The Answer Goddess

Sits on a fine stool, inlaid with gold and platinum, and each of the legs ends in a polished human skull. The answer goddess is tall, beautiful though with a troubled look on her face. A telephone headset is strapped over a golden jewel-studded tiara, placed atop her luxurious hair, which is done up in a beehive.

Each one of her thirty-two arms moves rapidly, unplugging and plugging in lines to an old-timey telephone exchange. She drops calls as soon as she's done speaking, and moves on to the next. There are a lot of people in the world, and they all want answers.

"My watch band broke." Says a whiney man-voice. She replies in a clipped, but easy on the ears tone.
"Time is just a measurement of the duration of matter in the dimension of space. It's apt to be shorter than you'd like. However, it varies alternately with perspective."

Next call
-a different whiney-toned male with a lisp-

"I went to the denthist this week. Losth three teeth."
The Answer Goddess speaks.
"The body is inconsequential, at best you got what, 60 more years? Take your cobra poison like a man."

Next call
-a mature woman, her voice carrying over the line with real feeling.

"I need a change."
The Answer Goddess does not have time for idle emotional sympathy.
"-There is only one thing you can change - input or output. You must alter one or the other. They are in a feedback loop. A change in one will effect the other. Decide which you can more readily alter.

Next call
-nobody speaks.
She asks,
"what can I do for you?"
A man with a snake-like voice oozes through the headset.
"I'm here to place you into my indexing system. Show me your tits!"

Click.
She's had so many calls like this that it weighs on her mind like an eye-blink that happened 15 minutes earlier.

Next Call
-A younger woman
"I'll be late paying the bills."
Answer Goddess:
"The undertaker waits at the end of the road. His list is of all you owe - and not one line on it speaks of money.

Next Call
A man, 50's probably balding.
"I'm worried about what will happen."
The Answer Goddess replies in a stock answer...let's face it, they're all stock answers. She's heard it all before, for thousands of years.
" -Fear is the one thing that drives all of us. It drives us in front of it like cattle, and sooner or later, we turn around with our worthless horns...or we don't, and get it up the ass anyways."

Next Call
The King of All Weekdays speaks with his rich baritone. She can't place the voice right away, but nails it after the fifth word.
"I told him my theory about eggs, and when I was done, he kinda' twitched funny, then produced a strange gurgle out of his throat, fell to the ground, and his brains oozed out of his ears and nose and mouth like - well, sort of like Pepto-Bismol. I don't know if I blew his mind cause my theory was so profound, or if I just bored his brains to mush. I hope it wasn't the latter.
The Answer Goddess smiles. It's the first good question she's heard in eons. She leans forward, makes a pyramid with her arms, and rests her chin on her hands.
"Obviously you bored his brains to mush."
"You're good." Says Friday. "Can I ask another question?"
"Shoot." She replies.
"Who wants to go to heaven?"
"You've seen it. You tell me." She hits back quick, with a knowing tone. She's been there too. After all, she is a Goddess.
"It's about quitting time, howabout I take you out and show you what it's all about."
"That sounds like a line from a bad 70's F.M. radio song."
"So what? It's a question. Gimme an answer - Answer Goddess!"

She looks at a large and elaborate wristwatch on her 17th arm. It reads 4:58 (and thirty-two seconds)

"Pick me up in three minutes, I've got one more call to take. Then I have to make myself presentable. And I don't want another of your dive-bar nights Friday...I'm a classy dame."
"Awww, but they're so much more fun!" Friday's voice is pleading. She pulls out a cord, and the line goes dead. Five hundred thousand lights reveal the callers still trying to get through. She closes her eyes and randomly connects to her last call of the week.

It's the whiney man's voice whom she dealt with four minutes ago.
"My watch band broke, I really liked that watch band! What do I do!!??"
"-time is a measurement of the duration of matter in the dimension of space." She begins, but then realizes it's the same guy. What are the odds of him calling back, and getting through!? "Why worry about time?" She says with exasperation. "Worry about why you're not having sex with more people! Besides, it's Friday...and I don't care."

Happy Friday.