Ariadne, her eyes large with compassion, tells her husband, "Dio, we need to talk about your drinking." Dionysus can't believe what he is hearing. "Look, I'm the god of wine, okay? I'm not the god of iced tea. I am the god of revelry, a crucial element of the fertility process. The dancing and drinking and whooping and wahooing is what makes the wheat grow, babes. That's what gives us the corn crop."
It's no good. After thousands of years of orgies with nymphs, Macedonian virgins, satyrs, hairy-eared sailors and lots of olive oil, Dionysus has turned 50. His hair has...
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