Hermes Reports Live: Greek Gods Bewildered by the Selfie Era of 2026

A woman in a place they call 'Dubai' just took her four-thousandth photograph. Of her own face. Standing in front of a building. She then posted this image for one-point-two million people to look at. And they did. The mortals have invented a new form of prayer... and they are all praying to themselves. This is Hermes, reporting live from the year 2026, and I am losing my mind. They call it a 'selfie'. A portrait of the self, by the self, for the… self? The logic is a serpent eating its own tail. The arm extends. The phone turns. The head tilts at a geometrically impossible angle.

And a strange, vacant smile appears. They do this everywhere. At dinner. At funerals. While climbing what are, I admit, very respectable mountains. They have even invented a special stick for it. A scepter. For the glorious kingdom of ME. And just when you think it cannot get any more absurd— HERMES. WHAT IS THIS FOLLY? I AM TRYING TO WATCH THE STRIFE OF NATIONS AND MY THUNDERBOLT IS INTERRUPTED BY A MORTAL... SHOWING ME HIS LUNCH. IT IS A SALAD, HERMES. A SALAD. Father, please, we are live on the celestial network. This is what I’m trying to explain. It’s not just one mortal.

It’s all of them. They document every waking moment. Every meal. Every new pair of shoes. They hold up these little glowing rectangles and narrate their own lives, as if the rest of us are just waiting for the next update on their… sourdough starter. It’s vanity, husband. Utterly pathetic. They preen for these devices like Narcissus at the pond, only the pond is now global and the reflection talks back with little heart symbols. They’re not creating anything. They're just… broadcasting their own insecurity. It’s unbecoming. Oh, Hera, don't be such a bore. Look at the attention.

The devotion. That little flame emoji… that’s for me. They feel passion, they just don't know who to thank yet. Let them have their fun. The lighting is getting so much better. YOU SEE? The whole pantheon is in chaos. Aphrodite thinks it’s worship. Hera thinks it’s weakness. Zeus just wants to know why someone is filming themselves whispering about a face cream at three in the morning. And here’s the turn. Some of them get paid for it. Yes. They have created a profession called 'influencer'. The job description is… to exist. Publicly. Companies send them products. Cars.

Vacations. That salad Zeus was so offended by? Probably free. And their only task is to look happy with the salad. To perform joy. For an audience of strangers. And millions watch. They watch a person unpack a box. They watch a person apply makeup. They watch a person pretend to be surprised by a package they knew was coming. They call this 'content'. I call it a mass-produced cry for help, so beautifully packaged that you can sell it for ad revenue. It’s not communication. That’s what I do. I carry messages with meaning. From one point to another. This… is just noise.

Billions of tiny, individual broadcasts all screaming the same thing: Look at me. Please. Just for a second. Look. At. Me. They’ve built their own Olympus out of glass and light, and they’ve populated it not with gods, but with themselves. Every mortal with a phone is the star of their own epic. An epic where the greatest trial is finding good lighting for a picture of their coffee. They aren't just taking pictures of themselves. They are building monuments. Digital statues in their own honor, hoping the sands of time—or a new software update—won't wipe them away.

They are the god, the priest, and the congregation, all in one. And they do it all without a single thought for us. Without any fear. Which, I am beginning to suspect, is the entire point.