Twometer – Goddess of Social Distancing

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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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.

Sloth – God of Staying In

March 29, 2020October 15, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Idleatry is the new Idolatry!

Sloth is a deadly sin to some, but is a pandemic stemming virtue to the rest of us. Under normal circumstances, Sloth is the deity of folks who have just had a really long week at work. He is casually worshipped by most of us at some point in our lives. Usually on Fridays nights, with a take away and a box set. However, at certain times in history, Sloth has taken on a much more vital role.

In those unusual times the most virtuous course of action really is inaction. To sit on your cartouche and wait for all this to blow over. The path to righteousness is the one you do not walk down.

Sloth themself will never manifest in person. They have never left “Stayincyde”, their celestial crib. In fact, they rarely leave the celestial sofa. In modern times Sloth occasionally communicates with their followers via baffling online videos. The latest involves sitting in the bath and performing a song where any semblance of a consistent key signature is imaginary. Sloth was particularly important to the famous ancient tribes, the Amazons, the Ocado and the Justeats. These tribes would bring many offerings, attempting to keep Sloth happy by supplying everything they really needed. Mainly gin and loo roll.

A devout follower of Sloth will take a vow of self-isolation. After this point they will only leave their abode for essential supplies, essential work and care duties, or for a brief daily exercise within 2 km (considered optional). When they do leave their house, they must stay at least two metres from others at all times. On their return they immediately conduct a ritual cleansing with sanctified sanitising soap and warm water. Worshippers will wear the ceremonial fluffy bath robe at all times whilst under their vow. In their hand they will clasp that most holy and potent of religious artefacts, The Telly Remote. A worshipper of Sloth will flick through all 999 television channels like a Catholic prays their way around the rosary.

On taking their vow of isolation, many followers will simultaneously take a vow of creative productivity. However, as experienced worshippers will tell you, commitment to this secondary pledge rarely survives the “Onanistic Phase”. Nearly all neophytes experience this. With no one to play with, one starts to play with oneself. One sub-sect joyfully embrace and celebrate this period of self love. They are known as the Happy Fappies.

The most devoted worshippers of Sloth have a somewhat haphazard approach to personal grooming. All routine body hair depilation is abandoned. Head hair may go unbrushed for several days, but then be plaited eight different ways in an afternoon. Home haircuts are usually only ever attempted once.

Sloth has a secret penchant for Ska music. This may be because they have the head of a Two Toned Sloth. This is why worshipping Sloth for too long can lead to Madness. His followers have adapted several popular Ska hits as hymns. Including, Ghost Town, Our House and (Talking to) The Mirror in My Bathroom.

Some evidence has been uncovered that the famous William Mompesson, vicar of the self isolating plague village of Eyam, got in a bit of bother with his bishops. Although it is not clear whether this was about the secret altar to Sloth hidden in his cellar, or over that scandalous business with Mrs Home.

Sloth’s nemesis is another bestial deity called the Slow Boris. A primate headed god, with a distinctive dry cough, that is incapable of responding in a timely manner in a crisis.

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

Dot Matris – Mother of Printers

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amber – Goddess of Flood Warnings

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Beeros – God of Lowered Standards

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gloop – Goddess of Questionable Beauty Products

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Æthel Onnit – God of Embarrassing Injuries

January 12, 2020October 15, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Æthel Onnit’s domain is all injuries that rob you of your dignity, that you obtained through idiocy and that you have to fabricate a less humiliating story for. Though shown here as his Ancient Britannic avatar, Æthel Onnit is almost universal in pantheons around the globe. This leads us to deduce two things. Firstly that this god must have extremely early roots, and secondly that people are pillocks the world over. He is thought to have originated around the time that humanity became sufficiently technologically developed to experience boredom for the first time, as this was when folks first started to do inadvisable things for shits and giggles.

Shortly after the invention of beer in Mesopotamia around 7400 years ago, Æthel was joined by Pafo the Goddess of Drunken Injuries. She would have become his consort, but sadly, ever since their their respective Stag and Hen nights, she’s had her pelvis in traction, he’s got a burn on his Jonathan Thomas, and they have unable to consummate the union.

Whilst popular amongst the terminally adventurous, the inexperienced and the unskilled, Æthel Onnit holds a special place in the hearts of the sexually intrepid. Thankfully most medics qualified in trauma care are also fully licenced members of Æthel Onnit’s priesthood. They are specially trained to tactfully accept your story about falling out of bed onto a Russian Doll. They will not ask if you sleep on a trapeze or how you managed to fall onto a dollop of Jiggy-Glide at the same time as the doll*. They will also not tell a soul. They are doubly bound to secrecy as they have taken both the Hippocratic and the Hippocretin oaths. These paragons of discretion are led by the High Priest, Red Astaire.

Despite the extremely adult aspects of Æthel Onnit, there is also a more innocent place in this faith for the younger members of the congregation. Especially the kids with their heads stuck through railings, dried peas up their noses, and their tongues frozen to lamp posts. Æthel Onnitans have an old saying, “When the little children suffer, they shall come unto me”.

Most of us will only offer prayers to Æthel Onnit a handful of times during our lives. Usually following occasional lapses in our (normally good) judgement. However, as there always, there exist a few dedicated fanatics, who sacrifice the structural integrity of their skeletal system again and again in his name. One of the earliest of these was the mythical hero Malum Kenivilus. He is idolised for trying to jump 20 plaustrum with a chariot to impress the plebeians, but telling the healers afterwards that he slipped whilst trying to fix the temple weathervane.

Æthel Onnit does not have any dedicated temples as such. His worshippers usually visit Accident and Emergency Departments and Minor Injuries Units during times of crisis to offer up their prayers and bargains for relief from their self-inflicted suffering. Please spare a thought for the wonderful, but overstretched, priesthood and try to worship outside the peak times of “Frantic Fetishist Fornication Friday”, “Dilletante DIY Saturday” and “I think I’m Tony Hawk Sunday”.

Scholars of the cult of Æthel Onnit dedicate their lives to researching the best falsehoods and fictions for a multitude of mischiefs. Their aim is to eventually create a comprehensive glossary of fabrications that the faithful can use when in need. After many thousand years of study, they have concluded that a slightly embarrassing story is the best way to convincingly distract attention from an excruciatingly embarrassing truth. “I threw my back out whilst turning around to get the toilet roll off the back of the cistern” is a good one. You can have that.

Despite the focus on the foolish, Æthel Onnit also watches over those whose treatment for illness or injury must involve the suspension of normal standards of modesty. Basically, anything bum related. It is thought to be for this reason that Æthel’s sacred animal is the baboon.

*Thankfully medics were able to successfully remove the Russian Doll.
Eight times.
And each time was a little easier than the last.

Thank you to Rebecca Stothard for suggesting Æthel Onnit, following what we shall henceforth only refer to as “the hot water bottle incident”. I would like to thank Rebecca for still speaking to me.

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.

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.

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.