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KSDKLDJQLKQWJA

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“Through the rainbow he was brave, Although blood, he did not crave. But Vikings, blood they should want. Heads as trophies, they should flaunt. But from behind, little Jimmy was run through, A puddle of blood grew and grew. So when Jimmy fell, My tears they did swell. And I cried. And I cried.” While there was scattered applause, most people just looked at him, confused. The poem was terrible. Heimdall knew it. The crowd knew it.”

“Hunding, stop skulking in the hallway and get in here.” The bellhop poked his head around the doorway. “I wasn’t skulking,” he said defensively. “I was lingering.” “Come in. I need you to do three things. One: Find a way to track Thor’s FitnessKnut. Report his whereabouts at all times.” “Won’t he just circle the worlds in order?” I made a face. “Thor’s sense of direction is terrible. His path will likely be erratic. Moving on. Two: Have squads of einherjar launch surprise attacks on the Bifrost. I want to know that Heimdall is on guard.” “Very good, sir. And the third thing?” “Inform the thanes that as of tomorrow, I will be unavailable for a while.” I transformed my appearance from a rugged one-eyed god of wisdom to a beautiful two-eyed woman clad in chain mail. “I will be living with my Valkyries to decide for myself which of them deserves to be captain.” Hunding raised a hairy eyebrow. “An idea from Utgard-Loki, Lord Odin?” “Wisdom can be gleaned from any source if one only looks hard enough.” I paused, thinking. “Let’s put that on a T-shirt. And, Hunding?” “My lord?” I transformed back into my true form. “Download cute baby goat videos to my phablet. I must learn what all the fuss is about.”

“A movement in Hotel Valhalla’s garden caught my eye. I looked closer. And immediately wished I hadn’t. Legs spraddled and wearing nothing but a pair of leather short-shorts, Thor was bending, twisting, and squat-farting. Strapped to his ankle was a device shaped like a valknut, a design of three interlocking triangles. “What in the name of me is my son doing?” I asked in bewilderment. “Who, Thor?” Heimdall looked over his shoulder. “He’s warming up for a jog through the Nine Worlds.” “A jog. Through the Nine Worlds,” I repeated. “Yep. If he logs ten million steps on his FitnessKnut—that thing around his ankle—he earns a cameo appearance on a Midgard television show. That’s why I had his goats. He said they’d slow him down.” “That’s ridiculous!” “Not really. Those goats aren’t exactly speedy. Unless they’re plummeting, that is.” “Not what I meant. . . . Never mind.” I cupped my hands around my mouth. “Thor! Thor!” Heimdall tapped his ears. “He’s listening to rock.” “Rock ’n’ roll?” “No, just rock. Boulders, gravel, stones.”

“But now he wondered if the Asian girl at the end of the commercials was not there to sell the Hostess spurting pastry or whatnot, but rather to sell America. Like the Statue of Liberty showing off her armpit at the end of the Sure commercial, the girl spoke more to a Cold War ideal of America--look who we let in! Hardworking Asians! Whereas a Vinod-type presence in one of his white V-neck sweaters (all three brothers wore them on special occasions, cute as lambs) might have confused the audience. Why isn't that Brown guy selling us a taco shell that won't break?”