"She's a right bitch. Very trendy and down-to-yrth, you know? Usually appearing as a woman somewhere between sixteen and twenty-five, often a blissed-out hippie chick. Very healthy, shiny white teeth. One time, she spoke to me from the television in the guise of Deanna Troi. She appears in the form you most need her to appear in, you know? But always with those shiny white teeth and a look of hope in her eyes. She's there to tell you that it will be alright, to reaffirm the best things about you, the things that make you who you are and cause others to love you." -acid mystic just outside the Broken City
"Unfortunately, the Goddess of Romantic Ideal is a total nitwit. Most of the things that come out of her mouth are cliches of the most banal kind. She has no thoughts or opinions of her own, consisting of almost completely of amorphous ideas about flowery romantic love that have no bearing on the real dynamic that occurs between individuals. She must be eradicated with extreme prejudice." -HellaCyberDyke
Afrodite looks down from her abalone shell in the sky and frowns upon the mischevious endeavors of two visionaries bent on tarnishing her good name.
"Well, fuck me senseless..." she mumbles to herself.
"Anytime, Mom!" calls her son from the next room.
"Actually, Eros...I think I know exactly what to do. And you'll have a part to play. Come look into my Moonstone and tell me what you see."
The heavily endowed god lumbers into his mother's very pink parlor boudoir, careful not to upset his swollen testes, and takes a long glance into the glowing orb, finally cracking a particularly wicked smile.
Afrodite sits up, letting her thin chiffon top slide down so as to expose her engorged nipples to her easily excited son. "It is time again, Eros, to meddle in the affairs of humans as we did long ago."
"Yes, Mother," he whispers as he descends upon her, sheathing himself suddenly and completely into the moist kelp garden between her legs...