Amber – Goddess of Flood Warnings

February 23, 2020October 15, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Almost all religious texts, mythologies and folklores tell of a great apocalyptic flood, early on in the history of civilisation. It may be the only thing that all legends, and the archaeological evidence, all agree on. Each culture tells their own story of this tragic time when their nascent societies were almost extinguished. Perhaps the most genuinely fascinating of these is Amber – Goddess of Flood Warnings (accept Noah imitations). She alone of all the deities took pity on all mankind, not just those she perceived as righteous, and tried to warn them. As a portent, she sent a paranormal hail of fossilised tree sap. Sadly, early bronze-age man completely failed to understand the significance. They said “ow”, made some nice jewellery, and shortly after, drowned. Following the deluge, a sect formed with the aim of trying to heed Amber’s warnings and predict when the next disaster might strike. They became Aeromancers, reading the patterns in the weather to predict the future of… …erm… …the weather. This practice is also known as Metameteorology.

Though the sects’ readings of Amber’s portents were famously unreliable throughout much of history, in the last 80 years they have become surprisingly accurate. This is mostly thanks to a generous donation to Amber’s cult by Montgomery in 1944, when he wanted to know if he’d need his big coat for the D-Day landings. Despite their current divinatory mastery, one weather mystery they have never been unable to unravel is, why do so many people wading through flood water carry an umbrella over their heads?

The senior gods are well known for looking unkindly on prophets who are too precise and comprehensible. In the early 21^st century, they cursed the priesthood of Amber to have only their short term forecasts believed. This is why their warning of wet and windy weather on Wednesday is accepted without question, but their warning of cataclysmic climate change in the next decade is scornfully derided. For example, recent events have revealed that some stretches of HS2 might end up being more H₂0 for several weeks of the year. Yet they forge ahead.

Amber’s sect is currently lead by High Priestess Sandy Baggs, the priesthood are comprised of climatologists, meteorologists, geologists and ecologists, and the congregation are made up of those unfortunate folk who live at the mercy of a fluctuating body of water. Members of the faith are prohibited from holding garden fetes and other open air festivities as they believe they will trigger a massive weather system, in a sort of supercharged Butterfly Effect. The waft of a bat at Headingly can trigger a calamity in Hebden. This phenomena is known as the “Cricket Match Corollary”.

When Amber’s omens align, indicating that an inundation is incoming, a priest will climb to the top of the temple tower to ignite the warning beacon. Special sacred salts are cast onto the fire to colour the flame yellow, orange or red, depending on the severity of the forecast. The intention is that this will give us lesser mortals a chance to make sensible preparations to defend ourselves against the wrath of nature. What actually happens is that, in some people, it induces state of hysteria, where a lactose intolerant coeliac will bludgeon a sainted granny to death with a bottle of spring water to buy the last of the bread and milk in the shop.

The other work of Amber’s church revolves around flood prevention. Members of the church must expect their income to be tithed, as they are always levying a levy for a levee. Sometimes, to raise extra funding, they will hold a sponsored wade. They do this, despite knowing that water will always win in the end, and the nagging thought that a much more effective method of flood prevention would be to magically make all grouse taste revolting. During flood events the church also open up their temples as “Rest Centres” where the affected can seek sanctuary. The temples also house a collection of small rescue boats, kept there for emergencies. The paddles are displayed on the wall, and they’re not just oar-namental. Kayaking priests will also head out to take supplies to stranded people, and hopefully get on the local news. The criminal element also take to the water, and the priesthood of Amber helped the police by persuading Steve Redgrave and Matthew Pinsent to temporarily come out of retirement so that there would still be an effective high speed pursuit unit.

The church of Amber are often known for being far more caring about those at the mercy of flooding than the government. When the pressure of high rainfall threatens to overwhelm our reservoirs the establishment, frankly, don’t give a dam. Amber’s sacred animal is a Cobra, which appears promptly when the Home Counties are affected, but remains eel-usive when there is an incident anywhere else.

There are some who staunchly do not believe in Amber or her portents, and carry on regardless despite the evidence of their eyes. They usually get their comeuppance. Such as Helen Highwater who just HAD to get to Waitrose and drove merrily past the “Road Closed” sign. She was rescued by Barry and Glynnis who finally have a use for the speedboat they won on Bullseye in 1985. Helen put in a car insurance claim for “a collision with an animal”, only to have the claim rejected when the insurers found out the animal was not a cat, but in fact a catfish.

Thank you to the members of my family who have made suggestions for a deity of flood warnings as they nervously watched the waters lapping at the levy by their home this week. Fortunately, everyone is fine.

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Beeros – God of Lowered Standards

February 16, 2020October 15, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Beeros is just one of the plethora of deities of the myriad aspects of love. A slightly shady aspect to tell the truth. He is the god of poor relationship decisions taken whilst in your cups. Thought to be the progeny of Justha Wan – God of Impromptu Drinking Sessions, Beeros was born under a table. He is often depicted with a drooping arrow. This suggests that his intoxicated origins may mean he is sometimes affected by projectile dysfunction. The motto of Beeros is “In vino, quisquis!”

Beeros is not just the god of lowered standards in love, but also in culinary discretion. Under his influence worshippers will eat almost anything, believing it tastes like the finest fillet steak. They will only find out that they were actually eating 1980s dog food when they do a white poo tomorrow.

Beeros’s mythology tells of his strange love affair with Princess Psycho. Every night they meet, under the stars and under the influence, as if they have never met before. Each time they fall in love, and Beeros sweeps Psycho away to his great palace where they tumble into bed. Every morning, before the dawn reveals her true appearance and personality, Psycho disappears with the dew, his croissant, his favourite t-shirt and his self respect. Then Beeros’ memory is wiped clean by the ebbing tide of ethanol, and thus the cycle begins again. Though the celestial lovers have repeated this dance every night since the dawn of time, Beeros has never found out what Psycho’s surname is. Many wonder why this foolish behaviour is doomed to repeat itself nightly. The truth is it’s kissmet.

There are possibly more temples of Beeros than of almost any other deity. The largest and hippest temples, are the most popular with the young. They open late into the night and come in a range of flavours, distinguished by the genres of sacred music they like to play. Each one is headed by a team of senior priests known as the Deity Janitors or DJs. The lead DJ will conduct the service from behind an altar made from one nightstand. Whilst there is usually a charge to attend a Temple of Beeros, there is a 40% discount if you attend in skool uniform.

The congregation will gather for worship from about 11pm, once the pubs kick out. In order to attend you must be wearing the distinctive “Porte des Regrets” goggles made from the bottoms of two rosé bottles. These enable the followers of Beeros to not only see the best in everyone they meet, but also in themselves. When wearing this consciousness altering face furniture they will firmly believe that they are genius comedians, sparkling conversationalists, virtuoso singers and graceful dancers. The hopeful faithful will mingle in the temple, where they will attempt the herculean task of softly sweet talking a prospective partner in competition with 110 decibels of DJ. At 1.45am the worshippers of Beeros will perform a strange ritual dance. This involves attempting to subtly dance themselves into the line of site of an uncoupled person and perform a desperate inebriated courtship shuffle. This rite is abruptly ended at 2am by the DJ playing a thrash metal version on Nellie the Elephant. If you haven’t copped off by then, your last hope lies in the queue at the taxi rank.

Some members of the sect wear a magical gem that will mysteriously glow when the wearer stands next to a potential Mr Right (or at least a Mr Right-Now) . This jewel is known as a Peridate Crystal.

Bizarrely, of all the deities of love and fertility, Beeros is statistically proven to be the most effective in respect of number of sprogs spawned. Proving that, until Photoshop came along, alcohol was essential for the survival of mankind. If it wasn’t for Beeros. Many of us would not be here at all. This process of moving rapidly from meeting to parenthood is known as “flirtilisation”. This is not for want of the acolytes of Beeros trying to practice safe sex. All I am going to say is, try practising the guitar after six pints and you’ll realise why their practice is often ineffective.

If you have a suggestion for a deity, you can suggest it by clicking this link. Alternatively, get in touch over on Facebook or Twitter. All due credit will be given.

Toby Ornottoby – God of Existential Questions

February 9, 2020October 15, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

In 399 BCE Socrates was charged with creating new deities and forced to commit suicide. Throughout the ensuing ages, many academics from a wide range of fields have strenuously attempted to defend his memory against this ludicrous accusation. They were wrong. Socrates was absolutely guilty as charged. For, as he first questioned everything from the cosmos to the self, he unwittingly brought Toby Ornottoby into being. However, his cult took another six thousand years to really get going though, because existence has to precede essence, and that took a while.

Toby-Ornottoby’s followers spend their entire lives questioning whether the object of their worship really exists, as they have never actually physically perceived him. There is one faction who believe that Toby-Ornottoby is, in fact, dead. They don’t have that many followers though. They are a very nietzsche sect.

The culture of Toby Ornottoby has a rich folklore associated with it. Perhaps the most feared of their mythical monsters are the Whywolves. Whywolves are evil undead shape shifting beasts which usually appear to be a normal pet dog. At the full moon when they turn into a human five year old who torments to you insanity by relentlessly questioning EVERYTHING.

Their legends also tell that, upon his death, the shade of Jean Paul Satre was collected by Toby Ornottoby himself and appointed lord of the infernal underworld. The reward of his philosophical hubris is that henceforth, for other people, hell was Jean Paul Satre. Proving that Toby Ornottoby has a firm grasp of the concept of irony.

When you first arrive at Toby Ornottoby’s temple, the first thing you will see is a welcoming sign board with a helpful map of the premises. Your location is indicated by a large arrow and the words “Why are you here?” Beyond the sign, the temple itself is a giant dome, the architect designed it to appropriately express pointlessness. Why not dine at the temple canteen during your visit? Here you can really drink in the Experience. (Remember, it is only real Experience if it comes from the Experienne region of France. Otherwise it’s just sparkling observation). This canteen is famous for serving dubious waffles which have acquired the nickname “Eggo Death”. (Most people only eat them when they have really let go of their self.)

Toby Ornottoby’s temple also houses an extensive library of erotic fiction. These are all extremely kinky books. The plot of these dirty tomes tends to be quite predictable. Usually the dominant ties up the submissive and forces them to listen to a discussion on the pointless absurdity of the universe until they both achieve a crisis. You may have come across some of the better known titles, such as, “Lady Chatterley’s Lecture”, “The Second* Sex” and “Fifty Shades of Goddot”. Their most celebrated author is Søren Kinkegaard. Decorating the library are several notable works of sacred sculpture, including the famous statue of “The Existentialist Dread Pirate Roberts”. This has the words “Don’t bother wishing” inscribed across its plinth.

If something ails you, why not pop into the temple sanatorium for treatment. For healing, members of Toby Ornottoby’s faith rely on a combination of homeopathy and aromatherapy. This unique form of medicine uses ineffectual concentrations of existential oils. The most common patients they treat are people complaining about Nausea. The next most common are people who have been traumatised by transcendental idealism, and Kant even. Why not round off your visit to Toby Ornottoby’s temple by popping for a look at the marine life in their rather rubbish Sea Park? I’m afraid it has no porpoise.

*unit of time

Thank you to Robin Lawrence for suggesting Toby Ornottoby. (Additional thanks to Kate Durrant for helping me with the Latin.)

If you have a suggestion for a deity, you can suggest it by clicking this link. Alternatively, get in touch over on Facebook or Twitter. All due credit will be given.

Gloop – Goddess of Questionable Beauty Products

February 2, 2020October 15, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

In ancient time the Goddess Gloop would lurk beneath the still surface of woodland pools. She lay in wait for beautiful youths to pause and gaze at their image upon the water as they passed. Gloop would raise her own face to where their reflection should be and maliciously mouth the words, “I could look better”. This encounter would drive those who saw her to a frenzied pursuit of aesthetic perfection and everlasting juvenescence. Throughout history she has driven the normally sane to extreme actions, such as painting their faces with white lead, taking arsenic pills to make their hair lustrous or dabbing the deadly Belladonna into their eyes. The dark irony is that (like many envious deities) she makes foolish mortals desperately desire what they already have, and then destroy the object in their pursuit to attain it. It may be this is a celestial caution against vanity and hubris, or it may be that this particular goddess is just a jealous cow.

The sect of Gloop run her temple, where they offer a wide range of beauty treatments and formulate a plethora of potions and lotions. These are sold to the faithful at prices which reflect the devotion of the acolyte, rather than the cost of the ingredients. The priesthood of Gloop must have no formal therapeutic or medical training. In fact anyone who has studied science after the age of 16 is barred from joining the sect of Gloop. (Only technically, because they have never had to enforce the rule in reality due to a complete lack of applications.) In order to give themselves credibility, the priests and priestesses bore lots of holes into the soles of their shoes. This allows them to legitimately describe themselves as “Holy Heelers”. They also eschew underwire bras and sunblock, making the older members of the priesthood recognisable by their scorched complexions, saggy boobs and decorative melanomas. The high priestess of Gloop is Miss Fanny Chandler, who is assisted in her duties by her deputy Miss Jade Eigg.

Gloop has millions of minor temples around the world, all regulated and supplied by her principle temple, located in the heart of scenic Gwynedd. As you enter this temple you will walk between two gushing springs. The first, which you will pass on your right, is the Fountain of Youth. (The other is the Fountain of Musical Youth, which you will pass to the left hand side.) Only the High Priestess (who must maintain a glowing image at all times) is permitted to take the waters of the actual Fountain of Youth. The sect of Gloop never allow its waters to be used for the beautification of the masses. They are far too permanently effective. They would make one sale per person, and that would be it. Instead, they use the waters of the Fountain of Yoof, which are only mildly effective and require constant reapplication, ensuring a healthy sales forecast. The Fountain of Yoof is located at the bottom of the temple garden, about two meters below the latrines. The temple gardens also house numerous thriving hives. Visitors to the temple will often gently catch a passing bee and tenderly cup it in their hand for a moment. Doing this is thought to make one’s baby-blues more sparkly and alluring, because beauty is in the eye of the bee holder. (Though most outsiders think they are just trying to get deliberately stung for some reason). The gardens are also home to Gloop’s herd of sacred cows, known as the “Deet Oxen”. Their milk is used in several of the temple’s treatments for its purgative qualities.

The interior of the temple is lit by thousands of luxury candles which, for some reason, give the sanctuary a distinctly Piscean aroma. At the centre sits a large altar, formed to look like an ornate vanity unit, complete with a large guilt mirror above. The accoutrements and unguents of the beauty ritual are displayed upon it. (Also a phial of nails, which is thought to be there due to an ancient spelling error, but it has now become traditional.) There are no clocks in the temple, because time is a crap beautician. Leading from the main nave are multiple offshoot chapels where specialist rituals are performed. Such as the Tabernacle of Tweezers, the Sanctum of Seaweed Wraps, the Chancel of Colonic Irrigation and the Apse of Anal Bleaching. Lastly, there are the workshops, where the priesthood secretly blend their hallowed balms and elixirs. These famously include teas and foods made from a rare and only mildly toxic fungus. Most people who try them find these fungi to be foul tasting at first, but I am told if you give them time, they’ll grow on you.

The goddess is said to reproduce by laying distinctive mottled green eggs. Her priests sell these for extortionate prices, with the promise that they will enhance one’s sexual wellbeing if inserted into your minkey-moo. However, this is a devilishly cunning ploy to turn the credulous into hapless hosts that incubate her spawn. The faith of Gloop does seem to be somewhat obsessed with the well-being of the hoo-hahs of their female congregation, and will go to great lengths to encourage everyone to have a buff muff. They often pressure devotees to take part in regular rituals which involve steam cleaning the pink frilly curtains. This is to ensure a ready supply of suitable surrogates.

Gloop’s sacred text is called, “The 10 Beauty Secrets Cosmetic Surgeons Don’t Want You To Know”. In order to read this scripture, one must first undergo a gruelling ritual of clicking on approximately one hundred online adverts whilst being force fed cookies. Though I have never been through the ritual myself, I have it on good authority that the prosaic enlightenment the text contained was really not worth the effort.

As they wish to preserve a graceful, unblemished, swan-like neck, followers of Gloop live in abject fear of vampires. To this end they usually wear a “Vampire Repellent Spray” which is somehow scented with gemstones. Maybe the vampires can smell rubies, onyx and tourmaline with superhuman undead olfactory perception. However, this is the only Gloop product for which there is significant evidence that it is effective. In the last 12 years there have been no confirmed vampire attacks on the followers of Gloop.

Gloop herself is especially comely, even for a deity. The secret of her beauty is said to be that she sleeps every night on a gargantuan pile of cash.

Please note: All deities are fictional, and any resemblance to actresses who are divorced from reality or members of Coldplay is purely co-incidental.

If you have a suggestion for a deity, you can suggest it by clicking this link. Alternatively, get in touch over on Facebook or Twitter. All due credit will be given.