Special Guest Blogger: Greek God Momus

Being the God of Satire, Mockery and Sharp Criticism isn't a hobby. It’s a public service and frankly it’s a miracle I haven't been canonised as the Patron Saint of Everyone Else is An Idiot though I suppose that would be a bit redundant given my resume.
For those of you who skipped the classics, and honestly with the modern state of literature, I’m not surprised, I' m the Son of Nyx (Night) although she and I don’t talk much, mostly because she prefers the silent, brooding aesthetic while I prefer pointing out exactly why the universe is held together with sellotape and wishful thinking.
My dear sister is Oizys, the goddess of misery. We’re twins. It makes for a very awkward holiday dinner, as she brings the dread and I bring the scathing reviews of the turkey.
I remember the old days on Olympus while Zeus was busy cheating on Hera for the fourteenth time that week and Apollo was busy composing tone-deaf poetry, I was the one doing the heavy lifting. Someone had to tell them they were hacks, have you seen their work?
They asked me to judge a contest to create life and structure between Hephaestus, Athena, and Poseidon and Hephaestus made a man. I took one look at the poor guy and sighed, so flawed.
Then there was the house. Everyone was so proud of their architecture. I pointed out that a house without wheels is a death sentence because you can’t move it when your neighbors start playing pan-flutes at 3:00 AM or decide to start a cult in the basement.
I’m a man of high standards, and I’m nothing if not thorough. When Aphrodite walked past everyone else was busy drooling but I, however, noticed the one thing no one else dared to address: her sandals squeaked and when i told her that was the nail in the coffin. You see, the gods can handle being told they’re tyrannical, or narcissistic or prone to turning people into laurel trees but tell the Goddess of Love that her fashion sense needs a lubricant adjustment? That’s war.
I had a hand in the Trojan War as you Humans were breeding like rabbits, and let’s be honest, the quality was dropping rapidly so I whispered in a few ears, poked a few egos, and suddenly the Greeks were sailing to Troy. Did it solve all the world’s problems? No. But it certainly thinned the herd of people who thought reciting Homer made them sound cool.
The establishment decided I was destabilising and had me bound to a rock and castrated me and exiled me to Earth, thinking I’d suffer.
They clearly didn't realize that Earth is the ultimate laboratory for a critic.
I see the evolution of my work everywhere. Every time someone leaves a one-star review on a restaurant they’ve never been to, a little piece of me smiles. Every time a blogger dissects a commenters typo for six hours, I feel the warmth of a job well done.
You see, humanity has finally caught up to my level of pettiness and i’m still here, stuck on my rock, watching the show. I don't have to participate to know exactly how it ends so go ahead. Keep being human and making mistakes.