It started small. A tweet from Aaron’s personal account, accompanied by a crudely Photoshopped image of Thor riding a golf cart with lightning bolts shooting out of the headlights. The caption read: “When the God of Thunder trades Mj?lnir for horsepower. #GodlyGolfCartCarnage.”

  Within hours, the internet caught fire.

  By noon, memes were flooding social media feeds everywhere. Someone had superimposed Poseidon onto a golf cart shaped like a seashell, complete with dolphins pulling it through an ocean-themed obstacle course. Another user created a mock movie poster featuring Loki in aviator sunglasses, flipping off the camera while holding what appeared to be a cruise missile disguised as a golf bag. The tagline read: “Rules Are Made to Be Broken – Especially on the Fairway.”

  By evening, hashtags like #GodsOnGolfCarts , #MythologyMadness , and #DivineDriveways were trending globally. Influencers began sharing their favourite scenes from Godly Golf Cart Carnage , even though most hadn’t actually read the book yet. Late-night comedians joked about Zhu Bajie getting stuck in sand traps and Anubis obsessively cleaning his modified cart. Even major brands tried to hop on the bandwagon – one energy drink company posted a video of a golf cart launching into space, captioned: “Fuel Your Inner Deity.” (Called out for corporate cringe, it was deleted within minutes.)

  At Creative Sparks Agency, chaos reigned – but this time, it was the good kind.

  *****

  “She” sat at her desk, scrolling through endless streams of content, her face lighting up with every new meme or comment she found. “This is insane,” she said aloud, laughing as she showed Cindy a particularly absurd TikTok where someone dressed as Poseidon launched torpedoes at Susanoo.

  Cindy stared at the screen, dumbfounded. “How… how is this happening? We didn’t even spend half the budget!”

  Tony burst into the room, waving his phone triumphantly. “Guys! Check this out – we’re blowing up Reddit threads! People are saying our campaign is ‘the funniest thing since Thor’s poetry’!” He paused, then added sheepishly, “Also, some guy thinks we’re secretly run by aliens.”

  Alfred stood by the window, clutching a cup of coffee so tightly his knuckles turned white. For the first time in years, there was a spark of life in his eyes – a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, creativity wasn’t dead after all.

  “This shouldn’t work,” he murmured, almost to himself. “It’s too simple. Too raw. And yet…”

  “It worked because it’s real,” she interjected, looking up from her phone. “People aren’t stupid. They know when something feels fake versus when it’s genuine. This isn’t perfect – it’s ridiculous. But that’s why they love it.”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Cindy shook her head, still struggling to process what was happening. “I don’t understand. We didn’t follow any of the usual rules. No focus groups, no optimization algorithms, no hyper-targeted demographics. Just… funny ads. How does that translate to viral success?”

  “Because people want to laugh,” Alfred said simply. “Not be sold to. Not be optimized. Just laugh.”

  *****

  Meanwhile, miles away in sleek skyscraper boardrooms, executives from larger rival agencies gathered around conference tables, their faces grim as they analysed the phenomenon unfolding before them.

  One executive, a sharply dressed woman named Victoria Langston, gestured angrily at a slideshow displaying screenshots of the viral campaign. “Look at this nonsense! Modified golf carts? Cruise missiles? What is this, a Saturday morning cartoon?”

  Another executive, a balding man named Gregory Henshaw, leaned back in his chair, tapping his pen against the table. “It’s amateur hour. Completely unprofessional. There’s no strategy here, no data-driven insights. It’s just… random humour.”

  Victoria slammed her fist on the table. “Exactly! This undermines everything we stand for. Years of research, millions spent on AI development – and now some fly-by-night boutique agency stumbles into success by throwing spaghetti at the wall and seeing what sticks.”

  Gregory raised an eyebrow. “You sound threatened.”

  “I’m not threatened,” Victoria snapped. “I’m annoyed. Clients will see this and think they can cut corners, skip the analytics, and rely on cheap jokes instead of proper marketing strategies. We can’t let that happen.”

  A third executive, younger and visibly uncomfortable, cleared his throat. “But… what if it works? I mean, look at the numbers. Engagement metrics are through the roof. Sales figures for that book – they’re skyrocketing. Maybe there’s something to this approach.”

  Victoria shot him a withering glare. “Don’t be naive. This is a fluke, plain and simple. A one-time anomaly. It won’t last. Once the novelty wears off, people will go back to valuing quality over gimmicks.”

  Gregory nodded in agreement. “She’s right. We’ve built entire industries on precision and predictability. You don’t throw that away because some nobody made a splash with slapstick comedy. Let’s monitor the situation, but otherwise, ignore it. If anyone asks, we’ll chalk it up to beginner’s luck.”

  The room fell silent as the executives exchanged smug glances, confident in their dismissal of the rogue campaign. They failed to notice – or perhaps chose to ignore – the faint tremor beneath their polished surfaces. Somewhere, deep down, they knew: the ground was shifting.

  *****

  Back at Creative Sparks Agency, Aaron arrived breathless and grinning, clutching printouts of memes and fan art inspired by his book. “You did it!” he exclaimed, practically bouncing on his toes. “I mean, we did it! Look at this! People are talking about my book! My book!”

  Cindy managed a small smile, though her expression remained guarded. “Yeah, well, don’t get too comfortable. Viral trends fade fast. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

  Aaron waved her off. “Even if it fades tomorrow, it’s already more than I ever dreamed of. Thank you. All of you.”

  As Aaron left, giddy with excitement, the team exchanged uneasy glances. Success felt foreign, unfamiliar. Was this the start of something bigger? Or merely a fleeting moment of glory?

  “She” broke the silence, her voice calm but firm. “Does it matter if it fades?”

  Everyone turned to look at her. Cindy frowned. “Of course it matters. If it doesn’t stick, then what was the point?”

  “The point,” “she” replied, leaning forward, “was making people laugh. Making them feel something. Isn’t that better than selling them nothing?”