Yabast – God of Giving Your Cat a Pill

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

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

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

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

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

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

Idol Scribblings Volume Two
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Even more deities for every eventuality with a foreword by Gary Brannan of the Technical Difficulties ( TechDiff.co.uk )

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Idol Scribblings Volume One

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

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https://idolscribblings.blog/the-book/

NEW!
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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.

Nacreosa – Goddess of Pearl Clutchers

April 11, 2021April 11, 2021 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Nacreosa is the goddess for people who turn the tiny motes of irritation in their lives into a load of shiny balls. Her worshippers tend to be people who have so few problems in their lives that they have to go looking for things to be offended by, often over their neighbour’s fence with a pair of binoculars. She appears in several mythologies around the world, most notably in the Ancient Norse pantheon as the goddess Prigg.

Nacreosa does not have a corporeal body in the normal sense, with buttocks, thighs or breasts. Her anatomy is composed entirely of Ha-Haas, Ta-Taas, Ya-Yaas and Fou-Foos. She refuses to have anything to do with any of the other Gods and Goddesses, because she has seen the kind of things they get up to. Her one association is with her consort Anprogynist, the God of Misogynistic Prudery, whoes followers believe it’s fine to do or say anything, no matter how offensive, as long as, “There are no ladies present.”

When someone joins the church of Nacreosa they must first train for years to develop a perpetually astonished and horrified countenance. This involves rigorous drills such as eyebrow weightlifting and arduous lip puckering exercises (used to develop the perfect “cats bum mouth”). During their training, the neophyte will have already been wearing their knickers with at least two twists in them. Once they are ready to be inducted, they can finally don the knitted twin set and ceremonial pearls of a full acolyte*. At the initiation ceremony the leading priestess will present them with a penny, which they must grip tightly between their knees for the rest of their natural existence (which explains their distinctive gait). Thus begins a lifetime of service attempting to uphold standards, whether folks want them held up or not. The priesthood of Nacreosa also have a mission to police peoples’ reactions to newsworthy events. Demanding that the appropriate level of mandatory mournfulness or merriment is displayed by everyone, with cattle prods if necessary.

The Temple of Nacreosa is an imposing structure of shining, pearlescent marble known as “The Mary Whitehouse” which sits atop the tallest peak of the Moral Highlands. The temple precinct is encircled by a white picket fence, because there is no better defence against moral turpitude than a white picket fence. Rising from the roof is an array of flagpoles, from which a variety of colour coded pennants are flown to signal the virtue of the occupants. Inside, the main hall you will find a large altar which is elegantly draped with a floor length cloth to decently cover the legs it stands on. Here you will also find the temple’s sacred flame, which is kept well fuelled by burning erotic publications, sex toys and liberal media. All the temple windows are dressed with gossamer like curtains. A priest or priestess stands on duty by each window, ritualistically twitching the net curtains every thirty seconds. The temple also houses a scriptorium where thousands of strongly worded letters of complaint are penned daily. As one leaves the temple, you will see a large sign above the exit which reads, “PARENTAL ADVISORY—Explicit Content Beyond This Point”.

The weekly Rite of Nacreosa begins when the Sunday newspapers drop through the temple letterbox. At this cue the worshippers will read the headlines, drop their toast and Marmite and splurt out their mouthful of tea. Then they form a circle, clutch their ceremonial pearls and loudly denounce whichever alternative lifestyle, colour-blind casting decision or leftie popular trend has upset them this time. When they cannot find a genuine justification for their own sense of outrage, they will transfer the perceived offence to any group of people not able to speak for themselves, such as “the children”, a practice known as “Cogita Filios”. The ritual ends with the congregation chorusing the mantra, “Disgusted! Tunbridge Wells”.

The beautiful irony is, that although followers of Nacreosa like to be perceived as pure and virtuous, a true innocent would never take offence like they do. After all, one has to have a dirty enough mind to get a joke before one can be offended by it.

*If they ever found out what “pearl necklace” is actually a euphemism for, they would probably faint.

Thanks to Janet Hudson for suggesting Nacreosa.

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.

Oxymoron – God of Military Intelligence

March 28, 2021 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Oxymoron is the god of military intelligence, and watches over all spies, agents and analysts who play the espionage game. He is the perfect deity for anyone who was born yesterday, but thinks they were Bourne yesterday. The ethos of the faith is that, if we all know each other’s secrets but pretend that we don’t, an uneasy peace on earth can be maintained. Despite all their efforts, the devotees of Oxymoron have experienced many embarrassing failures in their missions over the years. Such as the time the Australian sect were resoundingly outwitted by a herd of emus, or all the time that the American branch watched too many Wile E Coyote cartoons and tried to assassinate Fidel Castro with an ACME exploding cigar. (However, Oxymoron’s followers cannot really be blamed for the “Bush Shoe Throwing Incident”. After all, the assailant was inclognito.)

Oxymorons believe that the first time they die they will be reincarnated. Just the one time though, as you only live twice (or so they say). Upon their second death they believe that their souls will go to Double O Heaven (which is just like normal heaven, but at a scale of 1:76.2). It is said that the faith was founded by Agent Ian Flemming, a theological operative who was so stealthy that, to this day, most people think he discovered penicillin. Oxymoron’s sacred animal is the mole.

Each country has its own sect or “Agency” of Oxymoron. These separate organisations rarely officially interact and are deeply suspicious of one another. In reality, some agents of Oxymoron work for more than one country’s sect. It is very hard to discourage people from becoming double agents. Mainly because anyone opting for this route ends up getting twice the pay for half the work.

The British agency of Oxymoron is known as MI6 (they decided not to number the agencies with roman numerals after it was pointed out that MI6 would then be easily confused with a popular strawberry ice cream lolly). It is led by a high priest who holds the title of “Premium Bond”. Their temple is located somewhere near the remote upland village of Dalton Moore. The main entrance to the temple is vigilantly guarded by a heavily armed punk agent with a plethora of body modifications. Anyone trying to invade of infiltrate the temple will have to get passed Pierced Brosnan. Therefore, you will not be surprised to hear that very little is known about the inside of the temple. The one thing I can tell you, is that in the centre of the temple stands a beautiful Aspydistra, which was a gift from a visiting ambassador. It is known by the members of the faith as “The Obvious Plant”. The temple upkeep is paid for with money raised by manufacturing and selling dried pasta quills, which they call “Money Penne”.

Potential new priests or “Agents” of Oxymoron are usually recruited over a quiet glass of sherry and must then undergo years of rigorous training. The first lesson they must attend is Camouflage and Disguise 101 (anyone marked as present on the register automatically fails). Then they must decode the sacred texts of Oxymoron, memorise the contents and then eat them. Teamwork is essential, so throughout their instruction, the novices get regular nights out together at casinos and cocktail bars (these Bonding moments are so important). Once they have passed the initial basic training, each agent will receive a plain white suit. The neophyte agent will be surprised by this, as the regulation garb of an agent of Oxymoron is a plain black suit. The confused trainee often asks, “Do you expect me to wear a white suit?” The response to which to which is always, “No. We expect you to dye.” The agent then usually asks if this needs to be done today, only to be told, “No. Dye another day.” Once they have graduated to full agents, it is common for priests of Oxymoron to travel around their target country in the guise of a company of actors, dancers or musicians on tour. This tactic popular tactic is known as “thespionage”.

Even less is known about the churches of Oxymoron in other countries. However, I can tell you that the Russian branch of the church is said to be headed by Cardi B’s sister Cagey. Also, I have heard chatter that the American priests of Oxymoron have spent the last eight years focusing their attention on an allotment in North Wales. I think they are hoping to track down source of the Snowden Leeks.

With thanks to @ladysixa for bringing it to my attention that IdolScribblings.blog has been blocked on US defense servers and to Kat Collier and Alex Smith for subsequently requesting a deity of military intelligence and generally egging me on.

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

Chilly Sanders – God of the Nesh

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Idol Scribblings Volume One

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

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

NEW!
IDOL SCRIBBLINGS COMMISSIONS

What do you get the person who has everything? Turn them into a God!

I can turn your friend, relative or even you pet into a humorous Idol Scribblings cartoon. They make a perfect gift!

Click this link to contact me for more information about how to deify your loved ones like a Roman Emperor of old!

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

Jolly Saint Prick – God of Vaccination

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

NEW!
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Matricula – Goddess of Exam Results

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Idol Scribblings Volume Two
Coming out 30th November 2020

Even more deities for every eventuality with a foreword by Gary Brannan of the Technical Difficulties ( TechDiff.co.uk )
Pre order before November 14th 2020 for a special early-bird discount and to get your name included in the book as a patron.

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Wayheyup – God of the West Riding

August 1, 2020October 15, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ 1 Comment

Wayheyup is the patron deity of that other Eden, that demi paradise, which stretches from Emley to Ilkley. He is a jovial deity with strong Wayheykfield energy. His origins run deep into the mist of prehistory, to the time when the majestic Brontesaurus roamed the wild moors. Today he holds sway over the hearts and minds of approximately 2.4 million dedicated followers, who will go to Elland back for their faith. They often refer to their god as “T’Big Light of t’World”. Suitable piety and devotion to Wayheyup throughout your life can secure you a place in Hebden when you die. Wayheyup is often prayed to in times of drought as he is believed to have the divine power to bring that fine rain which really wets you.

Wayheyup’s home is said to be a celestial castle made entirely from sandals. Much of his mythology involves tales of his bitter struggles against Sithee (God of South Yorkshire). In 1974 Sithee covetously stole a huge chunk of Wayheyup’s territory. This diabolical sacrilege occurred on April 1^st, and Wayheyup and his followers still haven’t seen the funny side yet. Whatever you do, NEVER utter the term “West Yorkshire” within earshot of a devout Wayheyupian.

The head of the church of Wayheyup is known as the Pontefract Maximus. He presides over the principle temple, which is located on a quality street somewhere between Upper Heaton and Hanging Heaton. (The building is always freezing cold because there is no Central Heaton.) The interior is decorated with horse brasses, beaten copper tables, novelty tea pots and grand old Yorkshire sayings painted on the walls in copperplate script. This style of décor is known as “Ilkley Moor Bar Tat”. Other historic Wayheyupian temples of note include the one located in Horbury (which houses a cemetery dedicated to former sex-workers), the one located by the Yorkshire Sculpture Park (considered by many to be the main artery of the faith), and that farm in the middle of the M62. Sadly, their outreach Mission in Batley has now closed and been converted into a gym. This means they are no longer really pushing the frontiers of the faith, and considerable variety has been lost.

The church has several sub-sects. The most famous of which, is a highly mystical coterie, who spend much of their time meditating, singing and providing free fish and chip suppers to the needy. The Hare Ramsdens. There used to be a fundamentalist sect called the Nostellians, but they have been excommunicated for numerous priory offences. These included practicing the Durkar Arts, which caused their victims experience a Terrorvision. Their souls are now newmillerdamned.

When a child of a Wayheyupian family comes of age, they undergo a unique initiation ritual where their parents ceremonially chase them from their home, down the ginnel and into the temple. It’s a rite of passage. Once they arrive at the temple, prayers are said the traditional offerings of a plate of “Shit wi’Sugar On” and a glass of the last of the summer wine are presented to the altar. Music for the ceremony is provided by the kids on the street (because they never miss a beat). Following this, the extended family will celebrate with a slap-up tea of pie and peas with mint sauce, and a pint of local ale. (This customary meal often leads to a morning-after effect known as “Wuthering Bottoms”).

People from outside the region can tend to view the Wayheyupians as quite old fashioned and a little behind the times. To try and overcome this, some important improvements are planned in 2020. Their much loved but fatigued Pacer trains are being retired this year and replaced with the new “Black Lace” service. (The Black Lace Service involves the passengers forming a line behind Colin Gibb and dancing the Conga along the tracks from Wakefield Westgate to Wakefield Kirkgate.) The other major planned change is that Halifax is to be renamed Haliemail.

Followers of Wayheyup may be the people least upset by the coronavirus travel restrictions. There’s nowhere else worth bloody going anyway.

I would like to thank the very gracious @garybrannan of the Technical Difficulties for agreeing to be the face of Wayheyup. (If you have never come across their work, check them out on YouTube, you will lose hours.) I would also like to thank the wonderful people of @Visit_Wakefield for being a constant source of inspiration. Happy Yorkshire Day everyone!

NEW!
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What do you get the person who has everything? Turn them into a God!

I can turn your friend, relative or even you pet into a humorous Idol Scribblings cartoon. They make a perfect gift!

Click this link to contact me for more information about how to deify your loved ones like a Roman Emperor of old!

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

Twometer – Goddess of Social Distancing

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Hengehog – God of Archaeology

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

Hengehog began existence as a terrifying mythical beast that haunted stone circles and ate hapless druids. Since the beginnings of the archaeological movement in the 1820’s he began to be worshipped as a deity by that intrepid band of muddy knee’d history hunters.

Hengehog is usually worshipped out in the field. Before a rite, an advance team of priests will check the archives, take aerial photographs and divine mystical electromagnetic conductivity readings to select a suitably interesting field to gather in. As they arrive, each worshipper is allotted a “square” to worship in. You must never enter someone’s square without their consent. If you do, they may baulk. During the ritual they will kneel and bow low in their trench, and worship with brushes and tiny trowels. Unless no one else is watching. Then they stand back and worship with a back-hoe loader. (Whatever methods they employ, this is a ground-breaking faith). Most dream of uncovering some amazing religious artefact during the ritual, but most would just be happy to find the set of keys that they lost at last year’s ceremony. The rite may last several weeks, regardless of weather conditions, biting insects and curious sheep. Each evening, the worshippers will gather back at their camp and make a libation to Hengehog. Raising high a leather tankard full of their traditional brew called “Lidar”. (Remember, if it doesn’t come from the Lida region of Belarus, it’s just Geo Fizz). The last of the series of rites they will carry out returns the field to way it looked before. This final ceremony is called the “Fill Hard In”.

Despite their alfresco worship, the cult of Hengehog does have temples. These hallowed halls are where the sacred relics discovered during their rituals are studied, lovingly preserved and displayed. These artefacts are so jealously guarded, that their protection has become an obsession. This obsession has reached a level where the curator-priests are terrified of losing their marbles (or at least someone else’s marbles that they were just holding on to, to keep them safe, honest).

The priesthood wear the traditional dress of steel toe cap wellies, moleskin trousers and colourful hand knitted jumpers. The senior priests will also sport a distinctive hat, supposedly for making them easily identifiable by their flock whilst out in the field (actually an attempt to look a bit like Indiana Jones). Being a priest of Hengehog is a fairly cushy gig. It’s one of the few careers where it’s okay to be caught knapping on the job. They all hope to become High Priest someday, as this is a superposition.

You may be surprised to learn the cult of Hengehog is a test pit of vice and a trench of filth. Everyone seems to have their eye on someone else’s post hole. They are driven by their sarsensuality, to the point where they really will date anything. They become dolmental. Utterly unhenged. When two Henghogians dig each other’s features, they will become tumulescent with excitement and hurry to enjoy cairnal knowledge of one another. (The forensic archaeologist sub-sect are a little more discerning, they are constantly in search of MILFS. Mummies I’d Like Funding to Study.)

Hengehogians are pretty direct about courtship. The most common Hengehogian chat up lines are, “Have you got a megalith in your moleskins or are you just pleased to see me?” and “Are you an archaeozoologist? ’cause I’m a bit of an animal and I’ve got a bone in my pants that I’d like you to date.” If you ask a Hengehogian to send you a nude pic, they will helpfully include a 2 meter ranging pole in shot for scale. Hengehogians will often have open relationships as they like to date other peoples. Sadly, they are not very attractive to people outside of the faith, because they smell of ancient grease and their hands have a tendency to Rome. Hengehogians are also known for being quite sweary. To the point where they don’t so much use full stops as f- stops. The gritty nature of their culture may well be the effect of decades of excavating thousands of votive penises, or perhaps it’s the utter filth they read on the walls of Herculaneum as impressionable neophytes.

It is extremely entertaining to watch any follower of Hengehog eat moussaka, trifle or indeed any layered food. If you invite a Hengehogian to dinner, why not make them feel especially welcome by serving a lasagne with a few pottery shards and coins hidden in between the layers. (Note: they will bring their own eating tools in a leather roll and their own tankard.)

The faith of Hengehog has no holy book. They did once discover a sacred ancient tablet called the “Con-Text”, but tragically, the Con-Text has been lost.

I would like to thank Carrie-May Mealor, @flintdibble and @stevetoase for being a source of inspiration for Hengehog (in some cases unwittingly). Also to Kieron Philips for pointing out a that a typo would make a great deity. My apologies if you haven’t laughed at any of these jokes. That’s because they’re pre prehysterical.

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Loadin’ Skypefather – God of Video Calls

March 22, 2020October 15, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

He has hovered around in the background for a few years as a very minor deity. Now current events have thrust Loadin’ Skypefather into the theological limelight. He looks set to be a major player in the modern international pantheon for some time to come. A boon to mankind, helping us to reduce direct social contact. This year even Santa Claus is thinking of using a Virtual Presents Device.

Loadin’ Skypefather is the god of virtual communication that enables you to stay connected with your family and colleagues. This is considered by many to be a marvel of the modern age, and by others to be a real step back in human development. The critics argue that video calling destroys 90% the fun of working from home. As it forces you to brush your hair and be properly dressed (at least from the waist up). The first time non-believers see themselves on screen, they realise why Hollywood spends millions on hair, make up and lighting. What few people know is that, unless you have offered the correct prayers to the Skypefather, your webcam will be infested with a psychic filter that makes your face look like a smashed thumb and any breathing near the microphone sound like an punctured accordion being played by a two year old.

Loadin’ Skypefather has no designated temples or meeting places. Instead each worshipper will have a small shrine in their own home. This takes the form of a dedicated clean and tidy area amid the usual chaos. This provides a socially acceptable backdrop for video calls that won’t invite judgement on their living arrangements. This space is used for dialling into Video Conference Prayer Meetings, which is this sect’s preferred modem of worship.

There is an awkward initial stage to every prayer meeting, when only two worshippers have joined the call and are waiting for everyone else to join. They will invariably be the two members of the group who know each other least well, and they will be forced to make excruciatingly awkward small-talk until the others dial in. The prayer meeting formally begins with each worshipper reciting the traditional greeting, “Can everybody see me?” as they dial in. Next, the weather in each worshipper’s location will be discussed. One person will then interrupt by joining the meeting late. At which point, the congregation will chorus “Who just joined?” and the whole start of the ritual must be repeated.

One worshipper will be designated to take notes of the prayer meeting. They do this in the traditional manner, by typing with lump hammers on a keyboard full of crisps. When the first worshipper to leave signs off at the end of the meeting, the whole congregation will chorus, “Byeeeeeeee!” so loudly that everyone’s speakers distort.

Should you chose to join one of their virtual meetings, you should be aware that there are certain sins that, if committed, will get you booted off the call. These sins include; eating or drinking without muting your microphone, looking at your own image on the screen rather than the camera, sitting under the air conditioner and being the only one to get a word in edgewise. Sinners will be punished by Loadin’ Skypefather making them question absolutely everything about themselves. Particularly, “Do I really sound like that?”

A few of the Skypefather’s early adopters have now ascended to full priesthood. You may be forgiven for thinking they have taken a vow of silence. In truth, they have just accidentally left their mute function on. The high priest Monty Zoomer once tried to videocall the Skypefather himself, in the hope of receiving some words of wisdom. Unfortunately, all he said was, “Oh hello. I’ll get your mother.” before vanishing off screen.

Loadin’ Skypefather has a divine nemesis, the demon Feedbacchus. Feebacchus is a mythical prankster who lives in the ethernet and makes the audio drop out on the ——— words in every ——–. He also enjoys tormenting the righteous followers of Skypefather by whistling loudly in their ears until their brains explode. Although this sounds scary, he is not really a major threat, as Feebacchus can be defeated simply by turning him down.

The young are somehow mystically drawn to the majesty of Loadin’ Skypefather. When someone makes an important video call, any small children in the house will be lured into the field of view to see what’s going on. Animals are similarly entranced. Cats, particularly, will be overcome with an urge to flop down between the caller and the camera and start performing some anal grooming.

In addition to the virtual prayer meetings, Loadin’ Skypefather worshippers will engage in a ritual known as “Video Calling the Parents”, which is practised at least once a week. This ritual begins with an obligatory preliminary ordinary phone call, to provide tech support. This will often take longer than the actual rite itself. It is traditional for the parents of Loadin’ Skypefather’s followers to carefully write down the entire video call invitation link in their address book, so they can use it again next time. This whole shebang may all sound like a lot of hassle, but it’s worth it just to see ~~their faces light up~~ right up their noses.

May Loadin’ Skypefather watch over you, as you remotely watch over your loved ones.

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