The God of Harmless Pranks rested his head on the lovely curvy hip of the Goddess of National Disasters. They got along pretty well, in spite of differing career ambitions. For the past months, they had maintained a perfect relationship. They kept it going by not talking shop. It pained him, as he liked to mix business and pleasure. While gently stroking the Goddess? supple skin, his thoughts kept coming back to the Goddess of Ridiculous Situations, his previous soul mate of many years.

Pranks and Situations, or Cause and Consequences, as they had been known for a while, had turned an incredible number of self-important people into complete fools, revealing the bags of hot air below the sleek varnish of power. Then, she had left him for the God of Incurable Diseases (Yet). He had ascribed her move to her new companion's unflagging celebrity, but the truth was that Diseases was fun to work with, however unethical torturing innocent people would seem. So, eventually, Pranks had no qualms about moving in with Disasters, who just refused to work with him and held true to her word. It was one thing to have tobacco lobbyists dying of lung cancer, or mob sharpshooters getting Parkinson's disease, she told him, but one couldn't properly have a disaster that could be read as a prank. Pranksters, she said, didn't kill people on purpose. As much as I like you, or even love you, she said, we?re not in the same league. He argued with her a few times about this and then gave up. After all, she was a Goddess in more respects than one.

He was still exploring the mountainous geography of Disasters when he said:

- What about war?

- What War? Petty War? World War? Civil War? I slept with one of those Gods, don't remember which one. You heard things? You?re jealous? Oh, come on, Pranks.

- No, no. I was just telling myself... I could start a Harmless Prank. Some kids would urinate on somebody's idol, just for the fun, and then you'd take it from there, turn it into a real Disaster.

- And risk a run-in with the War Gods? No way. They send me little coffins with my name inside every time a war zone gets a long-due earthquake.

- But you did a genocide once, didn't you? Genocides are disasters. They wipe out more people than floods and earthquakes.

- So what? The Genocide Kid had gone to see his mom, old lovely Hate. I filled in for him. It was a mistake, that's all.

Disasters really didn't like to be bossed around. So Pranks delivered some good news.

- Well, Old-Fashioned War has called in sick. Some medieval people are waiting for "it" to start but your War ex-boyfriends don't want to take it now, say they don't want to play with cross-bows now they got landmines aplenty. You could manage this and get the poor slobs a plague in the same run. What do you think?

- No risky business, then?

- No, just you and I.

- And what do you