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Prologue: Thor, God of Housekeeping
One: Everyone Died Violently
Two: You Win This Round, Science
Three: Thor’s Kind of a Dick When He’s Hungry
Four: Chester A. Arthur Picked Up His Axe
Five: The Internet is for Porn
Six: Quetzalcoatl Hates Clocks
Seven: Baked Spit and Broken Glass
Eight: Midgets! Midgets! Midgets!
Nine: Bananabilism
Ten: Twenty Minutes Later
Eleven: Happy Fun Breakfast Time
Twelve: The One Reserved for Ponies
Thirteen: Classy
Fourteen: Bring the Shotgun
Fifteen: Rusty Nails
Sixteen: Quetzalcoatl Also Hates Children
Seventeen: White, Unmarked, and Idling
Eighteen: The Other Half is Violence
Nineteen: He’s Pretty Well-Spoken for the Guy Who Founded Kentucky
Twenty: Business Ethics
Twenty-One: There Are a Lot of Dead Acrobats for Some Reason
Twenty-Two: The Hobo State
Twenty-Three: For Science!
Twenty-Four: The Exposition in the Machine
Twenty-Five: Expletives Ahoy
Interlude: Thor, God of Chronological Narratives
Twenty-Six: Meanwhile, Back at the Compound…
Twenty-Seven: Probably Really Itchy
Twenty-Eight: Bad Pun! Bad Pun!
Twenty-Nine: Torsos-a-Go-Go
Thirty: Ding, Dong, Ding
Thirty-One: It’s Always the Completely Batshit Insane Ones
Thirty-Two: Adapt or Die
Thirty-Three: Break It Down
Thirty-Four: At Least It’s Not Raining Man-Eating Frogs, Right?
Thirty-Five: Hope Tastes Delicious
Thirty-Six: Seriously, Clowns Suck
Thirty-Seven: History Comes Alive
Thirty-Eight: He Owned Some Truly Disturbing Porn
Thirty-Nine: The Smiting Issue
Forty: He’s Got the Tolerance of a Belligerent Irishman
Forty-One: Shakespeare Invented the Hooker Metaphor
Forty-Two: It’s Not Lazy If You Call It an Homage
Forty-Three: Ka-Thunk
Forty-Four: The Same Thing We Do Every Night
Forty-Five: His Name Was Sleepzor, He Was a Tiredmotron
Forty-Six: Dispersing the Diplomats
Forty-Seven: Motherfucker Got Stuck in a Bathtub
Forty-Eight: Cowboys & Indians
Forty-Nine: Emotional Resonance
Fifty: He’s Referring, Of Course, to the Great Sewage Floods of Iowa
Fifty-One: Economic Stimulus Shovel
Fifty-Two: Nice to Meet You
Fifty-Three: Famous Last Words
Fifty-Four: Love is a Battlefield. So is Hate
Fifty-Five: Hollow Midget Arsonists
Fifty-Six: Kill Sequence 588 Involves Nothing But a Spoon
Fifty-Seven: Stop Me If You’ve Heard This One Before…
Fifty-Eight: It’s On Now, Bitches
Fifty-Nine: Unless You Want to Get Dead, Of Course
Sixty: Or a Monkey in People Clothes
Sixty-One: It Is, In Fact, His Third
Sixty-Two: This One Goes Out to All the English Majors
Sixty-Three: Hippie Hippie Shake
Sixty-Four: The Best Laid Plans
Sixty-Five: This is a Call
Sixty-Six: This Plot’s Not Gonna Move Itself, You Know
Sixty-Seven: Sin City
Sixty-Eight: Elegy
Sixty-Nine: Deus ex Girlfriend
Seventy: Fun with Adjectives
Seventy-One: If the Helicopter’s A-Rockin’…
Seventy-Two: Boom
Seventy-Three: Join, or Die
Seventy-Four: Probably Not, No
Seventy-Five: Five Weeks, Tops
Seventy-Six: It’d Take a Miracle
Seventy-Seven: Olive Branch
Seventy-Eight: A Tiny, Steaming Load
Seventy-Nine: Boss Fight
Eighty: With a Cool, Dry Wit Like That…
Eighty-One: Hell Hath No Fury
Eighty-Two: Armageddon There
Eighty-Three: Ragnarok & Roll
Eighty-Four: The End
Epilogue: Thor, God of Terrible Predictions
About the Author:
Acknowledgements:
Copyright
