Prometheus gets all the sympathy.

Sure, he set himself up as some sort of hero to those humans, what with giving them fire and all. But trust me: They would have figured the whole burning thing out themselves, especially with Zeus hurling his lightning bolts in regular fits of rage over the perceived celestial slight du jour. Flames were practically growing on trees in those early days.

But marketing is marketing, and I can’t blame the guy for his campaign. With Olympus out for his blood, of course he wanted to find a sympathetic ear somewhere. Thus: Mankind, meet Prometheus, giver of light, warmth, and all things civilized!

So he gets the glory, which has to be some small comfort throughout his punishment: shackled and chained to this rock for all time. That would have been enough in my book. If I were Zeus, I would have let him just bake for eons.

But no. The Big Guy has to drag me in, too. Technically, I’m on his side—but really, I feel like I’m being punished along with the Titan.

Man, I hate liver.