Zeus and Leto often watched Goddesses of Walmart for entertainment. That night they were horrified when they saw their daughter dressed in the giant muumuu while trolling the aisles for deals on chips and soda.
Then the following celestial evening, after 50,300 hits on YouTube the voguish goddess Leto was forced to watch (in shock and horror) a video of her daughter shopping while dressed in a hideous floral nightgown and tennis shoes.
The hotel phone rang.
Bernie (Artemis’ charge and pet human) picked it up and handed it to the goddess, who had ‘let herself go’ while visiting Earth. ‘Artie’ was eating a tub of bon-bons on the couch.
“It’s your dad, Artie.”
Artemis grabbed the phone. “Daddy?”
The voice on the phone was powerful enough for Bernie to hear every word. The voice was angry enough to generate lightning from the earpiece.
“Artie. Dear Artie. Your mom and I decided that you can’t come home until you lose weight and come to your fashion senses,” daddy Zeus had said. “And tell your hobo friend to hijack himself a new suit with real pants if he’s gonna paint the town with my baby. Bernie’s friend Frankie should have already told him that life’s too short to dress like a bum. And what the hell is that thing you’re drivin’?”
“Uh…” Munch, munch, munch. “Bernie rented a Chia.”
“Everyone up here thinks that you’ve gotten weak and out of control. We can’t afford to have the other deities think that the Olympians are pushovers.” Zeus shouted into the phone. “For gods and goddesses sakes, Art-Art, you used to knock ’em dead.”
“Art-Art?” Bernie heard that and giggled.
The goddess shot lethal optikos (eye) arrows at Bernie. “Shut up, sandal licker! No, not you, daddy. There is going to be an epic battle with MacHeath’s army, so I promised to help out Bernie and his trollop friend.”
“You mean Miss Soapy Puppies?”
“Princess,” the voice said. “Don’t come home until you’ve cleaned up your circle of friends.” Zeus hung up.
“But, daddyyyyyyyy?” The heroic figure wept a flood of diamond tears.
A text appeared.
Final judgment came to Artemis swiftly in a furious “bolt of rejection.” The bolt was hurled in the form of an angry text, with an angry minotaur emoji attached.
Artemis had just been officially banished from her home and family.
“What family, pop?” she texted back. “Do we even have a family name?”
“Good point, pumpkin. Let me ask your mom,” he wrote.
Back on Olympus, Zeus asked Leto, “Dear? What’s our last name?”
He texted Artemis, “You still there? Okay. Your mom says that our last name is ‘On High.’ We don’t need a last name, pumpkin, unlike the Kardashians. We’re bigger than Lady Gaga. We only use first names. Oh, your mom wants to know…what the hell kinds of shoes were you wearing on the Walmart show?”
Zeus’ mighty presence was suddenly gone, and Artemis was hurt, and that meant that she needed tacos.
Artemis had become “an embarrassment” to the fashion-conscious Olympian gods, who were tolerant to a point, often turning their backs on lesser Olympian crimes, such as torture, mass murder, incest, rape, infanticide and eating one’s own children.