Dom Estos – God of Leaving the Toilet Clean and Usable

September 13, 2020October 15, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Dom Estos is essentially the god of being considerate to those who have to follow you into the stalls of life. He is also known as “The Toilet Attendant of the Gods”. His mythology begins during the Aphedronomachy*. This unfortunate incident started when some bad meat was burned in sacrifice to the Gods. Poor Zeus was loose and Hera never felt queerer. Following this harrowing battle of the bowels, the King and Queen of the Gods decided that there should be a deity responsible for ensuring that the divine derrieres always had a clean throne to sit on.

Dom Estos, who had been a humble naiad of the water closet, was selected for promotion. Hephaestus dutifully forged two weapons to aid him in his duties. Unfortunately for the Olympians, who expected to avoid domestic labour, Dom Estos achieved his aim by ensuring every deity cleaned up after themselves. Any God or Goddess leaving havoc in their wake was threatened with “The Toilet Brush of the Gods”. Particularly stubborn celestial entities were chastised with the dreaded “Plunger of the Gods”.

Followers of Dom Estos are known for their pithy sayings which sum up their philosophies. These include, “Take nothing but your relief. Leave nothing but a warm seat”, “Stand close to thy faith, for thy sword be shorter than thou knowest,” and “To give thanks, scrub your Armitage Shanks”. They believe that, if they live a considerate and hygienic life, they will go to the blessed Elsan Fields in the afterlife.

Any privy, crapper, garderobe or dunny is automatically a sacred space of Dom Estos. However, there are also a few dedicated shrines around the world. In the UK this is located in a scented glade near Looe on the south coast. (Readers in the USA can find their nearest temple in Flushing Meadows, NY.) These shrines are functional yet beautiful buildings, entirely clad in porcelain tiles inside and out and decorated with bubbling fountains. The grounds are dotted with sunny yellow marigolds which wave gently in the breeze. (To be clear. The gloves, not the flowers.) These sanctuaries also usually have a café. Thankfully, housed in a separate building. However, they do not serve coke floaters, chocolate logs, Mississippi mudslides or anything with sprinkles.

Devout worshippers making a pilgrimage to a sanctuary of Dom Estos will, upon arrival, make a small offering, typically a urinal cake, a bar of sanctified scented soap, a triple ply quilted sacred scroll or a phial of blessed bleach. Then the worshipper is free to spend some time at the temple in quiet, solitary meditation, seated on an elegant porcelain throne. The visit concludes with a through ritual cleansing of both the throne and the hands, and the lighting of a sacred scented candle (or at very least, a match). Those who prefer to stand as they meditate, must also complete the rite of “The Lowering of the Seat”. (Failure to carry out this ritual will lead to the pilgrim being pursued by an angry, wet arsed priestess with a bruised coccyx.)

Priests of Dom Estos are well known for their community outreach work as toilet attendants. They primarily prevent gents from splashing their stream everywhere by lurking by the sinks and making all but the most desperate piss shy. There are also sacred music collectives dedicated to Dom Estos. Amongst the best know of these are the Bloo Man Group and the Cisterns of Mercy. The clergy are led by a High Priest who holds the title of the Pope Pourri. He is supported and advised by a Privy Council.

Whilst being primarily concerned with lavatorial facilities, Dom Estos also covers campsites, beauty spots and beaches. His arch nemesis is the demon Pooperscooper. Who, according to folklore, comes in the night to decorate the trees with bags full of dog shit. His divine consort is Princess Charmin, Goddess of Knitted Dollies with a Toilet Roll Under their Skirt. Hi sacred animal is the Toilet Duck. A mischievous creature known for attacking the unclean from behind. Such an ambush is to be feared. That fowl beast can really get under your rim.

*Lit. “Latrine War”

This deity was suggested by Kay Barnes. Thank you for a great idea and for your continued support for Idol Scribblings. Welcome to the Idol Scribblings Hive Mind!

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.

Pre order here https://idolscribblings.blog/the-book

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!

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.

Matricula – Goddess of Exam Results

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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!

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.

Androxylos – God of Cartoonists Who Need a Break

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

Androxylos is the son of the Stressica the goddess of anxious exhaustion. He was not gestated and born in the conventional way. Instead he rose phoenix-like from the ashes of her first burn out. He became the god of people who normally work very hard, but occasionally need and unscheduled, impromptu break for the sake of their sanity. He is the god of phoning it in, of chucking a sickie and of wagging it. Androxylos will help protect the secret of your stolen day. A nice tin of souvenir biscuits is traditionally brought back to place on his altar in order to thank the god for helping you get away with it.

In theory, the worshippers of Androxylos gather twice a year carry out their rites and rituals. In practice no one shows up at the temple on the appointed day, but according to their superiors and spouses they were there! The temple itself is made of sticks, to reflect the nature of this stick deity. It’s not the greatest architecture in the world, but it does. Similar to many other religions, it is forbidden to keep pigs in the temple of Androxylos. This is not, however, because they consider pigs to be unclean. It is merely a measure to prevent big bad wolf attacks. Priests of Androxylos do not wear any special robes or symbolic accoutrements. Instead they can be recognised bu the stick figure family decals on the back of their cars.

You may think this means that Androxylos is a God for the lazy or the slack. Nothing could be further from the truth! In fact he is a guardian of the mental health of the servery frazzled. However, if you play hookey in his name too often, Androxylos will move in mysterious ways to drop you in “it” with your boss, teacher or partner from a celestial height. Trust me. You don’t want to know what “it” is. Let’s just call “it” the remains of the food of the Gods.

Prayers to Androxylos should always be said in a dry, scratchy voice with occasional coughing between words. This is in order to help worshippers develop the correct telephone manner for calling in sick.

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.

Atmos – God of Steam Enthusiasts

June 21, 2020October 15, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Atmos the God of Steam Enthusiasts can be recognised by his distinctive copper rimmed top hat which conceals a shiny dome beneath, and by the jets of steam gushing from each side of his head (these are the exhausts from his engine ears). Unlike the more wrathful deities, Atmos has a safety valve. When angered he is more likely to harmlessly blow off steam than to explode with vengeful rage. You will know if you have received a visitation from Atmos by the scent of coal dust and traces axle grease left behind. His consort, Forbearine the goddess of long-suffering spouses, always makes him sit on a sheet of old newspaper when he comes into their celestial house. Atmos’ sacred animal is a supernaturally fast flying Mallard.

One would be forgiven for mistakenly assuming that Atmos is a deity of the Industrial Revolution. In fact, he had a small sect of worshippers in 1^st Century Alexandria, who wore boiler togas and steel toe capped sandals. In his mythological tales he is the son of Aeolus and a heron. Modern historians believe this may be a misinterpretation of the philosopher Heron demonstrating the first Aeolipile engine. Actually, he’s Stephen’s son. Atmos is said to have two sons, Mamod and Hornby, who are minor gods of junior steam enthusiasts and railway modelers. (Hornby is an especially n-gauging young deity).

Atmos may have some of the most fanatical and dedicated worshippers around. If they are unable to practice their faith as much as they would like, they develop a serious medical condition known as “wet steams”. This disorder can be both prevented and cured by draining your cocks regularly. (Please remember to do this discretely, as draining your cocks may frighten small children and animals.) This can be an extremely costly faith to be a member of, especially if one embarks on a holy restoration quest. Being able to afford to get your boiler re-tubed seems like a distant pipe dream to many. Most members would prefer the sect of Atmos to be open and inclusive. Unfortunately, some fundamentalists tend to deride anyone they perceive as being insufficiently knowledgeable about engineering history. This effect is known as “The Great Train Snobbery”.

The most popular holy drink enjoyed by worshippers of Atmos is strong tea with sweetened condensed milk, brewed on the little ledge above the firebox door. This is sometimes fortified with juniper flavoured spirits, a tipple known as Gin Tea.

Generally speaking, Atmosians like their romantic relationships to be more than a brief encounter. When an Atmosian wedding takes place the bride and groom are coupled by joining hands, vacuum brake pipe, power cable, signal cable, and steam heating pipe. It is vital that both bride and groom belong to the same subsect of Atmos. For example, if one party is a Buckeye and the object of their affections is a Linkanpin it is very difficult to get hitched. If you attend an Atmosian wedding reception, I advise avoiding the punch at all costs. It often gets railroad spiked.

In order to become a Priest of Atmos, one must undergo a complex and gruelling initiation ritual of fire and water. First the neophyte is anointed with Hallett Oil and has their nipples thoroughly greased to prepare them. Then they are deluged with the holy water tower. Finally they must undergo the baptism of firing. For this they must fuel a large locomotive up a long, steep incline. (Not everyone survives this ordeal, weaker candidates have met a Lickey End this way). When they have successfully completed this ritual they are given a ceremonial coal dust tattoo to mark them as a priest of Atmos.

Most of the priesthood can be recognised by their distinctive blue boiler suits, but there are some specialised priests who dress differently for their roles. For example, the Station Master Priests wear incredibly thick soled shoes. (Unlike you and I, who might have “Left” and “Right” written on our shoes, on a Station Master Priest’s shoes it will say “Platform One” and “Platform Two”). There are female members of the priesthood, although they are usually fewer in number. They carry a wheel tapper’s hammer at all times to discourage misogynistic comments and behaviour. The sacred text of Atmos is “The British Railways Rules for Observance for Employees 1950”. Every priest keeps an oil stained copy tucked into the breast pocket of their boiler suit.

Atmos has a fleet of mobile temples. Each one comprises of a rake of specially designed Pullman coaches drawn by a handsome heritage locomotive. The worshippers will use these temple trains for religious day excursions. Each worshipper must bring an offering of a sack of high-quality steam coal, which is placed upon the locomotive’s sacred fire. During the tour, most religious offices will take place in the Observation Car. At each stop on the trip, the congregation will disembark to admire and photograph the locomotive. It is notoriously difficult to include yourself in any shots of these sacred trains as the lens of your camera will become fogged. However, if you are affected by selfie steam issues, you may be entitled to condensation. When not in use, these temple trains are housed one of the master “Round Temples”. Round Temples have a unique revolving high altar on a turntable at their centre. There will also be a delightful a miniature railway which runs around the temple grounds. This is for the welfare of the priesthood, who after a hard day working with trains, like to relax by playing with trains. Just outside the main temple building stands a white box-like outbuilding which houses the temple bell, this is also where distance signals from the universe are received. Should the temple bell ring once, it is the Great Atmos alerting you that a divine message is imminent. It is important to ring back once to let him know you’re listening. Religious tokens are also kept in and distributed from this box. You must hold a religious token in order to pray when under single line worshipping conditions. The Round Temples of Atmos were built by Navis (not the famous Irish and BAME labourers of the nineteenth century, those blue folk from Avatar).

This deity is dedicated to my chuffer-nutter Dad, Mike Lee, who will always be the OG Fat Controller to me. Happy Fathers Day with all my love.

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

Quarantina – Goddess of Lockdowns

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

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

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

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

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

Thank you to Liz Laycock @longrat for suggesting Quarantina.

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

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.

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.

Scrubbup – Goddess of Infection Control

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amber – Goddess of Flood Warnings

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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