Peebee – God of Arbitrary Sporting Achievements

January 5, 2020October 15, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Peebee, an extremely ancient deity, was the son of Lucasade – Goddess of Divine Energy and Impetus – God of Getting Off Your Arse. The myth goes that one day he was chased by an angry momma she-bear. Peebee decided that this had been a bit of a close call, and that he should probably practice for this kind of eventuality. After all, even if he could not outrun the she-bear, all he needed to be able to do was run a little faster than the person next to him. Peebee’s consort is Facup, the goddess of award silverware. She is sometimes unkindly regarded as a trophy wife.

Peebee is worshipped by amateur athletes who relentlessly chase the ever moving finishing line of self-improvement. The underlying philosophy of the faith is that the greatest opponent one will ever face, one’s ultimate nemesis, is oneself. To them the virtuous life is achieved when one does not strive to best another, but to best the person that you were yesterday. Pursuit of this goal means that followers of Peebee experience the joys of victory and the agony of de feet. This is also a fantastic religion to join if you want to meet people. Especially paramedics.

Although acolytes may undertake their devotions at any time, formal communal worship of Pee Bee usually takes place on either a Saturday or Sunday morning. The congregation will congregate in a local park, and the priesthood will undertake the role of marshals to guide their flock through the ritual and the course. They will jog your memory if you get lost. Once the ceremonial starting pistol is fired, the assembled worshippers will attempt to run through the act of worship in the shortest time possible. The faster one can complete the ritual, the holier one is. This worship takes place weekly regardless of the conditions. The one person who still turns up to worship Peebee on a day when the weather is a torrential tempest is declared to be the current “Raining Champion”.

If you attend a rite of Peebee you will notice that the faithful divide themselves into four distinct sects.

The Park Runners are the most dedicated and fundamentalist of these factions. They worship Peebee daily and ensure that they meet all their targets. It is thought that the phrase “to exercise religiously” originated with them. Park Runners can be recognised by their smart running gear and the expression on their faces which suggests they may be enjoying this a bit too much (compared to everyone else’s expression of mild agony). Before each rite, members of this sect will anoint themselves will the sacred unguent known as Vasaline, and during the rite itself they will fast, consuming only specially formulated energy gels*.

Members of the Park Runner sect tend to be vociferous evangelists. They spread the word and their own achievements loudly and constantly (whether anyone cares or not). If you happen to know one, they will probably be constantly trying to indoctrinate you. The leader of this sect is Guru Strava, who constantly monitors every member’s every move. He is assisted in this by his faithful deputy Endomondo. Park Runners do not count an achievement unless it has been observed and acknowledged by Strava. Hence their mantra of “Strava or it didn’t happen”. When attending the communal rite, the Park Runners will form a dense phalanx at the front known as the “Joggernaught” formation (this is to mow down any stray dog walkers and small children and clear the path or righteousness). When people see a Park Runner jog by they think, “Look at that fine athlete!”

The second, more liberal, sect tend to only worship at the communal weekend ritual. They are much less invested, and only really attend the rituals as pre-emptive penance for the massive fry up they are about to eat. Dressed in old tracksuit bottoms, ten year old trainers and faded band t-shirts, this sect are known as The Pork Runners. There is a degree of tension between the two sects. Mainly because the Park Runners will keep making zoom-zoom race car noises as they run past them. When people see a Pork Runner plod past they think, “Aww. Good for them.”

The third are the Silent Runners who worship without music or conversation. In order to remind them of their non-verbal vows, they wear the distinctive “running gag”. They undertake their rituals at night on a course that runs through the serial killer district for the increased heart rate and extra cario-burn. This sect are universally celibate. They are chaste everywhere.

The final group are an extreme cult called the Marathonians. They can be recognised by the papers they have pinned to their shirts which bear identifying numbers. They additionally worship the Ancient Greek warrior Pheidippides as a phophet of Peebee. Little did Pheidippides know, as he proclaimed “Nike!” and expired following his 26 mile dash, that two thousand five hundred and ten years later a multitude of devotees would be re-enacting his heroic act dressed as a bananas.

All these denominations are united under the benign guidance of the High Priest Miles Stone.

Unlike many religions, the faith of Peebee enthusiastically adopts modern technological developments. These have ranged from the latest hi-tech 18 tog goose down lined running shoes with genuine shark tooth spikes, to the Fitorinox Smart Watch (features stopwatch, MP3, GPS, pulse oximeter, en suite bathroom, cork screw and hoof pick). There is even a research wing of the church which are engaged in developing new running technology. Sadly, the team working on developing go-faster stripes that actually make you go faster have been going nowhere fast for years. (Yet somehow they continue receiving funding from Adidas.) There is also a, much more successful, software and social media development team. As a result of their work the church sends out constant support and encouragement to the faithful through a range of handy smart phone applications. They fully acknowledge that their followers sometimes need more than just the spiritual rewards. Even if it is just a virtual medal. In reality, the main benefit to health and fitness of using these gadgets is the added weight you will carry.

Worshippers of Peebee believe that if they can only master some kind of formula or routine for the perfectly healthy life, not only immortality but eternal youth are theoretically possible. It is just that no one has got it quite right yet. When an acolyte of Peebee dies the undertaker will ritually anoint the remains with Body Glide to ensure the funeral runs smoothly.

Whilst incredibly popular, and continuing to grow, the faith of Peebee is unlikely to ever achieve total domination. The priesthood often bemoan that if only running felt great whilst you’re doing it and terrible afterwards. Then it might be as popular as drinking and sex.

*There is a dark rumour that these are actually formulated from sugar, wallpaper paste and cold horse semen.

Thank you to Richard Jackson for suggesting Peebee, and to Rebecca Stothard, Dave Redford and David J E Fuhr for additional punnage.

Idol Scribblings Volume Two
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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.

Bin Dei – God of Temporal Confusion

December 29, 2019October 15, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Bin Dei is the God of those befuddled days between whichever great midwinter festival you celebrate and New Year’s Eve. The time of the chronic background hangover, when you are full to bursting with chocolate and fine fromage and haven’t got a clue what day it is. He is the deity who renders the words “weekday” and “weekend” meaningless. He is said to have originated in ancient Rome sometime between Dies Natalis Solis Invicti and Kalends.

Although there are regional variations, for many the great annual festival of Bin Dei or “Crimbo Limbo” commences on December the 27^th. During this period followers will consume only turkey curry, satsumas and cheese. Normal routines and rules of self-restraint are suspended, and a great deal of alcohol is often consumed. Throughout the period they will also harbour a nagging background anxiety about whether this was one of the days when they were meant to be at work. His festival ends at dawn on January 2^nd with a shrill alarm and a horrible reality shock.

Bin Dei is glad to take your unwanted items and receive them as precious offerings. Offerings are usually collected weekly by a team of Collections Priests. However, only the correct kinds of offerings will be accepted on each collection day, and even then they must be presented at the kerbside in the correctly coloured “Offering Bin”. Confusingly, the colours of the offering bins and what kind of offerings should be placed within them vary wildly by area. For example, your black lidded bin full of tin cans and glass will be gladly accepted in Rotherham, but would be rejected out of hand just a few miles away in Barnsley! Regardless of which part of the world you live in. The lid of the offering bin must close fully.

The sacred text or “Offering Collection Schedule” of Bin Dei is delivered to every household annually. However, by some malevolent magic, it always somehow vanishes before it becomes current. Even if you bloody well nailed it to the kitchen noticeboard. Fortunately, a Lay Brother of Bin Dei resides on almost every residential street in the country. They alone know on which day the offerings should be left out, which kinds of offerings should be made, and in which colour bin. Their principal sacred duty is to put their offering out early, so that everyone else can copy them.

The current High Priestess of Bin Dei is Miss Collette Shun. Her principal role is to handle complaints about the services that the priesthood deliver. Her standard response is tell callers to leave their offering out for an additional collection (which never happens) and she files their call in the paper recycling centre. In her eyes, sinners who miss leaving out their offering to Bin Dei at the correct time must do their proper penance by making a pilgrimage to “The Tip”. This is not, usually a pleasant experience and those who undergo this ritual cleansing often feel pretty down in the dumps about it. Followers of Bin Dei believe that they must complete this arduous journey or else in the afterlife they will be eternally suffocated under old wrapping paper, cardboard boxes, wine bottles, old turkey carcasses and left over sprouts. (Although, there is a rumour that one can wriggle out of this by making a small thoughtful gift (or even just a thank you card) to your noble team of Collections Priests in the run up to Bin Dei’s festival each year. This small gesture will mean you are a lot less likely to return home later in the year to find that your entire offering has been rejected due to a single stray piece of plastic in the glass bin – which has obviously been put there by a passer-by as you don’t use K-Y Jelly).

The temple of Bin Dei has huge imposing gates, through which a fleet of hundreds of offering collections trucks roll daily. Inside, the main buildings are carpeted with a thick layer of brown pine needles, walnut shells and satsuma peel. There a numerous temple cats who run around the place chasing discarded Ferrero Rocher wrappers. All the clocks within the temple have either stopped, or have no hands. All the calendars in the temple are for next year, this year’s calendars having been accidentally prematurely discarded.

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.

Glor-or-or-oror-oor-or-or-or-or-oror-ooor-or-or-or-oror-oria – Goddess of Over Achieving Carol Singers

December 24, 2019October 15, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Glor-or-or-oror-oor-or-or-or-or-oror-ooor-or-or-or-oror-oria (let’s just call her Gloria for short) is the Goddess of all those people out there who love the festive time of year and love to sing. Especially those who actually poses some genuine singing ability, and therefore stick out like a wise man on Jeremy Kyle’s sofa amongst their fellow carollers. Though, I should make it clear, ability is not necessarily required to follow Gloria. Enthusiasm, however, is essential.

Gloria herself presents an imposing figure with huge….erm…lungs. She has a magnificent operatic soprano voice which, like bagpipes, is best enjoyed at a safe distance. Her impressive vocal projection is capable of warning any three ships that may happen to come sailing in away from any treacherous rocks hidden by fog. She often gives the impression that this avatar is merely a seasonal gig, and that she might spend the rest of the year ferrying the souls of warriors from the battlefield to the afterlife*. Her followers believe that whenever they gather to sign yuletide songs, if they raise the roof high enough, Gloria herself will descend from the heavens and join in.

Followers of Gloria strictly confine their acts of worship to the month of December. Singing the songs of Gloria outside of this time is only permitted by the inner circle of the priesthood within specially defined rehearsal spaces. In fact the only way one can spot a follower of Gloria during the rest of the year is if they attend a birthday party. They will be the one adding a harmony on the last line of “Happy Birthday to You”.

The true and proper words of the songs of Gloria are set down in her sacred text, The Uxbridge Book of Carols. Deviations from these verified scriptures is anathema to them. There is said to be a forbidden “Dark Text”, which contains heretical versions of Gloria’s hymns. These are rumoured include references to the transportation preferences of eastern monarchs, shepherds’ laundry night and Batman’s body odour affliction. This iconoclastic tome is known as “100 Carols for Pariahs”. If you are caught with a copy about your person, you will be ritually ostracised. This is done by the priesthood singing the “Being Sent to Coventry Carol” , before turning their parker clad backs on you.

Gloria’s temples are quaint Dickensian cottages surrounded by holly bushes and intertwined with ivy. The warm flicker of firelight glows through the mullioned windows, and the roof if always coated with a light dusting of snow.

Unusually, worship does not take place inside the temple building itself. The congregation will gather outside the temple door at twilight in their boots and bobble hats to sing the goddess’s praises with great gusto. Sometimes they will stand in a crowd around the porch, at others they will arrange themselves in single file (this is known as the sweet carol line). The flock carry the community spirit with them (in a hip flask). Only once a rousing rendition has been recited will the priesthood throw open the temple doors and invite the worshippers inside for a shared celebrative feast of wassail, mulled wine, mince pies, figgy pudding and special psychoactive substance laced Ding-Dongs which will get you merrily high. The doors are only opened once the priesthood judge that the congregation’s performance has been satisfactory. Sometimes wayward congregations have been known to get cold and impatient and begin belting out “We Wish You a Merry Christmas,” with its passive aggressive demands that the clergy bring the refreshments out to them instead (and they won’t go until they get some).

Noviciates for the priesthood of Gloria are chosen and initiated into the noviciate at a very tender age. The senior priests attend every possible school nativity play and carol service, searching for any child who, when it comes to singing, gives zero fucks and belts out Silent Night like a Prima Donna. Despite the fact that the rest of their classmates are murmuring into their hymn books as they quietly die of embarrassment. (Incidentally, followers of Gloria have a special name for those heathen dissidents who whisper or merely lip-sync along to carols. The call them the “NÖel Cowards” dear boy.)

Christian based religions may be more familiar with this goddess as the pre-congregation Saint Fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la.

Whatever form you venerate her in, ultimately Gloria’s is a religion of joyful celebration, overcoming your inhibitions, joining in and bringing diverse people together in four part harmony. In that spirit, Gods rest you merry one and all!

With lots of love from Idol Scribblings. Xxx

*Well I suppose everyone needs a hobby.

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.

Pyromess and Frisbee – Gods of Property Boundaries

December 15, 2019October 15, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Some say that these two may be amongst the first of the gods. For as soon as there was more than one deity, then there must be a boundary between their dominions. It is said that where they drew the line, a mighty supernatural hedge of 100 meter high leylandeii sprang up. It remains there to this day throwing shade between the divine neighbours. They are also the gods of horizons and long running Australian soap operas. Maybe they could be the best of friends or even lovers in other circumstances, but they just can’t find any common ground.

Frisbee is a Goddess of Nature, and likes nothing better than to dry her washing and cavort au natural amongst the flowers in her garden. Just beyond the border Pyromess likes to use his garden to raise his sacred fire and choking smokes. His garden also houses a pet lion, kept purely to discourage Frisbee from popping over to get her celestial sphere back. In revenge, Frisbee purchased a large cock to wake him up in the mornings. In retaliation Pyromess kept racing pigeons (but gave it up when the pigeons kept winning). Then Frisbee started to refuse to trim her garden and developed a wildly overgrown bush which straggles onto Pyromess’s side. The climax of hostilities came when Frisbee stormed around complain about her underwear going missing from the washing line. She was so terrible in her ire that Pyromess almost pooped her pants. To be fair, Frisbee usually tries to discus things reasonably, Pyromess always tries to inflame the situation. They are both musical deities. Pyromess plays drums and Frisbee is a virtuoso on the bagpipes.

Temples of Pyromess and Frisbee are always built abutting one another, yet separated by a thin noise-transmitting wall. Inter-sects relationships between the clergies are permitted, but must be conducted through a single small hole in the party wall, made for this purpose. This ancient tradition is deeply revered, and before embarking on a conversation, one must first kiss the hole out of respect. As the divide between the temples is a Party Wall, it is furnished with a full PA, lights, a cocktail bar and a smoke machine. Sacred sounds are very important to both religions, and they often listen to each other’s music all night.

The Temple of Pyromess houses large, continually burning holy pyres on which green brambles, polystyrene packing and damp leaves are constantly piled. The Temple of Pyromess is always situated upwind of the Temple of Frisbee. Every Saturday morning his priests rehearse their chainsaw ensemble at 7am, which is worth seeing (if not hearing). In the Temple of Frisbee, the clergy all practice naturism at all times. Some Priests of Pyromess are angered by this, some are on the fence.

When visiting either temple it is customary to make an offering of a cup of sugar. If you attend their annual dual festival of “Hedgecutting”, you should bring an offering of Nescafe Gold Blend. This beverage is traditionally scarified to the deities on this day every year in the hopes that one day they will stop arguing and get it on. For the last two hours of the festival, the temples are subject to a ritual power cut with the same aim in mind. Perhaps it is best that they never procreate. They would probably spawn a hundred gobby offspring, with foul mouths and loud toys.

The ethos of both the faiths is to “Love thy enemy as much as thy neighbour, for they art probably the same person.”

Thank you to Dave Redford for suggesting Pyromess and Frisbee.

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.

Beelzebuble – God of Commercial Christmas Music

December 8, 2019October 18, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Beelzebublé is the ancient deity of festive music. He was born in a Holly Wood, the son of the Dryad of a Norway Spruce tree and Dansette the God of Pop Music. He is made entirely from saccharine and sleigh bells and subsists on mistletoe and wine. He is loathed by all workers in the retail sector, but his mellifluous tones, twinkling eyes and benign countenance make it a high probability that he is your grandmother’s favourite deity.

Beelzebublé’s divine province is all commercial seasonal music. Throughout the millennia he has represented the sounds of many different festivals. These have all tended to occur in that drear but somehow magical mid-winter month. In the last millennia (and especially since the twentieth century) he has focused mainly on Christmas related music. Whilst his music is usually deeply traditional sometimes, to try and freshen things up a bit, Beelzebublé will team up with another artiste. The guest artist will loudly recite rhythmic poetry during the bridge of the song inciting listeners to “Slap Yo Glitz Up”. This distinct genre is known as “Wrap Music”.

The Temple of Beelzebublé is located on the Slade Roade in Birmingham, right next to Spaghetti Junction. Its grounds preserve a remnant of magical ancient forest known as “Roy Wood”. Constructed from gingerbread, the temple has a single high tower which soars above its roof. Each year on December the first, the high priest Noddy Holder will ascend the tower and yell out “IT’S CHRIIIIIIIIIIISTMAAAAAAAS!” to call the faithful to prayer. It’s not all fun and games for the high priest though. Above his ceremonial snow covered throne hangs a long and wickedly sharp blade, suspended from a single slender thread of lametta. This is the Sword of Whamocles. If so much as the first bar of the song “Last Christmas” is heard in the temple, the tenuous tinsel thread will snap.

In the centre of the Temple of Beelzebublé hangs their most holy relic, The Golden Fleece Navidad. This sparkling pelt is said to be from a sheep that lived in a random stable in the middle east somewhen between 6BCE and 4BCE. This golden sheep was said to have broken out and wondered the streets of the town one day singing out season’s bleatings to everyone it met. Astounded by this miraculous musical ovine, the townspeople promptly sacrificed it. Because that’s just what you did in those days. Its fleece was later “liberated” and installed in the temple by the mythical hero Jason of Erinsboros. It is displayed draped over a Nordmans Fir and guarded by a Tinsle Snake with huge bauble eyes. This sparkly serpentine guardian cannot sleep. It is too excited because Santa is coming.

In the tiny Cornish village of Porth Noel, Beelzebublé has a workshop filled with song writing elves. During the Christmas hit heydays of the 70’s and 80’s they used to be esteemed, well cared for and cherished. As a result they would regularly turn out a genuinely catchy, uplifting and original festive hit song.

In the last decade the relentless drive of run-away capitalism has meant that these elves have seen their working hour’s increase, their sherry benefits evaporate and their pensions quietly siphoned away. It’s plum duff being an elf these days. These dreadful conditions have extinguished the last sparks of creativity from their souls. They are reduced to laboriously churning out album after album filled entirely with arrangements of festive covers which aren’t quite as good as the original. These albums always include one predictable paint-by-numbers attempt at a new seasonal opus. Thrown in to make it look like they tried. Budgets are squeezed so tight that they have pawned most of their instruments and now they have to rely on samples from the 1970s. Please, please spare a thought for these pitiful wretches this season when you are buying your Nan a copy of “The Christmas Present”.

There are three sub-groups of elves who receive special treatment. The first is comprised of mutant elves who have super-elf gifts and so are chosen for the elite team. Their task is to write or arrange the song that will be released by that year’s X Factor winner. Due to their elevated status, these X-Elfs are deeply unpopular with the rest of the elven populous, who have scathingly nicknamed them “The Sycos”. The second sub division are the elves who edit down songs into a convenient soundbite for the John Lewis advert. They are known as the Jingle Elves. The third are the Union elves who are being punished for the incident when they raged against the mainstream music machine. They have been yoked with the Sisyphean task of finding an inoffensive two syllable rhyme for “Maggot” which doesn’t sound stupid. These poor souls are in constant Poguetory.

Beelzebublé lives in constant fear that his reign as number one may be ended at any moment by a heart-warming community choir or by some bloke singing about sausage rolls for charity. However, the years when Beelzebublé does not do well are few, and in those years we are usually living in a mad world.

Beelzebublé had nothing whatsoever to do with “All I Want For Christmas is You”. He may be a little bit evil, but he’s not a total monster.

Thank you to Sarah Shepton for the idea for the Sword of Whamocles.

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.

Hernia – Goddess of Over Exertion

December 1, 2019October 15, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Wherever life cruelly tries to make one bear more than one is capable of, Hernia is there. Often she will pop up in your life when you least expect it. However, it is said that if one wants to actively find Hernia, one should look under a lot of heavy rocks. In this way one can “find the Rapture”… …sorry that should be “find the Rupture”.

Her cult is a highly evangelical one. Her followers mesh together into a well run operation to plug Hernia almost constantly. They are somewhat monotheistic, believing that other deities aren’t a patch on Hernia. Sadly, her followers are sometimes known for being a bit xenophobic. In fact adverse reactions to foreign bodies are common.

The upper echelons of Hernia’s priesthood can be recognised by the way they always move with restraint. This is why every light bulb in her temple hangs blown but un-replaced. A common saying amongst them is “It is better to curse the darkness than curse in pain.” They are a very law abiding religion. It’s members live in fear of having to do a stretch.

The temple is generally in a worrying structural condition overall. There are many unsightly bulges in the walls. A visitor can receive hospitality there though, as round the back there is a hostelry known as the Lum Bar.

If you attend a rite at the Temple of Hernia, be warned. You won’t be receiving a sacrament or making a libation. Instead, at the key point of the ritual, the congregation queue up with their trousers round their ankles to stand before the High Priest, turn their head and cough. The current High Priest of Hernia is Father Buster Gutt. Being the High Priest of Hernia is considered to be a high risk job, as so many previous incumbents have been strangulated. Father Gutt is certainly often obstructed by the political schisms amongst his church.

If you ever turn up to find the temple closed, this is because the priesthood are celebrating the festival of Hiatus Hernia. During this time they take a break from all other priestly duties to play on their slip-and-slide and quaff flagons of Gaviscon.

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.

Haemorrhoid – God of Sitting Down Very Gently

November 24, 2019October 15, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Haemorrhoid is a god of the nether world and of things you can’t kiss better. No one is sure what he stands for, but he stands none the less. He was cursed to never, ever sit down comfortably again by one of the winter goddesses for daring to sit on her cold stone throne. Haemorrhoid is said to have two sacred animals. One is a mythical giant lizard known as the Megasaurarse, and an obstreperous donkey who is a real pain in the ass.

If you attend a ritual, you will find that the standing areas of the temple fill up first. Arrive too late and you’ll find it’s sitting room only. When the priest in the Temple of Haemorrhoid says “Let us be seated” to the congregation, what follows is a drawn out ballet of gentle pliés to the accompaniment of a chorus of muted groans. This is despite the fact that every pew is generously cushioned. At the end of every service the congregation leap to their feet and give the priest a standing ovation. Up on the high altar a small bunch of sacred grapes rests on an inflatable donut-shaped cushion. In fact the decor of the entire temple has a “grapey” theme.

Haemorrhoid is worshipped by almost everyone at some point in their lives, with the exception of perfect arseholes. Giles is the most popular given name for Haemorrhoidian boys, and they often grow up to become farmers. Emma is the most popular girls name. Infants are inducted into the faith by being baptised in the “Chalfont”.

Astrology is very important to Haemorrhoidians. Their predictions and calendar are based around the movements of Uranus. It is considered to be the most significant of the planets to observe because Uranus is so large and gassy. They watch the skies especially carefully for the significant and rare phenomena when a mysterious red streak appears in the sky near the planet. This event is known as Uranus Bleeding. Their astrologers and seers have predicted that the world will eventually end with a giant assteroid impact.

You are advised never to provoke a priest or priestess of Haemorrhoid. The constant standing, itching and general discomfort turns them into very short tempered bad asses. They have been known to fly into states of red misted fury known as a “Haemorrhoid Rage”.

You may be surprised to learn that the priestesses of Haemorrhoid run a chain of “Gentleman’s Clubs”, the proceeds of which support their church. Here, for a generous tip, they will perform an unusual form of erotic entertainment known as the Pro Laps Dance.

Worshippers of Haemorrhoid gather annually at the summer solstice. On this occasion a specially brewed beer called a Pilesner is consumed. At the climax of the ceremony the priests stand together to watch the sun rise and greet the red eye of the dawn with the cry “Arise Oh Anusol!”

Thank you to Janet Hudson for suggesting Haemorrhoid.

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.

Purdah – Goddess of Not Being Able To Speak Your Mind

November 17, 2019October 15, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Purdah* is the Goddess of not being able to speak your mind. She is the daughter of Deliquesce the Goddess of Dissolution and Poll the God of Democracy. This Goddesses’ demure and modest appearance hides a razor sharp intelligence and some strong opinions, but we will never get to know what they are. She is outwardly apolitical in all things. Ideologically she stands as a paragon of fairness. Her sect is particularly popular amongst public servants and people who have a professional image to maintain. When two worshippers of Purdah meet, they will greet one another with a unique gesture where they each extend their tongue and bite down upon it.

The great festival of Purdah does not occur with any predictable regularity. However, it must not happen less than once in five years. It can take place at any time of year, but most often occurs in May. Unusually, this year the festival of Purdah is taking place in mid-December. This is, however, proving popular with worshippers, as most people were planning to choose their turkey around then anyway (and it’s given parents everywhere a “get out of Nativity Play free” card).

When a festival of Purdah is announced, all followers will receive a stern letter from the central church to remind them of the correct conduct during this holy time. From the time of the announcement until the end of the day of the festival itself, followers of Purdah maintain a strict vow of silence. That is, they are not allowed to talk. They still make a noise though. If you stand next to one and listen carefully, you will hear a low grinding noise from their dentures. (Their original teeth were worn down long ago.). During the run up to the festival they are also forbidden from doing the ironing. They have to avoid the press at all costs.

On the day of the festival of Purdah itself, all the children are given a day off from studying and temporary temples are set up in their schools. Outside each temple stands a phalanx of cute dogs waiting patiently to be photographed for the local newspaper. Spread on the floor in the centre of each temple there is a bulging and unsightly rug which appears to have a lot of things swept under it. My local temple’s rug has a strange lump in it shaped just like the Russia Report.

Each worshipper will visit their local temple at some point during the festival. On arrival, they will check in with the Servants of Purdah (priesthood) who sit behind a desk drinking tea and eating Hobnobs to keep their strength up throughout the long day. You are only allowed one visit to the temple per festival. The Servants ensure no one tries to visit twice, and generally maintain order and decorum. They do so with great gentility. They are very civil servants. Although they do not have “official robes” as such, they dress in bland and neutral clothing. Slogans on clothing and the colours red, blue, yellow and green are forbidden. The leader of the Servants of Purdah is always a re-incarnation of the same soul, this is why they are known as the “Returning Officer”.

The Servants of Purdah will give each registered worshipper a slip of paper when they arrive and tick them off the list. The votary will then retire to the privacy of a curtained booth where they will meditate and then write their prayer on the slip of paper. On leaving the booth, the prayer slips are ceremonially posted into an armoured black metal box. Once the temples close at the end of the long festival day, the priesthood will all go outside and shout, scream and generally swear their tits off with relief that it is all over.

One of the arch enemies of Purdah is the demon Kalamos Kleptomania, also known as the “Pilferer of Pencils”. Don’t worry. Kalamos can be easily defeated with a piece of string (or a bobble chain if you’re from a posh constituency).

*Purdah would like me to make one thing clear from the outset. She does not actually like her name. It was stolen and didn’t mean something very nice in the first place. She toyed for a while with being known as “Pre-Election Period”, but this didn’t work out as people kept mistaking her for a goddess of menstruation. Purdah would really prefer a melifluous moniker , so do let her know if you have a good idea for a new name.

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.

Verruca – Goddess of Disinfectant Foot Baths

November 10, 2019October 15, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Verruca is a deity from ancient history. She popped up shortly after the invention of the Roman Bath and has hung around for 3000 years. Once the sacred pools of Verruca were a common sight in public baths across the world. Nowadays her popularity is diminished and they are a rarer sight. Modern practices have frozen Verruca out. Worship of Verruca is now considered to be somewhat old fashioned and corny, but she still has the ability to make a splash.

Verruca has three avatars. First is the stunningly beautiful Mermaid (she just washed up like this), the bountiful Mermother and the wise and ancient Mercrone. Her consort is Speedo – God of Illegal Budgie Trafficking. Her arch enemy is the demon “Mankini”.

The Priests and Priestesses of Verruca also known as “The Life Guards” can be recognised by their skin tight Lycra vestments, the neat rubber caps that completely conceal their hair, the whistles hung around their necks and their pink eyes. All devotees, not just the priesthood, wear the sacred rubber sock of protection. The daily routine of a devout Verruca worshipper begins with a race at dawn to place their towel on the best sun lounger.

Verruca has a dark and strange mythology. Ancient historians recorded grizzly rites where human body parts were sacrificed to her. She was said to particularly favour offerings of athlete’s feet. Verrucan parents used to frighten their children into obedience with tales of a tribe of uncivilised and unhygienic barbarians known as “The Wild Swimmers”, who eschewed Verruca’s sacred pools and leaped fearlessly into any stretch of open water.

Modern worship is much less macabre and more enjoyable. One can float in her sacred waters and use your noodle to meditate on spiritual matters. In the back ground, the temple musicians (known as “The Arm Band”) will serenade you. It is customary to take a pound coin to Verruca’s temple as an offering when you visit. Please place your contribution in the slot on your locker.

Following the way of Verruca is said to be good for the sole. It is also said to be good for the body as her temple is a place of heeling. The 9 commandments that acolytes strive to adhere to are;

1. Thou shalt not run.
2. Thou shalt not push.
3. Thou shalt not perform gymnastics or acrobatics.
4. Thou shalt not shout.
5. Thou shalt not duck.
6. Thou shalt not engage in heavy petting.
7. Thou shalt not bomb.
8. Thou shalt not swim in the diving area.
9. Thou shalt not smoke.

Now that her popularity has waned, her priesthood run a breakdown service on the side called “Toe Trucks” to raise money to repair the temple’s fallen arches.

Thank you to Sarah Shepton (@afishoutofwtf) for suggesting Verruca.

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.

Houmous – God of Dips

November 3, 2019October 15, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Houmous is the deity to get your party started on a Saturday night. As you enter his temple you will see niches to either side of the door holding bowls of Tzatziki. Use some of this to make the sign of the Benevolent Breadstick on your forehead as you cross the threshold.

In the Temple grounds a plethora of sesame, chick peas and garlic are lovingly grown. Just beyond the grounds is the ranch where the sacred herd of yoghurt cows roam and graze a lush paddock. The temple itself is made of cut crystal, and is divided into sections to house different flavours of the faith.

Inside the beat is always dropping and the lights are always low. Worshippers may be reclining on chaise, performing ritual dances or be engaged in deep theological discussion about the nacho versus the crisp. All the while the neophytes circle the room bearing laden platters of nibbles and bowls of delicious sauces.

Whispers speak of secret orgiastic rites, held in the inner sanctum, where the participants paint their naked bodies with taramasalata and engage in wild salsa dancing.

The 5 Commandments of Houmous are;
1. Thou shall not double dip.
2. Thou shall not dip meat products when there are vegetarians at the party.
3. Thou shall not buy long life dips in jars unless thou art already really drunk or thy fridge be broken.
4. Thou shall wash thy hands.
5. Thou shall use a cover during fly season.

Worshippers of Houmous believe that if they live a life of virtue according to these commandments, when they die they will go to an eternal paradise known as “The Thousand Islands”. If you transgress the commandments you will be damned to eternity in a dismal underworld where the only things to eat are low fat plain yoghurt and celery. The high priest of Houmous is called the Baba Ghanoush.

Houmous is known amongst his pantheon as a particularly foul mouthed deity. He is always coming out with loads of crudités. He is accompanied everywhere by “The Cheesehog”, a terrifying minor deity of children’s birthday parties.

Thank you to Ken Page for suggesting Houmous.

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.