Your favorite volhv showed up half an hour ago, complaining about his lack of sleep and stupid gods. He says he brought his Batman belt.

My mind struggled to formulate a coherent though, any thought. I opened my mouth. "Your pajamas have Eeyore on them."

"I like Eeyore. He's sensible. A sober outlook on life never hurt anyone.

It’s never a good thing when the black volhv says “Uh-oh” and then runs for his life.

I have a serious question."

"I will give a serious answer."

"Can a god be killed?"

The humor drained from Roman's face. "Well, that depends on if you're a pantheist or a Marxist."

"What's the difference?"

"The first believes that divinity is the universe. The two are synonymous and nonexistent without each other. The second believes in anthropocentrism, seeing man in the center of the universe, and god as just an invention of human conscience. Of course, if you follow Nietzsche, you can kill God just by thinking about him.

His beard was nonexistent, except for a carefully trimmed goatee that met his mustache on both sides of his mouth.

The overall effect was decidedly villainous. He needed a black horse and a barbarian horde to lead. That or a crew of cutthroats, a ship with blood-red sails, and some knucklehead heroine to lust after.

“Look, I’ve had a bad day. How about you just walk away from my Jeep?”
The volhv smiled wider, flashing even white teeth.

If he started stroking his beard, I’d have to kill him on principle.“He raised his hand to his goatee.
That does it.
“Yeah. And what’s with the beard and the horse mane? You look like Rent-a-Villain.

You will not pass!” Roman thundered.
Great. Now he had decided he was Gandalf.