Imagine the god walks up to the mic, says, “Hey folks, I’m here to lift your spirits,” and the crowd shrinks into a puddle of darkness. He cracks a joke about how nobody remembers him, and the very next second the whole city turns gray, the shadows get extra long. The irony? He’s the only one who can turn a punchline into a literal curse, so every laugh he earns is a curse he must live with—like a cosmic joke that’s never really funny, but somehow still pulls people in.