster-in-law nor scornful goddess you think me, so I have a test, in several parts that will help me decide whether to welcome my son’s most unsuitable bride into my family, or to dispose of you like I did with Jimmy Hoffa. Nobody tries to unionize my temple workers while I can still draw a single breath.”
The goddess pointed to a side anti-chamber full of wheat, barley, millet, vetches, beans and lentils that was used to feed Aphrodite’s pigeons. You aren’t alone chickens, I had to look up millet and vetches also. The goddess told Psyche to have all in the chamber sorted out by Sunrise and turned back into a statue.
The task was impossible. The room was piled high and a chaotic mess. And being the Generation Z member she was, Psyche slumped against the wall and threw an absolute fit, making herself out to be the foolish ass that Aphrodite knew she was.
Now, while she huffed and mumbled under her breath, Cupid watched from his bed. There were cameras everywhere and it was well known that Cupid had a weakness for voyeur kink. Watching his wife act like a complete twit, Cupid felt pity and called upon the garden ants to help the daft cow. While Psyche carried on, the ants sorted out the mess in plenty of time before the sun rose. Early the following morning Aphrodite walked into the chamber shocked at what she saw.
Well, Aphrodite didn’t believe for one second that the sorted piles was Psyche’s doing. For her next task, the goddess led Psyche to one of the temple’s many terraces. Pointing to a river in the distance and a meadow beyond it, where a large herd of sheep with golden fleeces were grazing, Aphrodite commanded Psyche to collect fleece from each and every one of the animals in the herd. Naturally she forgot to mention the reason why the herd had no shepherd as the herd was incredibly violent when provoked by even the slightest touch of sunlight to their fleeces. The last 50 shepherds learned the hard way to leave the bloody things alone.
Silently Psyche made her way to the riverbank, which was well known for its violent undertow and dangerous depths.
Psyche eyed the flock. The flock, at first, eyed Psyche, before launching itself into some rather nasty trash talk, which I will not detail as it is not to be repeated among polite society!
In between, “You want a piece of this?”, “Once you try wool you never go back, baby”, while dancing in a way that made me think of Fosse mixed in with a little West Side Story, Psyche whined, moaned and sulked. Tired of her kvetching, who knew the river god was Jewish, the river god gathered the wool himself and gently, but firmly sent Psyche on her way. It was said that even today anyone passing that same river can hear the river god complain about its run-in with Psyche. “Oye vay! Better Cupid get chained to a fish wife like that then for any of my family to fall under her Shiksha spell.”
It took several trips for Psyche to bring back all of the deliciously Golden Wool. Now I am sure you have already guessed this, but those very sheep and rams are the ancestors of our very own Brackenridge Sheep, which is why they can only be raised on Brackenridge Farm. It takes a person who knows how to handle the damn things, without being murdered, thankfully our Sheppard and gamekeeper is part fawn, although sometimes the sound of pan fluting can be a bit annoying.
As we all can assume, Aphrodite didn’t believe for one second that Psyche had gathered that wool without at the very least suffering a compound fracture. For Psyche’s final challenge, Aphrodite produced a golden box and threw it at Psyche’s feet, explaining that due to the wound her son suffered at Psyche’s hands that the Goddess has lost some of her beauty while tending to her son’s needs night and day.
I mean really, dear Chickens! Who was Aphrodite kidding by putting on this Mother Teresa, the dutiful mother act, as she attempted to paint herself as a front line worker, placing cold compresses and making chicken soup is very much beyond the pale. Well beyond the pale.
Aphrodite told the girl to take that box to the underworld, into the heart of the Kingdom of the Shades, and give it to Persephone. Psyche was to tell Persephone that her mistress, Aphrodite desires for the goddess to send a little of her beauty because she has lost a little of her own taking care of her ailing son. The goddess insisted Psyche be quick about it so that she could paint herself with Persephone’s gift before Aphrodite appeared at the circle of gods and goddesses that very evening. Can’t you just picture mother Teresa saying the same thing… I’ve got to tart myself up to meet with the other nuns and priests?
Well, dear ones, you can be sure Psyche pulled up her bootstraps and marched out of the chamber, with a song in her heart and a….. (LAUGH) Sorry, I couldn’t keep a straight face. No she didn’t. Instead of pulling out a white board and figuring out how she was going to pull this off, she sulked, pouted, complained, whined, cried, and despaired. Feeling hopeless for a total 10 minutes, Psyche decided her life was over. Done with. Alas, hark, alas, out damn spot, find me a dagger. So she took herself up to the highest tower she could find to throw herself off of it.
So up she climbed into the tallest tower in the city and was about to step off the window ledge when a voice came to her.
The voice reprimanded Psyche most harshly for being so short sighted and reminded her that for each task she had been given by Aphrodite, other Gods/Goddesses have stepped in to help her. Why would now be any different, the voice wondered out loud, as it began to tell Psyche what to do.
The voice told her of a certain cave that if she went into it and followed the downward leaning tunnel, she would indeed reach the Underworld. It told her of the dangers to avoid in the cave and as she was about to reach the Underworld itself, she was to produce the squeaky toys the Unseen had given her. One for each of the heads of Cerberus, the three-headed hound that guarded the Underworld’s gates. “The newspaper squeaky goes to the head on the left. The burger squeaky goes to the head in the center and the large pink flip-flop with the writing, ‘Key west or bust” goes to the head on the right.
Once passed the gate and the dog, the voice warned her that she must not speak a single word until she reaches Persephone. There would be several ominous figures for Psyche to pass and they would most certainly terrify and horrify the girl. The first figure will be Margaret Thatcher standing in front of an Underworld version of 10 Downing street. Whatever she says or does, ignore the hairspray’d harpy at all cost or you’ll never get away from her as she screams about why the Conservative Party knows what’s best for the United Kingdom. Whatever you do, do not partake of her cooking. It’s ghastly. Woman could burn water and never met a casserole she didn’t like.
You will also encounter Donald Trump selling Trump Steaks as he sits on the loo tweeting. Whatever you do, do not attempt to look at his iPhone screen because it will lead to complete and utter madness, not to mention who really wants to get close to that mess while it’s on the loo? His diet consists of fast food hamburgers and diet coke. The smell alone is enough to burn your skin away.
Lastly, the voice warned of the most horrible, terrifying visage Psyche would encounter. Dame Edna Humphries. No, she isn’t dead, she’s just moonlighting.
The voice continued, explaining that Once Psyche got passed those horrors, Psyche would encounter Charon, the ferryman, who will demand payment to ride his boat. Psyche was told to produce her London Travelcard and he the ferryman would take her across the River Styx. On the other side Psyche would find Persephone, sitting comfortably in her little beach-front cottage on the river’s beach. Once the Goddess places what is needed into the box Psyche was to return the same way she arrived, and that of all the things the voice had told her, the most important is for Psyche to NOT OPEN THE BOX. No matter how curious you are, do not open it.”
Well, somebody color me Pandora. A naughty, dirty little box that shouldn’t be opened.
Psyche did as she was told and she did indeed return with the box filled with whatever Persephone placed inside of it.
But before she came upon the grounds of the Aphrodite’s temple, a heavy curiosity fell upon the girl. What Curiosity Jackson was doing in that tree, I have no idea, but she landed right on top of Psyche, nearly knocking the girl out. As Ms. Jackson if you’re nasty left Psyche lying on the ground in a daze, Psyche wondered what harm could come to her if she were to take a small dab of the beauty that the box held, because we all know a dab will do you when it comes to supernatural beauty. Like perfume, just put it everywhere you want to be kissed.
What a silly girl she was because the box contained no beauty at all, but rather the most horrible imp imaginable: Kanye West! And not just any Kanye West, but a Kayne West imp wearing a Make America Great hat. THE HORROR OF IT ALL. Upon seeing Kanye, who pinned a cursed campaign Kanye for President button onto Psyche’s dress, the girl fell into the Cursed Coma of Calcutta. A cursed coma where the wasn’t a single curiously calculated cancelling curse cure!
Oh no, chickens!!! To be put into the Cursed Coma of Calcutta without a single curiously calculated cancelling curse cure nor a group of devilishly demanding dwarves dastardly dedicated to you and the preservation of one’s personage left poor Psyche with little hope of survival.
Or so we thought because while several woodland reprobate animals took advantage of the curiously comatose carcass, Cupid was awake, completely healed and wasn’t happy about being locked up in his chambers by his mother, who claimed she knew best. Seeing a crack in the stonework of his chamber walls, Cupid made himself small enough to easily escape and flew to Psyche. Finally reaching Psyche, Cupid shooed away the creatures and drew the Cursed Coma of Calcutta out of his wife and sent Kanye and his short lived political career packing, as he shoved him back into his box.
Psyche opened her eyes and was swept into his arms, Cupid kissing her generously while he placed her down. Cupid picked up the box and handed it back to Psyche.
As he was about to say that Psyche’s curiosity would be the death of them both, Psyche, the bloody twit, opened the box again and once again fell prey to the Kayne West and the Cursed coma of Calcutta.
Thank goodness she’s pretty because had I been Cupid I would have cut my losses and switch to men!
Cupid said as much and after shoving Kanye back into the box, along with the cursed coma of Calcutta , he attached a lock to the box so Psyche could not open it again.
Tired of his mother and the whole mess she had put everyone through, Cupid told Psyche to take the box to his mother and vanished in a blink to put things right.
While Psyche was presenting the box to Aphrodite, Cupid flew at light speed to Jupiter… Also known as Zeus, chickens. He begged for Zeus’ help and unable to resist Cupid, Zeus summoned Aphrodite and told her to knock it off and allow Cupid and Psyche to wed. With a snap of his fingers, Zeus made Psyche and the entire Olympian assembly appear and although begrudgingly so, Aphrodite produced a cup of ambrosia, which she handed to Cupid with her blessings, and to which Cupid handed to Psyche.
“Drink this my love and be immortal.” Psyche did as she was told and Zeus proclaimed that the love knot and marriage of Cupid’s making could never be undone by neither mortal nor God. What followed was a glorious reception. The fascinator I wore was talked about several months after the event and before you even dare ask it, yes, yes, I slept with the best man. 5 months later, the young couple had a daughter, which sent tongues wagging I can tell you, because everyone had the ability to count nine months back to Psyche becoming a goddess and that large 12 lb baby was not premature! Rejoiced at being parents, the two named their daughter, Pleasure. Talk about setting up a child to become a stripper, chickens!
And that’s the end of my lecture. I hope you enjoyed it. You’ve been listening to Dr. Sebastian Brackenridge, the Gayest Man in the United Kingdoms of Britain and the Kingdom of Northern Ireland. If you liked this podcast, please click on the links provided for more. All rights reserved.