Irs – Goddess of Tax Returns

February 20, 2022February 20, 2022 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Drawn in the red-on-black style of Ancient Greek pottery. The goddess Irs is wearing a pleated robe and carries a tally stick. In the other hand she carries a sack of coins, which is leaking into the mouth of a fat cat. Irs has wings shaped like a portcullis and she bears a resemblance to Queen Elizabeth II. — Irs © H.Hudson-Lee 2022

Irs was not born from a union of between Gods, Elementals or even Mortals, but of political expediency. She originated during the Old Kingdom Period of Ancient Egypt. In order to fund the building of royal tombs, the Pharaoh established her sect and appointed priests to raise revenue from his subjects. They were under immense pressure to complete this task for their king, for without a generous income, H.M. got arsey. This was a massive undertaking. So, these priests recruited a team of collectors who would gather the payments on their behalf, each keeping a small percentage of the revenue raised as payment. These collectors were overwhelmed with the magnitude of the task of visiting every household in Egypt, and so themselves recruited teams of underlings who pocketed an even smaller percentage. Thus both taxation and the literal pyramid scheme were invented simultaneously.

The concept of taxation gradually spread around the world, and the worship of Irs alongside it. She was readily adopted by the nascent democracy of Athens to help them fund their military campaigns and elegant public buildings. Eventually, the world’s population grew to the point where it was not possible to individually judge what every person should pay. This led to a seismic theological shift in the faith of Irs. Their religious philosophy became one of self assessment and honest judgement of one’s own worth. This goddess doesn’t judge you. You judge yourself, and then she decides whether you did it right. This is why, when they die, her followers are buried with their accounts, receipts and bank statements from the last five years, and an anxiety attack. Hopefully, all will be in order, and their soul will be allowed to fly west to the Isle of Tax Haven. Some scholars of mythology believe that the legends of the Isle of Tax Haven grew out of early seafarer’s tales of Isle of Man.

When a young person is inducted into the sect of Irs they undergo a ritual similar to baptism. Only, instead of using a font, they use a VAT. Many years of study lie ahead for the neophyte. First they must become familiar with the Book of Acts and the Tax Codex. These are anthologies of the scriptures which outline the rules for calculating what each citizen should pay, but they are written in an arcane language, comprehensible only to the cognoscenti. The Book of Acts has chapters with mysterious titles like, “The Income Tax Act 2007”. These students must also master the skill of tax-calculus, a branch of mathematics so fiendishly difficult that it is reported to have reduced students of Kabbalah, theoretical physicists and Carol Vordeman to tears. Tax Calculus is used to derive the assets under the mattress. Finally, they must develop a perfect perpendicular posture by going around with a pile of ledgers precariously perched on top of their polls. Being able to balance the books is the most important skill of all. Eventually Irs’s worthy acolytes graduate to become Chartered Priests. A few of the more esoteric types will join “Outland” sub-sect, who mainly concern themselves with excising ancient customs and enjoy the privilege of being religious duty free when they travel abroad. The most gifted students go on to be appointed to the highest echelon of her cult, the Inspectors. Those who fail their final exams are considered to be a write-off.

The temples of Irs are known as “Treasuries”. They are recognisable by their portcullis entrances with the Crown of Irs carved into the stonework above (known as The Government Gateway). The floors inside were originally tiled with black and white flagstones in a chequer pattern, but this has now fallen out of fashion, so they are now ex-chequers. The temple cats of Irs are renowned for being phenomenally fat felines. Heckin’ chonks. Absolute units. They live by skimming off as much cream as they can from the temple’s milk supply before getting caught. Each temple is presided over by a high priest or “Chancellor”. Irs has two major and four minor “quarter” festivals each year. Their most important festival occurs on January 31st, the sacred day of Self Assessment. It is traditional for Irsians to send one another greetings cards with the message, “Many Happy Returns”. On April 5th they celebrate their New Years festival by closing their books.

Some folks mistakenly think that they can win the favour of the goddess by paying their taxes with a smile. They are incorrect. Taxes must be paid with cash. The adversary of Irs is a demon who gets people out of paying their full taxes in return for a piece of their soul. Lou Pole and his wealthy followers, “The Evaders” are to be feared and thwarted at every turn. They are the origin of the old Irsian saying, “It is easier to pass a camel through the eye of a needle, than it is to get a rich man to pay his taxes.” He is aways depicted in sacred art snatching school dinners from hungry children and medicine from the sick. Irsians believe that Lou Pole can be banished by loudly singing the, “Audit Domine”.

Whilst the existence of many deities is open for debate. Irs is one we can be certain of. For there are but two inevitable things in life. Death and Taxes. Unless you’re Queen Elizabeth II, who does not pay tax and, so far, appears to be immortal.

A huge thank you to @ladysixa for suggesting Irs, for being a loyal supporter of Idol Scribblings and for being one of the loveliest humans on Twitter. I am sorry it took so long, but I had to do your excellent concept justice.

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Thank you for reading. If you have enjoyed this deity, please feel free to share it with your friends. New deities are published weekly. You can get alerted to new deities via Facebook through the Idol Scribbling Page or on Twitter by following @IdolScribblings . Catch up on the Pantheon so far here.

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Comedia Dell’Farté

January 9, 2022 ~ Hannah ~ 1 Comment

Comedia Dell'arte, the Goddess of Pantomime is like a centaur, only the front end is Dame Edna Everage and the back end is a pantomime cow with impressive udders. She holds a bucket of, "Family Friendly Mild Smutt" and a hand-shaped "Slap Stick". The goddess wears a pair of bean-shaped comedy bosoms. A giant beanstalk curls around in the background. — Comedia Dell’Farté © H.Hudson-Lee 2022

A long time ago, in an allegory far, far away, Travesty the God of Misrule would amorously pursue minor goddesses and nymphs. On one such excursion, his wondering eye fell on Achnestasia and Frizzella, the Goddesses of Ill-Favoured Siblings. In order to conceal them from his jealous wife, he killed a passing cow and took it’s hide for the sisters to hide inside. To further the subterfuge, Travesty then took the form of a goose before engaging in a highly unconventional menagerie a trois. All his efforts were to no avail though. For his suspicious spouse found out and cursed the unfaithful God. Once cursed, Travesty found himself unable to change back out of his goose form! And so he remained until, with much honking, he laid a painfully large golden egg. Now, restored to his original form, Travesty incubated the egg in the warm cinders at the side of his hearth. At the stroke of midnight, on the bleakest day of midwinter, the egg cracked and Comedia Dell’Farté burst dramatically forth in an explosion of song, laughter and glitter. Within a wave of a wand, she had taken her place amongst the pantheon as the deity of jollity during dark days. The Goddess of Pantomime.

The temples of Comedia Dell’Farté resemble great palaces from the front, and tumbledown 19^th century tenements from the rear. Whilst the congregation enter through imposing doors at the top of sweeping marble staircases, the priesthood must enter through the stage door, under a leaking gutter, off a urine-scented alley around the back, (I think it is something to do with maintaining spiritual humility). Inside the temple you will find a great auditorium, lavishly decorated, with intricate gold leaf coated plasterwork and wine-dark upholstery. Catholics may be big in guilt, but the followers of Comedia prefer gilt. The temples all have their own clowder of temple cats, who are always shod up to the knee. In fact, these cats are known to be very particular about their footwear. They look fabulous strutting around the stalls in their knee-high Mioawnolo Blahniks and Jimmy Mews. Unlike other places of worship, Comedia’s temples do not have any bells. For, if the bells ring, all the Dicks turn around, and that can be a very distressing experience.

The rituals of Comedia Dell’Farté take the form of humorous apologue plays performed by the priesthood. Officially, there is a cycle of 12 sacred pantomime plays (there are some who argue that Robin Hood is not an official pantomime, but they’re just splitting arrows). One of the few hard rules of this religion is that you must never, ever mash-up pantomime plots. No one wants a repeat of those dystopian nightmare productions, “Jack Boots” and “Sleeping in the Woods”. Audience participation is essential in these rites. An experienced acolyte knows when to boo and hiss, when to cheer, and when to warn the protagonists about a stealthily approaching ghost. These acolytes may be of any age, but the many are little children (who come unto Comedia, no suffering required). The service always concludes with a community sing along for the whole flock, and a wedding.

The Dame Role in all the plays is reserved for the High Priest. Therefore, the High Priest must be a well-respected Thespian. So, every year, the church must send a mission to Thespia to drag one over. For the continued popularity of the faith, it is essential that they find a High Priest that has-beans, not a has-been. Whilst playing the role, the high priest will don outrageously flamboyant vestments and a pair of specially sanctified outsize prosthetic mammary glands known as “Biggins”. A great High Priest can directly channel the spirit of the deity, a phenomenon known as, “Dameonic Possession”, which causes them to speak in puns. The high priest is ably assisted by their second in command, Deacon Billy Buttons (who, before joining the priesthood, was a naval seaman).

In addition to carrying out the rites of Comedia Dell’Farté, the priesthood produces a faith discussion podcast called, “Jack and the Beans Talk”. They also run an ecclesiastical court whose judges all wear wigs as white as snow and robes as black as ebony, and are celebrated for being the fairest of them all. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, so for recreation the cult of Comedia field a National League football team. “The Giant Killers” are renowned for regularly knocking Premier League teams out of the FA Cup in the early rounds. However, they always get defeated in the quarter finals because Cinderella keeps running away from the ball, their coach is a pumpkin and Mother Goose gets sent off for fowls.

If you love pantomime, Comedia Dell’Farté will always be behind you in everything you do. Some heathens say, “Oh no she isn’t”. However, Boys and Girls, we all know, “OH YES SHE IS!”

Thank you for reading. If you have enjoyed this deity, please feel free to share it with your friends. New deities are published weekly. You can get alerted to new deities via Facebook through the Idol Scribbling Page or on Twitter by following @IdolScribblings . Catch up on the Pantheon so far here.

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.

Broomhilda – Goddess of Witchcraft

October 31, 2021October 31, 2021 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Broomhilda is the answer to the question, “Quis custodiet ipsos maleficis” or, “Who watches the witches?” Witches may make appeals to a wide range of deities whilst practicing their craft, but Broomhilda is the overseeing goddess of the craft itself. The sect of Broomhilda is known as the Office for Standards in Charms, Rites, Occultism, Necromancy and Enchantment or “OFCRONE”. In order to become a certified witch, one must become a member and adhere to the high standards they set. Any witches who fail to adhere to the Codex of Practice are exspelled from the faith or as they call it, “Hexcommunicated”. They also police the prohibition of certain potion ingredients considered unethical in more enlightened modern times. For example, the use of eye of newt has been banned since 1727 when the notorious witch Nic Peepyrs was caught in Westminster Abbey going at Sir Isaac’s newly sealed tomb with a cronebar.

OFCRONE also provides a degree of protection from harassment for its members. Thanks to them, most of the witch burnings that happen these days are when two wiccans have a roast battle. OFCRONE organise security patrols around all rituals where members may choose to worship sky-clad to prevent the local perverts from hiding in the bushes and getting an eyeful. Due to the high chance of being turned into an amphibian if caught, these degenerates are known as “Froggers”. (The witches are not completely merciless. They run a support group for anyone doing “pond penance” called “Amphibians Anonymous”.) OFCRONE also work to promote occultural diversity. Alongside this, they educate the general public about witchcraft. One of the ways they do this is via a live streaming platform where anyone can watch real Yorkshire witches practice the dark arts, called T’Witch. The sect also has a scientific research arm which funds a project searching for signs of Dark Magic in the universe, the Mildred Hubble Space Telescope.

In order to raise sufficient money to fund these activities, the sect of Broomhilda runs a number of commercial ventures. The longest established of these concerns manufactures high quality sacred candles and delivers them direct to your door. Next time you have a power cut, consider placing an express order with, “Something Wicked This Way Comes”. They also own a company, based in the North Riding of Yorkshire, which blends and sells fine teas. The best seller in the range is their, “Great Heck *A* Tea”. Their latest, and perhaps most entertaining, venture is a service where you can hire a troupe of five elderly witches to dance erotically at your birthday party or pre-nuptial night out. If you are a best man with a stag night to organise, you may want to consider ordering a Pent-a-Gran.

When a neophyte joins the cult of Broomhilda, they must spend years training at a school of witchcraft or “Unicurseity” (and if you have been to a real school of witchcraft, you will know the subject taught in the greenhouses is not called “Herbology”, it’s “Occultivation”). During their time at Unicurseity the students will keep a scrapbook of newspaper clippings and memorabilia of Hank Marvin, Bruce Welch and Brian Bennett known as a “Book of Shadows”. Once they graduate and have been inducted into the highest echelons of Broomhilda’s priesthood they become privy to the deepest secrets of the craft. In order to prevent these secrets from being betrayed to the uninitiated, the cleric is now locked into the sect for life. The only way to leave, other than by reaching the end of one’s mortal thread, is to be declared insane, but this is notoriously difficult to prove. One witch who wished to leave the cult tried keeping more than twenty pet felines in an attempt to appear deranged. However, the faith leaders decreed that they’d be mad not to love kittens, and so the unfortunate witch remained in the sect forever. This incident became known as the Cats-22 situation.

Whilst there are many spurious tales about witches, they do in fact favour broomstick transportation. However, the technology has advanced beyond recognition in the last 20 years. The most popular current model is a self-driving e-besom known as the “Broomba”. As e-besoms are virtually silent, when they first came out there were multiple collisions with hapless owls and other aerial wildlife. Now e-besoms must be fitted with a small speaker to put back the “broom-broom” sound, and a seat belt to prevent the pilot from flying off the handle.

Throughout most of their lives worshippers of Broomhilda will use their skills to maintain a glamorous and beguiling appearance. They have a very broad and body positive definition of beauty (and have, on occasion, been known to poke random blonde, slim women with a sharp finger in the hope that all the Barbie doll toys around the world will feel a twinge of pain). Towards the end of their mortal existence, some witches choose to embrace the aging process and “go full crone”. Not all witches who choose this path are able to get their complexions to become suitably haggard. One option they have is to undergo a cosmetic aging procedure. The international centre for this form of surgery is based in the Balearic Islands. An unnaturally youthful looking witch in her 70s or 80s may make a visit to the Warter in Majorca so she can look like what she ought-ta.

If you happen to meet a worshipper of Broomhilda, whatever you do, do not touch her bubbling cauldron of green liquid. That’s HER absinthe. Get your own.

Happy Hallowe’en and Samhain to Idollers everywhere! I am much better and it’s good to be back. The cartoons may not be every week at first, but I am getting there. I hope you all have a fun and spooky time tonight.

Thank you for reading. If you have enjoyed this deity, please feel free to share it with your friends. New deities are published weekly. You can get alerted to new deities via Facebook through the Idol Scribbling Page or on Twitter by following @IdolScribblings . Catch up on the Pantheon so far here.

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.

Beeverley – Goddess of the East Riding

August 1, 2021August 1, 2021 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Beeverley is, despite her venerable visage, one of the youngest deities in this pantheon. In 2017, when Kingston-Upon-Hull became the City of Culture, the citizens decided that they really should have a patron deity. From amongst their number, they chose the beloved philanthropist and Hull paragon of virtue, “The Bee Lady” for deification. (Beeverley may have be the first person in history to promoted from Bishop to Goddess). Her cult became hugely popular almost overnight. Probably because the people of the East Riding are always keen to grasp any opportunity to do things a little bit differently to everyone else, and religion is no exception. A documentary film was made based on her amazing story but, sadly, few people have seen it in cinemas because it was not a feature presentation.

Since becoming a Goddess, Beeverley has borne a daughter. It was clear that this babe was also divine because, when she was born, three wise men came from the East Riding on camels. This golden child was named Patty Butty and she became the Goddess of Regional Delicacies. You can find Patty’s temple down Battery Road.

The way of Beeverley is a contemplative and reflective path. It’s followers practice the art of Venn Meditation, where they cogitate upon the question of whether they are in the East Riding, East Yorkshire or Humberside, and what the overlap between these might be. Despite years of deliberation, they are yet to reach a consensus on the answer to this great question. Some of her followers who have more shamanic leanings expand their minds by consuming the potent powder known as “Chip Spice”. This is said to help them achieve a fluid mental sub-state known as “The Deep”. All meditation is usually practiced in the elegant gardens which surround Beeverley’s temple. These “Venn Gardens” are known for the aesthetic patterns of intersecting circles which are raked into its gravel paths. Worshippers of Beeverley can be recognised by their intricately patterned Gansey Jumpers, which they wear to keep themselves warm against the North Sea breezes, or to use as ID.

The Temple of Beeverley is located in the Land of Green Ginger and is designed to look like a giant version of a KCOM cream phone box. It houses their sacred chalice, a 1960’s Hornsea Pottery Heirloom Pattern “Autumn Brown” soup bowl. The custodians of the temple are Beeverley’s High Priest and Priestess, a couple called Bert and Agnes Hall. Their main job is to enforce the smoking ban inside the temple. The rules are very clear. Worshippers must go outside if they want to give someone a smug, superior, side-eye. Anyone who creates a disturbance in the temple by Larkin’ around, will be ejected by the temple guards. These guards all have the first name “Wilber” and are collectively known as the “Wilber Force”.

Devout worshippers of Beeverley avoid the demonic lair that is Spiders Nightclub, where even the purest hearted beeliever can become enmeshed in a web of sin, or permanently stuck to the floor. The legend is that if you spend too long in there you’ll turn into a Goole. However, if you’re not overly concerned with the state of your mortal soul, it’s actually a fun night out. Possibly a little bit too much fun. If you’re offered a blowie by an attractive stranger in the club toilets, go for it. In the East Riding, it’s impolite to spurn head.

Sadly, the religion of Beeverley is not entirely peaceful. For decades they have been at war with the North Riding over the disputed territory of Filey. In recent years an uneasy ceasefire has held. Both parties having decided to just wait until it is inevitable consumed by sea, rendering the issue moot.

One of Beeverley’s key deity duties is to watch over the thousands of travellers who cross the majestic span of the Humber Bridge every day. If there’s snerr blerking the rerd, she makes a fern curl t’let everyone nerr. When it comes to protecting those who cross the Humber, nothing is too much Hessel for Beeverley. The members of cult of Beeverley are also active for the benefit of the community. Every year they organise a festival to commemorate the anniversary of the Siege of Hull and the start of English Civil War. Next year in 2022, to celebrate the 380^th jubilee, they are proposing that Kingston-Upon-Hull be temporarily renamed Not-Any-More-It’s-Not-Upon-Hull.

Worshippers of Beeverley believe that, when they die, their souls go to Bridlington. So, to facilitate the process, they usually move there a few years before the event. It is said to be a mostly tranquil afterlife, blighted only by flocks of voracious zombie gulls known as the “Undead Bods”. They occupy a space in the folklore which, in other cultures, is normally reserved for The Furies. Fortunately, these demonic birds mostly focus their attention on the wretched shade of t’Antalus. Who, for his heinous crimes in life*, is hereafter cursed to hold a burning hot cone of chips in his hands, but never gets to eat one.

* He moved to Lincolnshire and quite liked it.

Happy Yorkshire Day Everyone! I hope you are all enjoying your puddings and parkin. Jean Bishop, the OG Bee Lady fundraises for Age UK Hull. If you are thinking of making a charitable donation today, why not put it their way? They especially need funds right now to help older people affected by C-19. Details of how to donate are on their website at https://www.ageuk.org.uk/hull/

Once you’ve done that, why not round off your Yorkshire Day with Sithee – God of South Yorkshire and Wayhey-Up – God of the West Riding (next year… the North Riding!)

Thank you for reading. If you have enjoyed this deity, please feel free to share it with your friends. New deities are published weekly. You can get alerted to new deities via Facebook through the Idol Scribbling Page or on Twitter by following @IdolScribblings . Catch up on the Pantheon so far here.

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.

Soccerates – God of Football

July 4, 2021 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Soccerates, the god of football, has origins deep in the mists of time. Originally his rites of worship were violent melees between two rival villages as a kind of pseudo battle which resulted in a marginally lower body count than all out warfare. Over the years these savage, barbaric rituals gradually evolved into the beautiful game that is loved all over the world today. For example, not many people know that in medieval times, prior to pig’s bladders being used, early footballs were made from inflated cockerel scrotums. This practice was quickly abandoned because it resulted in a lot of fowl balls.

The core followers of Soccerates are devout fans who turn out every week, rain or shine, hell or high water, defeat or glory to praise the god and loyally cheer on third division Forest Wonderers United. Each wearing a coloured shirt to display their affiliation to their chosen sub-sect or “team”. Every Saturday afternoon from August to May, they stalwartly perch on precarious stands made from old scaffolding poles and milk crates with only a dubious pie for sustenance and comfort. They endure by raising their voices together in song. The cult of Soccerates is famous for its beautiful hymns such as the haunting barcarolle, “Stercora Estis et Noscitis” by Offenside*.

The priests of Soccerates are known as “Pundits”. The key requirements for becoming a pundit are; a reasonably successful football playing career, a general lack of optimism and the ability to wear a bad suit and keep your knees at least six feet apart at all times whilst manspreading the good word. They play almost no role in the actual running of the religion; their job is to discuss everything that has gone wrong with football since they stopped playing. The cult is also renowned for its miraculous faith healers, known as the “Physios”. A player can flop like a sack of wet cement, and the Physios are seemingly able to raise them from the dead with the Sacred Wet Sponge.

The great high temple of Soccerates is located in Wembley. This is where the faithful gather on the most holy occasions to raise their voices as they watch their team Kane the opposition into submission. Visitors always enter the temple by the south gate. Here you can see the sacred beasts of Soccerates, three lions that are called leopards that are actually lions. At the centre of the temple lies the “hallowed turf”, which is diligently re-hallowed every week without fail by a fully qualified turf hallower. High above this veldt, the Pundits sit in their suspended glass box, which creates the illusion that they are on the Sky.

Once every two years the ranks of Soccerates faithful swell exponentially in number when an international football tournament takes place. Most of these occasional worshippers are simply enjoying the fun, the sense of occasion and the festive atmosphere (a bit like folks who go to church once a year at Christmas). However, there are a few of these part-time worshippers who seem to feel that, at these times, they need to compensate for their intermittent dedication with excessive public displays of devotion. They form a heretical cult known as “Ingerlaanders”.

Ingerlaanders are typically people who aren’t bothered about being involved in European affairs when it comes to the serious work of cooperating as an international community, but don’t want to be left out at playtime. They often seem to be confused about whether this is all about sport or international tensions. It is the Ingerlaanders who sometimes rudely confuse unfortunate Germany fans by singing “Two World Wars and One World Cup” at them. If a full-time true devotee of Soccerates witnesses this kind of appalling abuse, they will be enraged and give the Ingerlaander a red card (which is no small matter, there will be penalties). If ever they are not there to step in, fortunately, every German knows that the correct response to this is, “Actually, Germany has won four World Cups”.

An Ingerlaander is easily recognised by their red and white face paint, £45 football shirt and general state of inebriation. The leader of the Ingerlaanders, Mr George Crosse, has festooned his home with so many England flags that, from a distance, it looks like the whole house has been draped in a gingham tablecloth. When the wind and rain get up, the snapping of wet pennants sounds like a free-for-all towel fight in a locker room. You may spot George as he drives to the pub to watch the match in his official car, which is ornamented ambassador-style with even more little flags. During the match and ritual imbibing of many pints of ale, the landlord will quietly hide his car keys, so that George has to put his Best foot forward as he wends his merry way home.

*A genius who was, sadly, never really understood.

With thanks to Kate Durrant for, once again, getting me out of the “stercus” with my Latin translations.

Announcement

In about a week’s time I will be going into hospital for an operation. It shouldn’t be anything to worry about, but I am going to be laid up for a bit afterwards. Unfortunately, I am unlikely to be laid in a position that is comfortable for drawing. Therefore, after today, I will be taking the rest of July off from cartooning. My plan, all being well, is to be back for the traditional Idol Scribblings Yorkshire Day special on August 1st. I look forward to seeing you all again then. Wish me luck!

Thank you for reading. If you have enjoyed this deity, please feel free to share it with your friends. New deities are published weekly. You can get alerted to new deities via Facebook through the Idol Scribbling Page or on Twitter by following @IdolScribblings . Catch up on the Pantheon so far here.

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.

Wogana La La La Olé – Deity of Song Contests

May 22, 2021 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Wogana La La La Olé © H. Hudson-Lee 2021

Wogana La la la Olé is the only deity who knows what hellish future lies ahead. They’ve seen the rehearsals.

Wogana is the latest addition to the Irish pantheon of gods. They rode into the Otherworld during the second half of the twentieth century on their celestial steed, a lovely horse. The primary aim of the faith of Wogana is to bring peace to the world by making music, not war. It is to the constant amazement of the sceptics out there that Woganaism has been considerably more successful in this aim than the League of Nations ever was*. However, this may all unravel if Cyprus ever award Turkey douze points.

The international nature of this sect may be the reason why Wogananians are, on average, better at geography than US citizens. On hearing that their flight has a lay-over in Moldova, many Americans will wonder, “Where’s that?”. Whereas a follower of Wogana will think, “Hey Mamma!”. Due to the huge range of languages spoken by the acolytes of Wogana, it has become necessary to devise a universal sacred language to enable the community to understand one another. For example, Eurovispiranto for, “Good morning! How are you today?” is, “Boom-bang-a-bang! Hippety-pump-pump ay-ay-ay?”

The great festival of Wogana takes place annually in mid-May and lasts for a week. It is held in a different country each year and is televised to enable followers across the globe to participate. Small groups (up to six) of the faithful will often gather in private homes to celebrate together. However, only the most devout will watch the entire week’s coverage of the festival. Most will only tune in for the climactic final rite on the Saturday night. As with many faiths, alcoholic libation pays a key role in the proceedings. At the start of the final night ritual the High Priest will ceremonially crack open a bottle of Baileys and consume the whole lot over the course of the evening. Except for the first glass, which is placed before the statue of Wogana so that the deity can be there in spirit. The high priest will then lead the congregation in the first prayer of the evening, which begins, “Oh Lordi…”.

Following the opening prayers, a representative from each Wogananian country will take turns to make an offering of a song to Wogana. An uninitiated person watching the proceedings might conclude that there is considerable confusion over what will please this deity. Some offer catchy hooks and pyrotechnics, some bring hoards of metal shredding Vikings or teams of moshing babushkas, whilst others present a wailing lady with a man wearing a horse’s head, sat on a stepladder. The correct answer, of course, is that what pleases Wogana above all things is diversity, spectacle and a lot of glitter. The more utterly bonkers the better. These representatives give their all performing to please Wogana and their followers (or at the very least elicit a sardonic witticism from the High Priest). They also compete for the honour of hosting the following year’s festival. Whilst winning isn’t everything, and it truly is the taking part that counts, every performer at the rite lives in dread of displeasing Wogana and having their souls fed to the demon “Nulpoints”. Singers who suspect this fate may be in store for them often turn Blue and quickly Scooch out of there. Wogana being counted amongst the gods of Eire may be the reason why Ireland has seen such success in the contest over the years. They have hosted the great festival so many times that they Michael Flatley refuse to host it again any time soon.

The current high priest of Wogana is one Mr Norton (affectionately known as “Pray ’em Norton”). Whilst he is renowned as a preacher of great wit and wisdom in his own right, he will also very occasionally act as an oracle of Wogana, channeling the wry Bon Mot of the deity themselves.

It may also interest you to know that Wogananians measure their historical periods a little differently to the rest of us. For example the years from 2010 to 2015, remembered for their iridescent foil fashions and youthful exuberance, are known as “The Jedwardian Era” (it was the best of times, it was the Wurst of times). This era takes its name from the mythical twin sons of Wogana. Edstor and Jollox.

May all the followers of Wogana La La La Olé have a wonderful time celebrating tonight. Let Wogana’s love shine a light in every corner of your dreams.

*Sadly nothing is perfect. Israel seems to have missed that mission statement memo.

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Yabast – God of Giving Your Cat a Pill

April 25, 2021April 25, 2021 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

As any cat lover knows, the merest suggestion of medication is enough to turn the sweetest pet kitty into a writhing ball of hate with a thousand claws. If the first labour assigned to Heracles had been to give a cat a tablet, his story would have been a lot shorter and would have ended with the Nemean Lion walking around wearing a Heracles-skin coat. Yabast first appears in the ancient pantheons shortly after the first cats decided to move in with humans, and things got a bit itchy and wormy. It is believed that he was spontaneously called into existence by ancient peoples shouting “Yabast!” as their cat attempted to flee its flea treatment, leaving a cat shaped hole in the wall of their mud hut.

The Temple of Yabast is home to a large clowder of sacred temple cats and their human servants. The temple doorway is guarded by a cat laid on its back as though it would like a belly rub. This is thought to be the most vicious booby trap ever installed in a temple. The temple interior always appears to have been the site of a dire catastrophe. Shredded curtains drape the windows, tendrils of gashed wallpaper flap forlornly on the walls and everything has a fine coating fur on it. The carpet is woven with an interesting pattern known as “Blood Splatter”. The space is illuminated with lightbulbs which are shaded by transparent plastic cones. When you visit, do not forget to bring an offering to place upon Yabast’s altar. This offering can be almost anything you would like to give, so long as it makes a satisfying smash when it gets pushed off the edge. Refreshments are served at the temple, but whilst the cats enjoy delicious meals of salmon mousse (whipped up by a specially dedicated team of priests known as the “Whiskers”) the most human diners can expect to receive is a scratch dinner. Do not expect to be able to sit down to dine. Literally every chair in the place will have a smug looking cat dozing on it.

The priesthood of Yabast train for many years, learning the cat wrestling martial art of Ju-Kit-Su. They must also learn first aid techniques for treating cat bites and lacerations (many extend their studies to become fully qualified Purramedics). Their vestments are comprised of whatever protective equipment they have to hand (e.g. welding gloves, cricket pads, hockey masks, leather aprons, or even a full suit of medieval armour). The priests of Yabast tend not to talk much before conducting a ritual. Despite all their diligent preparation, due to the sense of dread, they tend to become catatonic when they must give the cat a tonic. Some have been known to develop nervous disorders after too many years on the Frontline.

Contrary to popular belief, Yabast is rarely appealed to by professional Veterinarians. They have a cunning scheme running to ensure their hardly ever need to. To whit, any cat who requires a course of tablets will be given an injection during the vet’s consultation. This injection will mean that the tablets cannot be taken until the following day. Thereby removing any chance that the cat’s human will ask the vet to administer the first dose. This may sound a bit selfish, but the scheme has reduced workplace injuries amongst vets by a staggering 95%.

The main ritual of Yabast, known as “The Rite of Drontal” is held once every three months. The procedure is laid out in Yabast’s sacred text, “War and Puss”. It begins with a series of preliminary placatory prayers to the god before the priests attempt to administer a worming tablet to each of the temple cats in turn. When the proceedings are about to start, all the temple cats will mysteriously vanish and must be winkled out of their ingenious hiding spaces (such as the next-door neighbours airing cupboard). Once the felines are finally corralled, the priests will initially attempt to administer the tablets in the nicest way possible, ground up into the cats’ favourite foods. This food will be rejected out of hand. So, the priests move onto the next phase, where whole tablets are wrapped in a bit of squishy cheese and given to the cats. The cheese will be eaten, and the tablet spat out. The third stage involves the priests trying to pop the offending tablet directly into the cat’s mouth. Once they have retrieved the tablet from behind the sofa, coaxed the cat from on top of the kitchen cupboards and deployed the first aid kit, they are finally ready to proceed to the last stage of the ritual. In this last phase, all kind feelings towards the patient have evaporated and it is now all out war. The priest bodily grabs the cat, wrapping it in a blanket and ramming the pill as far down the ungrateful spitting maw as fast as they can, before cat knows what’s happening. Should this fail to work, the priest is now permitted to give up and go to hospital. The A&E staff learn to quickly spot priests of Yabast in their waiting room. They are the ones who look like they’ve been run over by a Turkish Van. Following treatment, it is traditional for the patched-up cleric to return to the temple to find that the cat has done a little protest “offering” of their own on the priest’s bed. If anyone is concerned that this ritual involves cruelty to animals, let me reassure you that all these actions are taken solely for the cat’s benefit and any cruelty involved is exacted upon the human race.

Idol Scribblings Volume One

A collection of 52 deities, ancient and modern, for all occasions from Idol Scribblings. Produced in 2019-2020.

Order your copy here
https://idolscribblings.blog/the-book/

Thank you for reading. If you have enjoyed this deity, please feel free to share it with your friends. New deities are published weekly. You can get alerted to new deities via Facebook through the Idol Scribbling Page or on Twitter by following @IdolScribblings . Catch up on the Pantheon so far here.

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.

Wigan – God of Pi and Pie

March 14, 2021 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Wigan, the deity of Pie and Pi, is without pier amongst the gods. He, and his divine consort Ashet exist in a pattypantheon of their own. Beloved by mathematicians, bakers and gourmets alike, who see him as the sauce of all goodness (mint sauce to be precise). He is the only god who has managed to calculate the circumference, surface area and volume of the celestial spheres. His followers have no time for other religions, they believe that only their god is pukka. They believe that Wigan created the first man from pastry dough, and then crafted the first woman from one of the man’s kidneys. Later in the tale, the woman is tempted to eat the Apple Pie of Knowledge by a serpent. This is known as the Snake and Kidney theory of creation.

The cult of Wigan is divided into two sects. The high church for the upper crust, and the low church (affectionately known as Greggs) for everyone else. What all followers of Wigan agree on is their violent opposition to anyone calling some stew with a little puff pastry hat a “pie”. According to them, this dish should more correctly be called an “Anathema”. They also strive to reject and thwart the upstart false idol “Tau” at every turn. (Tau thinks he’s twice as good as the God of Pi).

The priesthood of Wigan are renowned for their great pie-ety. A neophyte must study baking and mathematics for many years before being accepted into this circle. Their final assessment hinges on writing a scholarly paper about pies with sweet fillings, known as a “dessertation”. Many lay folk think that someone must be irrational to want to train as a priest of Wigan. In truth, they are just really turned on by geometry or, as the Wiganites describe, it “pisexual”. The priesthood are led by a triumvirate, currently these leaders are Sir Cumference (also known as Number 3), Ms Di Ameter (Number 1) and Mr Ray Deus (Number 4). They are the three significant figures of the faith. Other important figures in the cult are Pontius Pielot (whose job it is to make sure worshippers wash their hands before breaking a crust together), Magnum Pi (who is their head of temple security or “crustodian”), the Pied Piper (head of music) and Crustifex Maximus (the chef de cuisine). In their quest to push the boundaries of human knowledge, the priesthood of Wigan divided the circumference of the moon by its diameter, and the circumference of the earth by its diameter. They were disappointed to discover that there was absolutely no difference between Earth Pi and Moon Pi.

Circus clowns are considered to be paladins of the faith, and a custard pie fight is a holy war. Many famous painters have been inspired to depict the devastation that ensues. So at least it puts t’art on t’walls.

The temple of Wigan is similar in shape to the Royal Albert Hall. Unlike the Albert Hall, an elegant ceramic chimney pot rises from the centre of its roof which is styled to look like a singing bird. When the priests are baking, the smoke of their ovens rises from its upstretched beak. The architecture is decorated throughout with little fleur de lys motifs. As you enter you will see a sign by the door that says, “No Pies Are Left in This Temple Overnight”. Once inside you will see that the interior is dominated by a large statue of Wigan which urinates hot, rich gravy. This holy work of art is known as the “Mannequin Pi”. In front of this fountain stands the altar. A two legged stone table, with one leg straight and the other elegantly curved. If you plan to visit the temple, be advised that all worshippers are required to leave an offering on the altar in a small disposable foil tray. You are also strongly advised to wear a wipe clean hat as the temple is also home to Wigan’s flock of four and twenty sacred blackbirds.

The great festival of Wigan is celebrated on the 14^th of March every year. This involves a rite where many pies are brought forth to be shared by the congregation. Before they are eaten, the officiating priest chops 1 and 1/3 of the pies into square chunks (in other words, 4/3 Pie are cubed). This is all done to the accompaniment of a choir singing the holy number (a performance which never ends). The ritual ends with the priest declaring, “Rejoice! Crust is risen! Go in mushy peas.”

Happy Pi Day everyone!

Thank you for reading. If you have enjoyed this deity, please feel free to share it with your friends. New deities are published weekly. You can get alerted to new deities via Facebook through the Idol Scribbling Page or on Twitter by following @IdolScribblings . Catch up on the Pantheon so far here.

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.

Chilly Sanders – God of the Nesh

January 31, 2021January 31, 2021 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Everyone knows at least one person who is always complaining that they feel cold. These folk are known as, “The Nesh*”. Chilly Sanders is the god who watches over these perpetually parky people. You don’t have to be cool to worship him, but it helps. If, whilst on the beach on a scorching summers day, you spy someone bundled up in a duffle coat and tartan travel rug, they are very likely to be a disciple of Chilly Sanders. If you were to say, “Winter is Coming” to his acolytes they would look at you askance. For them, winter is already here. Despite their sensitivity to the slightest chill, you will still find his followers out and about at all the big events. They like to feel the freeze and do it anyway.

Chilly Sanders’ mythology is said to originate all the way back in the last ice age, which his sacred texts refer to as “The Age of Shivery”. He is said to be the progeny of the Arthrites the God of Aches and Stiffness and Zephbrrrr the Goddess of Cold Drafts. Sadly, his parents’ relationship did not last long following Chilly’s conception. The deal breaker was that Zephbrrrr kept putting her cold feet on Arthrites whilst they were in bed. Statues of Chilly Sanders always show him to be (like Theseus) hypolispos, or “buttockless”. This is said to symbolically represent the fact that he is always freezing his arse off.

The temple of Chilly Sanders is in Burrrrrrrlington, Vermont. When a non-believer enters the temple of Chilly Sanders their face will instantly melt. This is not due to any Indiana Jones style ancient curse. It is simply because the temple is always maintained at a toasty 38^oC by the gargantuan five jet Robinson-Willey gas fire, in which burns their sacred eternal flame. On entering the temple, each worshipper is greeted by the priests with a rousing chorus of, “Put the wood in the hole! Were you born in a barn?” The worshipper will then hang their cap on one of the impressive temple hat pegs. The priesthood can be recognised by the sacred giant knitted mittens which they must wear at all times. The church undertakes lots of good works in the community. These include supplying hot meals daily to the vulnerable. They fund this endeavour by manufacturing much sought after t-shirts bearing the image of the god.

Whilst worshippers of Chilly Sanders may be of any age. However, the majority of the flock are either of the venerable persuasion or hail from warmer climes. The only people excluded from the faith are teenagers who whinge about being cold but won’t put a sweater on. People from Newcastle-upon-Tyne are technically welcome to join. It’s just that none of them ever have.

Members of the faith who are still of working age are afflicted by a terrible curse which follows them throughout their careers. In any office where they are employed, they will always somehow end up sat at the desk next to someone who is menopausal. The most common cause of premature death amongst Sanderians is touching the thermostat.

The faith of Chilly Sanders has many famous philosophical proverbs. Perhaps the best known is, “Cast ne’er a clout. Period.”

* Nesh = A norther dialect word meaning someone who is susceptible to feeling cold. There is no other synonym for this word in English! https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nesh

Idol Scribblings Volume One

A collection of 52 deities, ancient and modern, for all occations from Idol Scribblings. Produced in 2019-2020.

Order your copy here
https://idolscribblings.blog/the-book/

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Thank you for reading. If you have enjoyed this deity, please feel free to share it with your friends. New deities are published weekly. You can get alerted to new deities via Facebook through the Idol Scribbling Page or on Twitter by following @IdolScribblings . Catch up on the Pantheon so far here.

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.

Jolly Saint Prick – God of Vaccination

December 13, 2020December 13, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

The great midwinter festival is a time when ancient beliefs take on a modern incarnation, and Jolly Saint Prick is a prime example of this phenomenon. He is a genial spirit who protects mankind from the ravages of disease, especially during those dark pestilent months. Jolly Saint Prick is said to reside the South Pole where he has a celestial pharmaceutical lab staffed by a dedicated team of research elves. This location provides the perfect conditions to keep the phials of sacred vaccines that they produce below the required -70^oC. (Also, it’s actually on a solid continental land mass, so he got a much better real estate deal than Santa). He files across the world in his magical medical sleigh to deliver vaccines to all the good and bad children alike (Jolly Saint Prick does not judge). The reindeer who pull his sleigh are all kept fully up to date on their shots to ensure herd immunity. Unfortunately, Jolly Saint Prick does not have the power to deliver his gift to everyone in the world in just one night. This is partly because two doses are required a few weeks apart.

Jolly Saint Prick has a dedicated team of medically trained priests who administer his blessings and protection to the masses. Whenever this blessing is bestowed the priest will recite a short prayer. The modern version of this prayer is, “You’ll feel a sharp scratch.” Traditionalists are still campaigning for a return to the original version, “You’re going to feel a little prick.” Their chief argument is that the polite, modern version deprives a nervous patient of the little dose of double entendre that can help get them through the experience.

They say you should never look a gift reindeer in the mouth, but despite all the evidence to the contrary, some people are sceptical of, and even violently hostile towards, the good works of Jolly Saint Prick (usually worshippers of Teflonata). One concern voiced, is that modern vaccines may be being used to insert microchips into people. All I can say, is that it is a big improvement on vaccines in the 1980’s when there was a whole 5¹/₄inch floppy disc in every tetanus shot. I jest, of course. Jolly Saint Prick’s rigorous safety procedures ensure that the only chips inside us this winter are the ones we’re filling our faces with over the holiday. Fortunately, Mr William Shakespeare of Warwick bravely set an example by becoming the first person in England to receive the new vaccine. He knows that uneasy likes the head that wears the corona. In Northern Ireland, when they were selecting the first person to receive the vaccine, they chose a keen ‘un.

I will leave you with a short extract from the famous sacred psalm “A Visit from Saint Prick”.

Now Astra! Now Zeneca! Now Oxford and Pfizer!
On Moderna! On BioNTech! On Janssen and Sputnik!
So hopefully we won’t get the bloody bug after all,
Vaccinate! Vaccinate! Vaccinate all!

I would like to thank Larry Brennan for kindly agreeing to be my model for Jolly Saint Prick. Thank you for lending your awesome Santa energy to this deity!

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Thank you for reading. If you have enjoyed this deity, please feel free to share it with your friends. New deities are published weekly. You can get alerted to new deities via Facebook through the Idol Scribbling Page or on Twitter by following @IdolScribblings . Catch up on the Pantheon so far here.

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.