Soz – Goddess of Insincere Apologies

November 22, 2020November 22, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Soz, the goddess of insincere apologies, is an ancient Phoneycian deity. Within this pantheon she is the spoiled smiling golden child of the chief of the gods. However, the demigods, nymphs and other entities lower down the celestial pecking order know her as a source of daily dread and degradation. Phoneycian mythology is full of tales such as Soz tying the laces of the winged sandals of the messenger of the gods together and throwing them over a wire suspended between two mountain peaks. Another story tells of how she cursed the arm and hand of a hapless dryad so that the poor tree spirit would spend eternity hitting herself (which is a lot worse when you’re mostly made of wood). When Civilis (a servant of the gods) brought a nice bright red briefcase to school one day, she stole it from him and beat him up with the catch end. Perhaps the darkest tale is of when some new deities arrived in the pantheon, borne to Phoneycia in the minds of migrants. She welcomed those who came with a battalion of affluent followers, but she tried to have the rest shipped off to a remote barren island. It is because of these spiteful acts that the other deities sometimes describe Soz as a “FOB-SOC” (Face off Baywatch, soul off Crimewatch).

Every myth of Soz ends in the same way. The chief of the Phoneycian gods is forced to acknowledge that Soz’s behaviour has been unfitting for one in such an exalted position, and he forces Soz to make an apology. Soz always responds to this by making a statement which, on the surface sounds like a redress, but fact has all the genuine contrition of a dog which has just successfully stolen your steak dinner. This pattern has lead to many later academics describing Soz as a “Brazen Idol”.

The one common quality that the members of Soz’s sect share is an utter rejection of any ultimate personal responsibility. From board room bullies, through micro dictator middle managers, to the playground pugilists who prefer a puny opponent. Politicians also seem to be remarkably well represented. Especially those who have had to make the “statement of shame” to a mob of baying press outside their house. Whilst their cuckolded family stand by their side, nominally as a show of support, but in reality as a kind of human shield. If you decide to join the cult of Soz, you must learn to speak in very particular fashion. Henceforth you must never apologise directly for any action. You are no longer “wrong”, you are only ever, “working with inaccurate information”. Bonus points are scored if you can somehow phrase things so that it sounds vaguely like the other person is to blame. For example, “I’m sorry I yelled at you and called you useless scum,” would be substituted for, “I’m sorry you’re upset”. Once you have mastered the lingo, you can now be baptised into the religion. Uniquely, this baptism ceremony involves you pushing someone else’s head into the font and flushing.

Inside every Sozian temple is a strange ritual artifact known as the “Pritster”. When Sozians gather for worship, they form a square around the Pritster. This is followed by a collection for the temple upkeep, where the priesthood go around their flock and steal their lunch money with menaces. Now, lead by their high preristess Miss Guided, the congregation adopt a sanctimonious countenance, cross their fingers, and recite,
“I am sorry that my behaviour in the past has upset people. It has never been my intention to cause upset to anyone; I acknowledge that I am direct and have at times got frustrated”. The high priestess will conclude the ritual by responding with, “I now consider the matter closed”.

The sacred animal of Soz is an inconsolably weeping crocodile. The sacred texts of Soz are all inscribed on sugared rice paper to ensure that they are palatable.

Idol Scribblings Volume One

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Wella Didwarnya – Goddess of “I Told You So”

October 4, 2020October 15, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Who could have foreseen that a Premier who wouldn’t wear a face mask during a global pandemic would wind up in hospital? If you did, then Wella Didwarnya is the deity for you!

Wella Didwarnya spontaneously came into existence within 15 minutes of the first human marriage. She grew in power as quickly as their first offspring grew into teenagers. She is also known as “The Lady of the Lake of Tears” and Icalledit. She walks the mortal world, watching for that potent combination of ignorance and hubris. When she finds it (and it never takes long), she can deliver devastating poetic justice faster than Karma can pull its socks on. Wella is always depicted with a slightly self-congratulatory countenance, described as a “resting smug face”. She is sometimes inaccurately described as “doe eyed”. In fact, what she has is hind sight.

Wella Didwarnya’s following is mainly comprised of historians, medical professionals, scientists, climate change activists, teachers, and exasperated parents. They are not prophets in the traditional “mystical vision” sense. They make their predictions using a combination of careful scrutiny of past events, experience, scientific method and analysis of firm data. This makes them 96.25% more accurate than your average oracle, and 99.9% less popular. Their predictions are almost never heeded due to Johnson’s Razor, which states that, “He who hates smart arses, is in the greatest need of smart arses.” One mystery of the universe her scholars have never been able to solve is why fascists call themselves the “Far Right” when they are so-far wrong.

When a follower of Wella has a particularly momentous prediction come true the whole congregation will celebrate with set of ceremonies known as, “The Gloating Rites”. These rituals commence all the worshippers retweeting the original prediction which proved to be correct, followed with the dancing of the “I Told You So” dance. The whole shebang concludes with the poignant “Minute’s Silence with an Old-Fashioned Look.”

The priestesses and priests of Wella Didwarnya work as dedicated archivists to maintain a library of literature and social media posts by notable people. Especially quotes from those folks who have a tendency to hold forth on subjects they have little knowledge of, (so mainly politicians and tabloid columnists). This prodigious resource is made accessible to all followers for quoting in #ThatAgedWell situations. They are led by a High Priestess who focuses on predictions with potentially global consequences, such as climate change. She is known by the title, “The Inconvenient Ruth”.

The worshippers of Wella Didwarnya don’t always get everything right. A recent effort to be more magnanimous in victory, which involved sending a freshly baked pie to every person they repudiated, was very badly received. One virtue of followers of Wella is that they do try to learn from their mistakes. They deduced that the problem was using Spheniscus humboldti penguins as a filling. After all. No one likes eating Humboldt Pie.

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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.

Matricula – Goddess of Exam Results

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

Matricula is the Goddess of Exam Results, a youthful deity who personifies hard work and integrity. She watches over those people who face opening “that” envelope, the contents of which decides one’s future. The envelope that contains the culmination of months or even years of blood, sweat and tears. She always has a sympathetic ear for the prayers of students who have done their best, but is somewhat deaf to those who know, in their heart of hearts, that they could have tried harder. She can be a wrathful deity and has been known to vigorously smite ignorant people who say things like, “Of course, the exams are getting easier these days.”

Matricula is primarily worshipped by people in their late teens who are completing their further education. Other followers include the educators and parents who are supporting these young people through their coming of age. The youth element of the faith are known as the “Candidates”. The priesthood of Matricula is comprised of highly qualified adults and has several levels of seniority. At the entry level are the dutiful Invigilators who run the temples and maintain a revered hush within. Invigilators may be the lowest rung of the clergy, but they still have significant powers, such as the ability to wipe your calculator memory. Invigilators are supported and presided over by the Markers, Moderators and Examiners who maintain the sect’s rigorous standards. There is also a mystic group of prophetic priestesses, known as the Syllabi Sisterhood, who cryptically predict what may be on the test next year.

Temples of Matricula are known as “Centres”. They do not have names, instead they are identified by a five-digit Centre Number. Each Centre is approached by a narrow bridge which leads to the main entrance. On this bridge stands an elderly, bearded man in a long grey hooded robe. As each Candidate goes to pass over the bridge to the temple he bangs his staff upon the ground and declares, “If you have not studied, YOU SHALL NOT PASS!”
If you have done your revision, and are allowed inside, you will see rows upon rows of rigidly arranged desks and chairs. There will be exactly 1.25m from the centre of each chair to the centre of the next. They face the front of the room where you will see a large clock and an altar, behind which you must leave your coat, bag and mobile phone (turned off) for the duration of the service. The service will typically last between two and three hours. Don’t worry the presiding Invigilator Priest will give you ten minutes warning when the end of the service is approaching. Interestingly, services of the Church of Matricula are the only known religious ceremony in the world where you have to be accompanied if you need to go to the toilet. (It is considered the height of bad manners to ask your Invigilator for extra paper at this time.) Candidates will often bring a small offering of cough sweets or mints to the temple. These must be presented unwrapped and in a clear plastic bag.

The most famous annual ritual of Matricula is the late summer festival of “Results Week”. It begins at 8am on the second Thursday in August, when the eighteen year old Advanced Level worshippers will gather at their Centre, often with their parents, for the rite of “The Opening of the Envelopes”. It is traditional for the young worshippers to arrive for the ceremony bathed in nervous sweat, and to leave at the end bathed in tears. Either joyous or of bitter disappointment. Although, officially, students cannot open their envelope until 8am, there always seems to be at least one lucky worshipper who gets to jump the gun, just so that they can be filmed opening their envelope for the TV Breakfast News. The next six days are known as “The Clearing”. A time of either celebration or frantic worship of Matricula’s divine father Ucas, God of University Places.

Some erroneously believe that a U is the lowest grade you can possibly get in an exam. In fact, the lowest possible mark is when the exam moderation committee share your answer on their WhatsApp group for a laugh. The sacred writings of Marticula, first transcribed by the prophet Marcus Schemius, are always produced by hand in blue or black ink (attach extra pages if needed). Sadly, unlike other ancient documents, there is no quirky marginalia to be found hiding in the borders of these sacred texts. The margin is strictly for the examiner’s use only.

This strange year we are living through has caused serious disruption to the routines of Matriculans. For a short while it looked like the evil algorithm might spell disaster for the Candidates of the Covid year. Somehow OFQUAL seemed to have been hijacked by the Foundation for United Kingdom Qualifications (or FUKQ). Thankfully Matricula moved in her mysterious ways and appeared to the Secretary of State for Education in a dream to shout at him and call him an elitist whomperpizzle until he frantically u-turned (i.e. turned the Us into Es). The only good thing to come out of this situation was that, for a moment, we had a government that believed that all teachers gave 100%.

This deity is dedicated to all the UK students affected by this year’s exams upheaval. I truly hope everything works out for you to be able to follow the dreams you have been working towards. Special mention to my Godchild “B”, we are very proud of you.

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.

Twometer – Goddess of Social Distancing

June 7, 2020October 15, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Until 2020 Twometer was a minor deity of car park height barriers and low bridges. Before the Covid-19 pandemic, only the people of Finland had considered her aspect as a deity of social distancing. You can read the full story of her origins in the book of “Hygenesis”.

Twometer is always depicted wearing a gargantuan crinoline gown with a four-meter diameter. The bold yellow and back colours of her dress serve as a warning not to get too close. That voluminous skirt is hemmed with 5000V electric fence ribbon. If this proves to be an insufficient deterrent, she also carries a six-foot barge pole with a spear tip that you do not want her to be able to touch you with. Anyone managing to evade electrocution and impalement then comes into range of her deadly hairdo. This incorporates elements of elaborate braiding and the medieval chain mace. This style of unique coiffure is known as the “Pompadon’t”

Worshippers of Twometer mainly worship at home, but very occasionally it is absolutely essential to go out to the temple. These temples have a strict occupancy limit. At busy times they enact a “one in – one out policy”. (There is priority praying for keyworkers between 8am and 9am daily.) One can see the patiently waiting faithful lined up outside, safely spaced apart by the handy guide makers painted on the pavement. Everyone politely abides by this system (even the temple cats). When it is their turn to enter the temple, each worshipper will ritually sanitise their hands as they pass through the vaulted vestibule. A priest will also check their temperature, that they are wearing the mandatory face mask correctly. Anyone heard to have that distinctive dry cough known as the “Fur Cough” will be asked to leave immediately and self isolate.

Once inside a temple of Twometer, one must move around the building in a set pattern, following the guide arrows on the floor. It is a dreadful sin to go the wrong way or try to hurry others ahead of you. An attempt to push past another worshipper will earn you a sharp rebuke along the lines of, “Your hurry to get to the sacramental wine section is not more important than everyone else’s health,” or the earthier, “Do you want to stay six feet away or be six feet under Pal?”

The seating area of the temple has rows of pews, positioned much as they would be in any church or temple. However, most of these seats are blocked from use by stern signs and yellow tape, to ensure no one can be so rude as to sit directly next to anyone else. Prominent signs displayed in the temple read, “Please leave room between you for her Holy Spirit”.

It’s not all prayer and solitary contemplation being a worshipper of Twometer. Computer gaming is an especially popular pastime. The favourite game of most Twometerians is the retro classic “Personal Space Invaders”. The temples usually have spacious grounds which are marked out with a “picnic grid”. Worshippers can use an available square to catch a little sun or dine alfresco whilst being assured of sufficient elbowroom. (This is provided, of course that they take their rubbish home with them. Litterbuggers will be excommunicated.) For those that like something a bit more active, Zorbing is one of the few permitted social sports. Music lovers are catered for too, Twometer has many popular hymns including, “Don’t Stand So Close to Me” and “From a Distance”. However, all music is performed solo, or by a series of musicians taking it in turn to sing via video-link*.

One of the rules of the faith of Twometer is the observance of family planning. No one is allowed a family unit of more than 6. If they exceed this, they will be forbidden to leave the house together. Children in Twometerian families are often home-schooled for at least a portion of their education, and the sect provides a handy list of recommended reading and forbidden texts. The Famous Five books are fine, Secret Seven books are considered unholy.

Incidentally, Twometer has a sister called “Yoo”. In the past (when Twometer wasn’t watching over bent roof racks and dented double-deckers) they occasionally operated together as Goddesses of Removals People and Predictable Slapstick Children’s Entertainers. Their double act “Twometer – Yoo” hope to be back to their old light-hearted shenanigans when all this is over.

* These “pass the brush” recording of popular songs are the only known example in the universe of a whole being less than the sum of its parts.

The Goddess of Social Distancing has been suggested by just about every member of the Hive Mind (in some form or other) over the last 8 weeks. So, this one is for all of you.

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.

Amazonia – Goddess of Excessive Packaging

May 24, 2020October 15, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Amazonia is the goddess of excessive and ridiculous packaging. She is a mystery wrapped in an enigma, sealed in a blister pack, swathed in bubble wrap, nestled in wotsits, and encased in a cardboard box. (Despite this outward appearance of robustness, like the rest of us, she’s still slightly broken inside.) Amazonia was not born or purposely created. Back in the dawn of time, a primordial proto-deity accidentally cut himself in an intimate area whilst trying to open a parcel of ambrosia with a sickle. His blood and seed was splattered across the polystyrene deluge that spilled forth. Amazonia rose spontaneously from this sea of packing peanuts and sailed to the shore in a clam-shell case.

Amazonia tried to take a consort, after she fell in love with the one eyed giant Polytheneus. Sadly, after eight hours of unsuccessfully trying to get one another’s kit off, they decided to wrap things up. Amazonia is now resigned to the fact that Nobody can get in her knickers. For company, Amazonia now goes everywhere with her sacred animal, a Marmoset monkey, better known as the Amazonian Primate. She also has a flock “Shipping Label Birds”, which she keeps in her celestial Avery.

Amazonia’s temples are constructed entirely from cardboard and resemble a child’s box fort gone mad. Either side of the entrance are two signs, one which says, “Fragile” and the other “Ԁ∩ ʎ∀M SIH⊥” The temples are always at least five sizes bigger than they need to be for their congregation. The cavernous voids of these sanctuaries ring with the voices of the priests performing the chants of their sacred “Wrap Music”. At one end of the otherwise empty space stands a small altar looking a bit lost and forlorn. Here, regular offerings are made to the goddess. The most popular, traditional, every-day offering is a shrink-wrapped orange. On special holy days more elaborate sacrifices are made, such as a gnat’s spaff of premium brand perfume in a 10lb lead crystal phial, or a memory stick in a steel shipping container. To raise funds for the upkeep of the temple (which requires major structural work after every shower of rain) the priesthood run a famously reliable courier service. You may have seen their adverts, “Lecter Logistics – We Always De-Liver!” The principle temple of Amazonia is located in the Lake District town of Kendal. The goddess is very popular here as the people of Kendal like to keep everything in mint condition.

The priesthood of Amazonia all wear robes constructed entirely from packaging materials and all have surprisingly long fingernails. The design of their garb varies greatly depending on which subsect the cleric belongs to. The more traditional and austere coteries wear cassocks made from brown paper and string. The more modern denominations opt for contemporary materials. Perhaps the most shocking are the controversial “Sisters of the Blister” with their semi rigid plastic vestments which are completely transparent! The high priestess wears an ancient sacred tie-wrap girdle, said to have once been worn by the goddess herself. Other mythic girdles have conferred invincibility on their wearers, in this case it is the girdle itself which is invincible. It has bent scissors, broken swords and even worn down angle grinders.

When a new initiate joins the sect of Amazonia, they undergo a special form of baptism. They will stand adjacent to the officiating priest, who will stab the little plastic straw violently into a juice box, liberally anointing the neophyte with Um Bongo. Following this ritual dousing, the neophyte will receive their own copy of Amazonia’s sacred text. This tome is sheathed in one hundred layers of interlaced sacred wrappings, sometimes known as “The Gordian Package”. The neophyte progresses to full acolyte level when they finally open it. There is a (possibly apocryphal) tale that Alexander the Great attempted to join the cult of Amazonia. Impatient to progress within the hierarchy of the faith, he immediately attacked his Gordian parcel with his legendary yellow sword “Stanley”, scoring a deep gouge into the codex inside. This caused great anger and upset amongst the senior priests, but in the end, no one was brave enough to tell Alexander that it didn’t count.

At the conclusion of their lives, worthy Amazonians are honoured by having their bodies subjected to an unusual form of mummification. The aim being that they will be safely delivered into the afterlife. After being carefully prepared and embalmed, the deceased is enshrouded in layer after layer of thin PVC film bandages and then heated with a hair dryer. The orders of service for Amazonian funerals are always printed on perforated card, allowing mourners to shed a tear across the dotted line.

Amazonia was suggested by Kieron Philips.

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.

Quarantina – Goddess of Lockdowns

May 3, 2020October 15, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Quarantina is the deity of thriving in enforced isolation. Lockdown isn’t a competition, but if it was, she’d be winning it. Until this year she had been a minor deity, worshipped mainly by returning astronauts. However, in the last few months millions of people have begun tentatively exploring the way of Quarantina. She was originally the only daughter of Misogynese the king of Iona. An oracle prophesied to the king that one of his grandchildren would kill him (I think that’s the go-to stock prophecy they use when an oracle can’t think of anything to say). So, predictably, the king shut young Quarantina away to prevent her ever taking a lover. Removed from the world, Quarantina used the time to hone herself into a formidably wise and skilled woman. Her accomplishments grew until they rivalled those of the gods, who raised her deity-hood so that she would stop showing them up. This freed her from her father’s imprisonment. Once she had the chance, she bore many children; a tribe known as “The Quaranteens”. Many years later, the eldest of the Quaranteens attempted a reconciliation with his grandfather. They made peace and shook hands. Sadly, they forgot to wash them first.

Quarantina’s divine superpower is being able to perform multiple tasks simultaneously despite a hail of distractions and a background hum of dread anxiety. Working online for an eight-hour day whilst delivering six hours of high school level teaching, feeding a family of five, arbitrating a nuclear sibling war and composing her first symphony is a cinch for her! Even when Anaglypta and Artex next door start relaying their floorboards with Penetr8ingBeatzFM turned up to eleven on the radio. She can do all this stood on one leg, and she sticks a broom up her arse to sweep the floor whilst’s she’s at it. Her freshly spring-cleaned, redecorated and decluttered temple can be found in the creepily idyllic small town known as “Stepford”. An immaculate garden surrounds the temple to create a picket fence perfect scene. The windows of the temple are decorated with beautifully drawn rainbows. Passers-by have a tendency to be quite overwhelmed by these nauseating levels of perfection and, despite the delicious baking smells that constantly waft through the air, the street outside the temple is decorated with little piles of vomit.

Followers of Quarantina will try to emulate the goddess’s self-discipline. The lifestyle of a fully committed Quarantinian is gruelling. They must ritually cleanse themselves, brush their hair and put on a bra EVERY DAMN DAY. Quarantina’s devotees also appeal to her for divine assistance in their self-improvement projects. There are different traditional offerings they must make to Quarantina when requesting her aid with various endeavours. If one is attempting to learn a new language one is supposed to pour a libation of half a pint of homemade kombucha before her altar. For help with mastering a musical instrument, present the goddess with a bowl of frothy sourdough starter. If one is trying to finally write “that novel you know is inside you somewhere”, ritually cremate a banana loaf and waft the smoke towards the heavens whist chanting, “Ohshitohshitohshit” in time to beeping of your smoke alarm. The one miracle that Quarantina seems to be unable to perform, is a successful home haircut. No matter how many offerings you place at her altar, you WILL make your children look like the offspring of an 80’s footballer and a homicidal clown. Quarantina is powerless to assist because of her nemesis “Girl Swirled” the home haircut demon.

Due to the relatively recent popularity of this cult, Quarantina only has a small group of priests and priestesses. Their main role is the creation of informative online videos and podcasts about how to improve your lockdown life by following the way of Quarantina. They initially attract new followers with interesting articles and recipes, then subtly introduce the religious aspect. If you have recently read an article about rearing your own chickens, the chances are that this was Quarantina cluck-bait. They also manage the online league tables of competitive quarantining. Who has gone the longest without leaving the house? Who has sewed the most headbands for the NHS? Who has sewed the most sartorially elegant face masks? Whose child has been accepted to Oxbridge early thanks to four weeks of their tuition? Who has clapped the loudest at the Thursday night thanksgiving ritual? Following the way of Quarantina can be exhausting. To preserve one’s sanity it pays to remember that she is an ideal idol, and such perfection cannot be achieved by us mere mortals. If you don’t love Quarantina, you can at least love to hate her.

Thank you to Liz Laycock @longrat for suggesting Quarantina.

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.

Aunt Agone – Goddess of Bad Advice

April 19, 2020October 15, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

The gods in general have a very strange attitude towards prophecy. They grant the gift to some, but then get a bit vengeful if the seer divulges any major spoilers. Most prophets circumvent this wrath by speaking in maddeningly vague riddles and metaphors. Leaving the gods able to smugly say, “I told you so”, and mankind screaming back at the heavens, “BUT NOT IN A WAY ANYONE COULD UNDERSTAND UNTIL AFTER THE EVENT YOU METAPHYSICAL ASSHATS!”

Aunt Agone cunningly avoids this philosophical conundrum by only giving bad advice through her oracle. If one does the exact opposite of what she says, it will usually all turn out fine. This enables the seer to use direct language in their proclamations without being smitten from on high. There is no pithier oracle. It turns out that obviously bad advice is more helpful than good advice given badly. Some of her oracle’s most famous are:

Give your bother a proper send off, your uncle will come round in time. (1300 BCE)

Buy Betamax! (May 1975 CE)

Book this year’s summer holiday well in advance. (January 2020 CE)

Yes, it is possible to make someone love you. (Pretty much every damn day since the dawn of time)

The temple of Aunt Agone is built above the sacred cavern where the oracle sits. The sanctuary above is supported by a forest of mighty columns. This goddess has many, many columns. The temple also houses a squat orange holy stone known as the Oompaloompaphalos. Carved into the stonework at the temple entrance are the four famous unhelpful advisory clichés. “Just be yourself,” “Don’t overdo it,” “Money isn’t everything,” and “Err…?”

The fee to consult the oracle is tuppence. This is excellent value, as you can be sure you will always get the goddess’s two pence worth. When a worshipper seeks to consult the oracle of Aunt Agone, they will write their question on a sheet of papyrus, always beginning with the salutation, “Dear Aunt Agone, …” You are advised to make your question as torrid and embarrassing as possible to significantly increase your chance of receiving a response. Occasionally, the stream of enquires wanes to a trickle for a time, then the priestesses will fabricate a few juicy questions to help the prophetess stay in practice. The only subject you are forbidden to ask the oracle for guidance on is cookery. If you want sage advice, ask a chef.

The papyri bearing the queries are collected by the priestesses and presented to the oracle. The oracle herself mystically receives the ignorance of the Goddess in her cave whilst inhaling the “Vapours of Desperation*” which emanate from a massive crack. She enters a shamanic state induced by this psychoactive steam and the music of the priestesses, who play an ensemble of miniature violins. The Oracle will dictate the responses, which are then posted on the temple columns weekly. The supplicants then cluster around. Avidly scanning the columns for their answer, and having a good nosy at everyone else’s. There always seem to be more worshippers reading the columns than have asked questions. I am not sure whether this is because they seek general guidance for potential future situations, or maybe it’s because it’s even better than a soap opera.

The oracle is selected from amongst the priestess (who themselves have been chosen from amongst the general populace for their impressive magazine racks). The chosen oracle will be priestess who is growing old the most disgracefully, as one can only give bad advice once one stops being a good example. Once in-augur-ated, she can be recognised by the symbolic pair o’ Docs that she wears at all times. The oracle also leads the cult of Aunt Agone in their long running religious war against the worshippers of Retrograde the god of newspaper astrology and exam remarking. Her followers believe Aunt Agone should have the monopoly on bad advice and that this rival sect is infringing on their theological territory. They regularly carry out raids where they steal a few inches off one another’s columns.

At the end of your visit, as you leave the temple, a priestess will offer the comforting blessing, “Go then if you must, but remember, no matter how foolish your deeds, those who love you will love you still.”

*I am told it smells like farts.

This week’s cartoon is not coloured as I have a minor finger injury (from a vicious shopping bag handle) which is limiting how long I can draw for. Hopefully it will be better in a few days. Feel free to print out the picture and colour her in yourself! Tweet me @IdolScribblings to show off your colouring in.

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.

Dot Matris – Mother of Printers

March 15, 2020October 15, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Dot Matris came in to being in 1968, when the very first computer printer experienced it’s first technical fault. Dot Matris is a not so much a “Mother” of printers in the nurturing sense. She’s more a “Mother” in the Samuel L. Jackson sense. Dot Matris is always depicted wearing a distinctive high-waisted “micro line” dress. In her mythology, Dot Matris is married to the handsome mortal Prince Gamut. Together they work to try and foil the evil schemes of the Plotters. She is said to fly across the heavens in her celestial fighter aircraft, known as “The Laser Jet” singing as she goes. Well, I say singing. It’s more of a shrill, rhythmic, buzzing scream.

Dot Matris loathes poor organisation, bad time management and last minute rushes. Therefore, prayers will only be answered when your print job is not time critical. The closer you are to your deadline, the more likely it is that your prayers will fall on deaf ears. Sometime she will further punish you for the hubris of expecting her aid, by spreading a plague of bugs through all your technical devices. It is vital that you only pray to Dot Matris once for each print job. If you pray to her repeatedly, she will get annoyed. Nothing will come out of your printer until after you need it. Then a thousand copies will suddenly spew forth into the air, and you will be powerless to stop them.

The principle temple of Dot Matris is in Epsom in the UK. It is a very recent structure. It has been cleverly 3D printed from concrete, plastic and chocolate. (There is a video on YouTube about how they did it in “Just a day!”). The temple is populated and maintained by her sacred order known as the “Brother Printers”.

This sect is lead by the “Printer Head”. “Brothers” may be of any gender. The current Printer Head is Daisy Wheeler. She is the fifth to hold the title. (The first to hold that title has now been Canonised as St Hewlett of Packard.) The next Printer Head will be divinely chosen by Dot Matris before their birth. The Brothers will know them by the “Lexmark”, which will manifest somewhere upon their body.

The altar at the centre of the temple is designed to dispense the daily offerings of consumables which are made to appease the goddess. Dot Matris is said to eat a hundred reams of the finest quality paper every day. These are lovingly loaded into plastic trays by the Brothers in order to make the feeding easier. She abhors cheap paper, and if offered anything less than 90gsm she will just chew it up and spit it out.

On the top of the altar stand four elegant vessels for the goddess’s beverages. She will be offered, and drink, five gallons of ink every day (a gallon of black, a gallon of magenta, a gallon of cyan, and for some weird reason, two gallons of yellow) . If any one of these reservoirs runs dry, the goddess will shut down and refuse to do anything. The holy ink they must provide for the offering is incredibly rare and precious. It is made from dragon’s milk and mermaid’s toenails. The goddess will only accept the genuine stuff. If given a cheaper substitute she will send you many messages of dire warning. In order to get this holy ink the priesthood have to buy hundreds and hundreds of brand new printers every day and extract the ink from each one. This has turned out to be by far the cheapest way of doing it (around the back of the temple is a landfill pit, overflowing with thousands of forlorn, drained printers.)

If you visit the temple. Do try to coincide your visit with one of their excellent “Jammin'” sessions. These involve an informal group gathering around a blocked printer, and freestyle riffing advice on how to fix it, whilst the owner of the printer tries not to worry about a thing, and believe that every little thing’s gonna be alright. I think it is a lot of fun. When you get to try it, I hope you like Jammin’ too. Refreshments are usually served at these sessions, notably the traditional “Bubblejet Tea”. Before the end of your visit, why not take the opportunity to make a-toner-ment for your sins.

The sacred text of Dot Matris is known as “The Manual”. The scared text gets fainter and fainter as you progress towards the end, but this doesn’t matter. It has never been read, people have only ever glanced at the diagrams.

Thank you to Rhiannon Williams (@Feiryred) , for the brilliant suggestion of Dot Matris. Welcome to the Hive Mind.

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.

Scrubbup – Goddess of Infection Control

March 8, 2020October 15, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

There are many deities of healing, but Scrubbup beats them all, as the prevention is always better than the cure. Whist she mostly takes the form of a human female, she is all bear below the elbows. Of all the deities, Scrubbup is considered to be humanity’s first and best line of defence against disease. Many people are surprised to learn that Scrubbup is a deity of the modern age, coming into being sometime in the mid 1840’s. About the time that people started to realise that, if you don’t wash your hands after using the bathroom, you and your friends may as well greet each other by sticking your hands down each other’s pants. The early pioneers of her sect, who first started to preach the word of Scrubbup were disbelieved, derided, stigmatised, and even martyred. Physicians were supposed to cure disease, surely they could not be spreading it! Some of these early radicals have since been elevated to sainthood or “saintised”. Such as Saint Ignaz Semmelweis, Saint Florence of Nightingale, Saint Dora of Walsall and Saint John Snow (who knew a surprising amount, but it took him ages to get anyone to listen).

The faith of Scrubbup is still going strong today. The standards of purity laid down by her church have been adopted into medical practice all over the world. You will struggle today to find a medical professional who is not a devotee. Their motto is “Spread the word, not the pathogen!” In order to help the layperson understand the mind bogging numbers of bacterial that can occupy a common object, they have developed a unit of bacteria known as the “Metric Toilet Seat”. As in, “Did you know your mobile phone carries three Metric Toilet Seats worth of bacteria?” Today this sect is highly active and organises and funds both a research and an educational mission. The education mission go forth into the community, teaching the doctrine that good hygiene is the key to life everlasting, or at least life lasting a lot longer than it would otherwise. They sometimes hold awareness rallies, but unfortunately, as most of the attendees are doctors, no one can read their placards. The research arm mainly remain within the temple, where they devotedly spend hours and hours staring into microscopes, watching aerobic bacteria do their cardio.

When you visit a temple of Scrubbup, the first thing you will notice is that, where the holy water dish would be in a Catholic church, there is instead a holy alcohol hand sanitiser dispenser. The priesthood and congregation will frequently use this, giving the impression that they are constantly hatching a dastardly plan. Above the entrance door itself is a sign which says “Mind the Strep”. Inside, instead of communal pews, there are individual seats, placed at least a meter apart. The focal point of the temple is a special hand washing font, with those long arm taps, where the High Priestess, known as Auntie Viral, demonstrates correct hand washing technique. As she does this, the congregation sing hymns to accompany her. This helps her time the correct duration of her demonstration. These hymns all last exactly 20 seconds, and include include twice “Happy Birthday to You Times Two”, “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star”, and for the Goths, four times through “Hey Now, Hey Now Now, Sing this Corona to Me”.

The priesthood can be recognised by the austere robes or “Scrubs” that they wear. (The US girl group TLC were excommunicated for failure to conform to the dress code.) These vestments include distinctive blue ceremonial face masks. There is an apocryphal tale that, once, some priests of Scrubbup went to pick up supplies of the face masks from Superdrug, but they had run out. The sales assistant suggested they try Boots. They almost suffocated.

Sadly, most people in the street give little thought to the wisdom of Scrubbup until there is some kind of epidemic scare situation. Then they often misinterpret the sensible guidance wildly. This is why, when advised to stay at home, they will proceed in a mass rabble to Sainsbury’s and up buy heaps of Knorr, Bovril and Oxo. This panic response is known as “stockpiling”. Inexplicably, people also get an urge to buy up all the toilet paper in sight, like a squirrel that ate a senna pod. One school of thought is that, if people are going to have to put their heads between their legs and kiss their arses goodbye, they want it to taste okay.

Scrubbup does not only have a role in medicine. Her beneficence is essential to space exploration. Sacred sterilisation and decontamination rites are carried out over any space vessel or probe to make sure that MARS missions do not become an MRSA missions.

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.

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.

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.