Take my advice...
Never storm grecian mountains where Olympian deities dwell in order to air your grievances, for they do not take kindly to the angry mob and the farmyard utensils and the flaming torches.
And Hera is not impressed by the application of a stout stick about her person.
In fact, rather than take a break from persecuting you on their giant cosmic chessboard, they take great delight in raining down more misery and tragedy than you can shake the stoutest of stout sticks at.
I dare not go to Hades at weekend now, for being their underworldly namesake, they'd probably replace the Door Managers with Cerberus, and not allow in any Pretties, just haggardy arse Harpies, who'll besiege me on all sides and nick me booze.
I should never have had that can of Dr Pepper.
What's the worst that can happen?
Greek tragedy, as The Fates taunt you mercilessly, that's what!
It's just one thing after another...
