Cupid, The Red-Hot Tot Who Flirted a Lot

Mars and Venus were having a cuppa at the Mt. Olympus Café. They were discussing their son, Cupid.

“I’m worried about the boy,” said Mars. “Running around naked, flapping his little wings, flirting shamelessly, making a spectacle of himself.”

Venus shrugged. “That’s pretty normal behavior up here.”

“Yeah, but he’s 42-years-old, and he hasn’t even reached puberty!”

“All things considered, perhaps that’s for the best,” said Venus.

“Well, he could at least wear some shorts.”

“He wants to ‘Live free or die’— he’s got that New Hampshire thing going.”

“And that pipe he plays,” continued Mars. “Pan told me it’s his, and the kid stole it.”

Venus snorted. “That old goat’s always complaining about something. He should pipe down already.”

“He’s only half goat,” said Mars. “Technically, I mean.”

“Whatever.”

“And that music the boy plays— it makes him excited and kind of blotchy.”

Venus smiled.

“I say it’s alright, Pa, let the boy rock ‘n’ roll
He’s got a mind of his own, and you know he’s got a musical soul
If the music is groovy, you know we really can’t say no.”

Sometimes she channeled The Lovin’ Spoonful using the Space-Time Continuum Song app on her phone. She waved the waitress over and ordered another baklava.

Cupid was eavesdropping. He knew his folks always sat at the same table in the café— the big gold one with the sign that said “Reserved for Mars and Venus. Anyone else caught sitting here gets The Big Zap to the Underworld.”

He had a bug hidden under the table. Now he pumped his fat little fist and said, “Yesssss!” It paid to be a mama’s boy.

Of course, dads had their place, too. He thought of the Nymphet magazines he’d found in his father’s golf bag. He’d learned a lot. He was looking forward to firing up his Olympic Torch, assuming he ever reached puberty.

He turned into Circe’s Chamber of Delights. He got carded, of course. That’s what happens when you look about five years old.

He saw Hebe sitting at a table by herself. She was the cupbearer to the major gods and goddess, and Cupid liked the way her cups ranneth over. She smelled like nectar and aroused the bee in his bonnet.

He sidled over to her, took out his pipe and launched into a medley: Fever, Love To Love You Baby, Rump Shaker, Pull Up To The Bumper, and Die A Happy Man. He had the Space-Time Continuum Song app on his phone, too.

Cupid began to glow in a blotchy sort of way. He leaned over and murmured, “Hot 4 U Baby.” He said ‘4’ instead of ‘four,’ and ‘U’ instead of ‘you,’ and left out the comma. He was anticipating rap music, maybe— and memes.

Suddenly the place was on fire. Hebe gave him the cold shoulder, but it was too late.

The Mt. Olympus Fire Company showed up with ten hook-and-ladder chariots, but Circe’s burned to the ground along with ten city blocks. It all happened during Happy Hour. Ironic.

Circe didn’t have any insurance, but that was OK. Her customers helped her rebuild. They knew if they didn’t, she’d turn them all into swine. She was funny that way.

Cupid continued to glow for about eight weeks after the fire. He was lucky they were only second degree burns.

He lost his pipe in the fire, and asked his folks for a new one. Mars and Venus suggested it might be time to try something new. He asked for a BB gun. They gave him a little bow and arrow set instead. They figured it was safer. It’s a lot harder to shoot your eye out with a bow and arrow.

Nowadays he only starts fires in hearts. He’s done pretty well. Probably because he invested in candy companies, flower distributors, jewelry manufacturers, and a chain of novelty underwear shops.

He also gets kickbacks from divorce lawyers.

About Mark: I’m an illustrator specializing in humor, branding, social media, and content marketing. My images are different, like your brand needs to be.

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