As the Norse Patron of Thunder and Ass-Kicking, Thor was never one to pass up free beer. He was happy to accept Thrym the Giant’s invitation to dinner, even though Thor made it clear that there’d be fightin’ to the death afterwards, hard-working giant-slayer that he was. The cunning giant then swiped Thor’s prized hammer, Mjolnir, beat the ever-loving shit out of him with it, and sent him home to explain how a dumbass giant had put one over on the Ultimate Badass.
The insulting emails made things worse.
to Johnny No-Hammer: Planning to move my brood into Odin’s house Friday, looking forward to making you all my servants, PS thanks for the awesome hammer, looks great next to my Precious Moments collection. XOXOX Thrym.
to Thrym: give hammur back plz kthx. Sincerely, Thor.
to Fuckface: Trade ya for it. Is Freyja still the goddess of beauty? Gimme her hand in marriage and we’ll talk. XOXOX Thrym.
Asking for Freyja’s hand in marriage was the last straw. Naturally any warrior worth his salt would be nauseated by the idea of such a disgusting trade: he would defend the honor of his lady by angrily charging the giant’s gates, cursing him and his kind, prepared to slay them all to the last, Super Death Hammer or not.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
“What do you want, Thor?” said Freyja when she opened her door.
“We, ah…got a bit of a situation. I need you to come with me to this giant’s castle. To help me, ah, get my hammer back.”
“And I need you to put on this wedding gown before we leave.”
SLAM! said Freyja’s door.
“Odin’s balls,” said Thor. “What the hell do we do now? This asshole is gonna walk all over us if we don’t get Mjolnir back!”
“Well,” crooned Loki, the Peculiar Purple Pieman of Porcupine Peak to the Norse gods’ Strawberry Shortcake, “I have a wonderfully crafty idea…”
An hour later, Thor found himself standing outside the gates to Thrym’s keep, wearing a beautiful white wedding gown and veil. Loki stood beside him, dressed in a lovely pink bridesmaid dress.
“If we get out of this alive,” snarled Thor as the gates opened, “I’ll strangle you with this itchy garter.”
“But you look so fabulous!” said Loki, batting his eyes.
The ruse worked, thanks in part to the general stupidity of giants in those days (though giant scholars argue this was a recurring prejudice in the Prose and Poetic Edda), and Thor and Loki were admitted to Thrym’s dining hall, where drunken debauchery quickly commenced. Insisting on remaining veiled until after the wedding, “Freyja’s” true identity went undiscovered for hours.
“What strong legs you have, my dear!” slurred Thrym through a dizzying haze of mead, patting Thor/Freyja’s thighs with relish.
“Why thank you, dear,” snarled Thor/Freyja as the giant sat him upon his lap. He pointed to the pilfered Mjolnir, which sat on the table in front of Thrym, and said as coquettishly as he could manage, “What…uh…What a magnificent hammer you have!”
Thrym beamed through a cavern of greenish teeth. “It is, ain’t it?”
“It’s so biiig…” cooed Thor/Freyja. “Can I hold it?”
“Nobody wields this hammer but me!” boasted Thrym.
“I’ll give ya a great big kiss if I can hold it for ten seconds,” said Thor/Freyja, straining to get the words out without vomiting.
“Why Coitenly!” said Thrym with a nyuk-nyuk-nyuk.
With Mjolnir in hand, Thor removed Thrym’s head on the third nyuk and sent it bouncing across the table.
Thus Thor retrieved his mighty hammer Bugs Bunny style, and Thrym and his pals rather messily checked out of the mortal world. Of course, now that Thor has his hammer back, nobody dares recount the tale except Loki, and only when Thor is safely in a drunken coma.