Ran the wizard and LoDi the demigod were making their way to the tiny hamlet of Garylarson, located at the far side of an enchanted forest. Along the way, they asked directions of a very tall giant (which is how giants are usually described). The giant laughed and told them to ask the ancient oracle, who lived on a houseboat moored along the shore of the River Waterson, somewhere between the villages of Calvin and Hobbs. However, by the time the pair arrived at the oracle’s temple, she was already engrossed in her afternoon soap opera “As the World Turns into Dark Shadows Along the Edge of Night”.

“Come back after 4,” growled the Oracle from her recliner. “I have to find out if Chase is the father of Heather, Mary Ellen’s adopted Transgender daughter.”

“She’s an oracle!” grumbled the demigod. “Shouldn’t she already know that?”

The oracle gave the travelers two choices.

“You are lost and several days behind schedule. You can wait for me to finish my shows — or you can continue on your journey and probably be lost for several more days.”

Her standard fee was one pizza, loaded with anchovies. The pair wisely took off in search of a pizzeria.

Promptly at 4, the oracle emerged from her temple houseboat, stood along the side rail, and commanded her enchanted dock, Pepr, to allow the sojourners safe passage as they came aboard. The wizard carefully carried the pizza box and the demigod begrudgingly trudged along behind (shooing away the herd of cats, drawn to them by the aroma of fish pizza).

“So…,” began the oracle. “You wise and powerful men are lost and have come to this lowly female oracle, in search of directions?” Her cackling laughter irritated their ears and crushed their pride.

“We seek a path to the far side of this never-ending forest,” politely explained the wizard. “We are headed to the Annual Conference on Super Natural Wizardry and Demigoduery.”

“She’s an oracle!” repeated the demigod. “Shouldn’t she already know that?”

“And you are a demigod,” snickered the oracle. “Shouldn’t you have some power greater than just whining and complaining?

This aggravated the easily aggravated demigod and impressed the usually unimpressed wizard. With a smirk and a quick motion of his wizard’s staff, Ran turned LoDi into a bag of potatoes. “Keep talking LoDi, and next I’ll turn you into a tasty basket of French fries.”

The sight of the bag of potatoes, the sound of muffled grumbling from deep within, and the wizard’s French fried threat caused the oracle to smile — followed by soft laughter. Quickly, the laughter began to grow. It became enthusiastic, uncontrolled, and contagious.

Ran began to laugh along with her.

However, the sack of potatoes did not laugh, but continued to emit stifled complaining — which only made things seem funnier.

The wrinkles in the oracle’s face began to disappear. Her image morphed from a 90-year-old former anorexic supermodel to a beautiful princess. “Wizard,” began the oracle, as her laughter calmed to a sensuous giggle.

“I have been under the spell of the evil witch, Hillary, for centuries. I have lived alone on this houseboat, cursed by old age and hideous looks. The only thing that could break the spell was laughter.” The oracle grew quiet as she continued to explain, “Everyone seeking my knowledge has been afraid and repulsed. They looked away as they asked their questions. They brought me no joy, no laughter — just pizzas.” With this, the oracle smiled radiantly. “You have made me laugh. You have broken the spell.”

“Wow,” was all the wizard said. A grin wider than the Main Street Bridge spread across his face.

“I, too, am going to the conference,” The oracle continued. “I’m not sure if I like you, and I am positive I do not like your friend,” she said as she nodded toward the sack of potatoes. You have freed me from the curse and, if you like, I will travel with you as your guide to the far side of the forest — but no funny stuff.”

“Uh…,” stammered the wizard as the boyish grin on his face refused to leave. The oracle’s natural beauty had taken his words (and breath) away. “Okay,” was all he could say.

The sack of potatoes continued to grumble.