This one appeared in The New Yorker magazine, Winter, '94. I was with my late brother Keith in a Village cafe in mid-December. He introduced me as to the waiter as "a cartoonist for The New Yorker" though I had only a couple things published in the magazine then. A elegant old dame sitting a few tables away introduced herself and said to me, "I've always wanted to see Zeus hurling lightning bolts at Santa, saying 'Tis my season!'" I had another idea sketched-out that I was going to submit later in the morning, so as a complete crapshoot I did this the rough for this one in a cab uptown. The lowercase gods were with me then. These days I could use a favor from Jove, though I could do without the bloodletting, barbarism (Jerry Sandusky would have been a normative Roman), lack of plumbing and superstition. Happy Holidays To All!