Every Halloween, three friends would walk down Hollywood Boulevard together for as long as any of them could remember. This night was no exception. If one would just listen to them closely, or plain simply eavesdrop, they would hear this sort of conversation;

“I hate Hollywood.” Jacob grumbled. “The people here are crazy. God, are they supposed to be me?” He pointed to a group of muscular, tanned boys wearing only baggy sweatpants.
“Vell, zat movie series vas a success.” Count Dracula chuckled. “It iz not surprizing zat your costume vill be popular. And see how great you look!”
Jacob scowled at his scarred arms. “Twilight ruined my life. Nobody takes werewolves seriously anymore. Now everyone thinks we’re confused gay teenagers.”
Zeus sniffed. “At least you got some rep, man. 5000 years I’ve existed, and zero movie franchise. Had some Irish guy play me once, an Irish! So that doesn’t count.”
Dracula raised a thin eyebrow. “Really Zeus, shouldn’t zat be the least of your vorries? I heard you’re still in debt. How iz zat going?”
Zeus’s broad shoulders slumped. “Still broke. I’ve never seen Olympus this trashed, not even during WWII. There was the Summit of Divines last summer, and I tried to get Thor to help me out, ‘cause I’m like his mentor and everything, right? I was the one who taught him how to throw lightning, got him hooked up with Sif, and stuff. But Hollywood got to that prick, he’s too good for ol’ Zeus now. Said some bull about European economics and acted all intellectual, which he ain’t, you know. Stupid Marvel, why’d they choose that schmuck to write about? I’m older, stronger, and my toga’s way sexier than his nerdy armor. I mean, I should be the one in the Avengers, I should get to kiss Natalie Portman!”
Jacob suddenly skidded to a stop. “Guys. Was that Frankenstein? There, that guy with his buttocks showing.” Dracula peered at where Jacob pointed. “No, zat iz just a citizen of LA. Frankie iz trying to get some publizity zeez dayz, but he vouldn’t do expozure.”
Jacob rolled his eyes. “Geez. Why can’t that guy accept that he’s a has-been? Even King Kong packed up and went home.”
Zeus glared at them. “Come to think of it, you two got it good in this era. Nothing’s worked out for me ever since Caesar. Man, speaking of Rome, Jupiter’s so lucky. Every time I see that guy, he’s riding a sweet Ferrari and got a new dame on his lap.”
Dracula patted his shoulder. “Don’t vorry, Zeus. Your time vill come again. Ah, ve have arrived.”
Before them was an enormous hall with the words, “53th Annual Convention of Myths: To remind ourselves we’re still real.” Dracula looked at his friends with a toothy grin.
“Selfie!”
With Dracula’s iPhone, the three friends took their 53rd convention picture.
A passerby might glance over at them at that point and vaguely think how vulgar and fake their costumes looked.