There you have it—the Pandora myth, debunked. So don’t go blaming all your troubles on the world’s first girl. If you want to play the blame game, try pinning the blame on the world’s sneakiest god, my little brother, you- know-who.

When I’d finished writing Keep a Lid on it, Pandora!, I was raring to send the manuscript off to my publisher. I had a feeling my editor was going to be crazy about this story. It had plenty of action and a likeable, quirky main character, Pandora. But before I sent it off, I proofread it and found all sorts of things that needed fixing. I cleared up some confusing parts. Then I checked my verbs. I had used said and went way too many times, so I replaced them with nice active verbs like shouted and rushed. I even went through the manuscript and did a comma check. After the excitement of writing a rip-roaring story, all this nitpicking wasn’t much fun. But I’ve learned that getting the details right is very important to a publisher. And to you, my readers.

When I’d finished all my fixing, I stuffed the manuscript into an envelope and asked the Furies to drop it off at my publisher’s office when they went out avenging. My queen, Persephone, was up on earth making the flowers bloom, so I celebrated typing THE END by taking Cerberus out to dinner at Underworld Pizza.

A couple days later, I started trying to figure out which myth to attack next. Zeus had messed with all of them, so I had a wide choice. I took my copy of The Big Fat Book of Greek Myths and hiked over to Elysium, where ghosts of very good mortals go. It’s always sunny, blue-skied daytime in the big, sweet-smelling apple orchard of Elysium. I picked a nice juicy-looking apple and sat down in the shade of an apple tree. I bit into my apple and began paging through The Big Fat Book. I was so absorbed in reading that I never heard footsteps.

“Hey, Hades,” someone said.

I looked up.

“Thalia!” I exclaimed. “What are you doing down here in my kingdom? And—is that—my manuscript you’re holding?”

“That it is, Hades,” said the muse of comedy. “I’ve taken a part-time job with your publisher.” She plucked an apple off a low branch and sat down beside me in the shade. “They’ve hired me to read through the manuscripts and make sure there are plenty of laughs.”

“And?” I said. “Is there enough funny stuff in what I wrote?”

“Definitely!” Thalia chomped on her apple. “Say, you know what’s worse than finding a worm in an apple, Hades?”

“Worse than . . . ?” I frowned. What was she talking about?

“Finding half a worm!” said Thalia, and she doubled over laughing. When she stopped, she added, “I love what you did with my gift to Pandora in the story, Hades. How you strung out that chicken joke until the very end.”

“Glad you liked it,” I said.

“But tell me, Hades,” said Thalia, “what happened to the guys and girls after the lid came off the box that Zeus gave Pandora?”

“They learned to deal with all the problems,” I told her. “Bad skin, head lice, poison ivy, bee stings—”

“Speaking of bees,” said Thalia. “Do you know how bees get to school?”

“What?” I said, confused.

“They take the buzz!” cried Thalia. “Get it, Hades? Bees? Take the buzz?”

“I get it,” I mumbled, wondering if it would be rude for me to tell the muse of comedy to buzz off. I could only take so much.

Thalia finally stopped laughing. “Too bad Pandy and Epi never sank that box full of bad stuff in the ocean,” she said. “And that reminds me, what lies on the bottom of the ocean and shivers?”

“I give up,” I said.

“A nervous wreck!” cried Thalia gleefully.

“I’m thinking of writing about Hercules next,” I said, changing the subject. I only hoped she didn’t know any Hercules jokes! I handed her The Big Fat Book. “Read what it says about him in this book your dad wrote.”

“A hero overcoming obstacles always makes a good story,” said Thalia. “Sprinkle in a few jokes, and you’ll have something worth reading.”

“This isn’t about jokes, Thalia,” I said.

“No?” Now it was Thalia’s turn to look confused.

“I’m trying to tell the truth!” I said. “Zeus makes it sound as if Hercules overcame the obstacles by himself, which isn’t how it happened. Hercules was strong. He had great big muscles. But he had an itty-bitty brain. If it hadn’t been for me and a certain street-smart lion, Hercules wouldn’t have made it past Labor I.”

“No kidding,” said Thalia. “A muscle-bound mortal, a god, and a lion. Sounds like a buddy story. Hey, have you heard the one about —”

“It’s the original buddy story,” I said, cutting off whatever buddy joke she was about to tell me. “I’m thinking I’ll call it Get to work, Hercules!” I got to my feet. “Well, I guess I’d better get to work myself, Thalia.”

“Wait, Hades,” said Thalia. “One more question. Epi’s an immortal, so I know he’s still around. But what about Pandora?”

“She lived a long mortal life,” I said. “And she had daughters galore. But in time, she came down to live in my kingdom.”

“Did she ever get around to writing that joke book? asked Thalia.

“She did,” I said. “It’s called The Funniest Jokes in the World. Pandora asked girls and guys to tell her their favorite jokes. She wrote them down and put the best ones into her book.”

“Do mortals like to read joke books?” asked Thalia.

“Do they ever!” I said. “Pandora’s book sold millions of copies.”

“I never knew joke books were so popular,” said Thalia. “Maybe I should write one myself. But I know so-o-o-o many jokes. Where would I start?”

“Pandora’s working on a new joke book right now,” I told her. “Maybe you could collaborate with her, learn the ropes.”

“That’s a great idea, Hades,” said Thalia. “What’s the new book called?”

“The Funniest Jokes in the Underworld,” I told her. “It’s going to be huge with the ghosts.”