The age of flame-flowers has come to an end, sources say. The news, at first, was met with indifference at Loki's Flame-Thrower Facility and Theme Park. He looked over the scorched fields, and at the cages, where children were lined up to test top of the line products and even antiquated ones. The US News and World Report was dead wrong, he knew. He read the troublesome title again: Doused, It's Official: The flame throwing establishment prepares to enter the dark ages due to declining interest and new regulations by the EPA, NHL, and other groups. His eyes scanned the slippery name of the author again: Well, Dr. J.T. Erlewhistle, get off your precipice and take a little walk in my world. Loki began muttering, profusely and with abandon. Loosen up J.T., enjoy a fine, fire-roasted rotisserie on me.... He looked blankly at the fidgety managerial staff gathered around, each holding the peculiar tension that something with the boss just wasn't quite right... A tear, yes, a little dammit of a tear glazed Junior's eye socket! With a hideous, primal shout, Loki hurled the magazine into the vase of poinsettias, struck a matchbook, and watched it burn.