Soz – Goddess of Insincere Apologies

November 22, 2020November 22, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Soz, the goddess of insincere apologies, is an ancient Phoneycian deity. Within this pantheon she is the spoiled smiling golden child of the chief of the gods. However, the demigods, nymphs and other entities lower down the celestial pecking order know her as a source of daily dread and degradation. Phoneycian mythology is full of tales such as Soz tying the laces of the winged sandals of the messenger of the gods together and throwing them over a wire suspended between two mountain peaks. Another story tells of how she cursed the arm and hand of a hapless dryad so that the poor tree spirit would spend eternity hitting herself (which is a lot worse when you’re mostly made of wood). When Civilis (a servant of the gods) brought a nice bright red briefcase to school one day, she stole it from him and beat him up with the catch end. Perhaps the darkest tale is of when some new deities arrived in the pantheon, borne to Phoneycia in the minds of migrants. She welcomed those who came with a battalion of affluent followers, but she tried to have the rest shipped off to a remote barren island. It is because of these spiteful acts that the other deities sometimes describe Soz as a “FOB-SOC” (Face off Baywatch, soul off Crimewatch).

Every myth of Soz ends in the same way. The chief of the Phoneycian gods is forced to acknowledge that Soz’s behaviour has been unfitting for one in such an exalted position, and he forces Soz to make an apology. Soz always responds to this by making a statement which, on the surface sounds like a redress, but fact has all the genuine contrition of a dog which has just successfully stolen your steak dinner. This pattern has lead to many later academics describing Soz as a “Brazen Idol”.

The one common quality that the members of Soz’s sect share is an utter rejection of any ultimate personal responsibility. From board room bullies, through micro dictator middle managers, to the playground pugilists who prefer a puny opponent. Politicians also seem to be remarkably well represented. Especially those who have had to make the “statement of shame” to a mob of baying press outside their house. Whilst their cuckolded family stand by their side, nominally as a show of support, but in reality as a kind of human shield. If you decide to join the cult of Soz, you must learn to speak in very particular fashion. Henceforth you must never apologise directly for any action. You are no longer “wrong”, you are only ever, “working with inaccurate information”. Bonus points are scored if you can somehow phrase things so that it sounds vaguely like the other person is to blame. For example, “I’m sorry I yelled at you and called you useless scum,” would be substituted for, “I’m sorry you’re upset”. Once you have mastered the lingo, you can now be baptised into the religion. Uniquely, this baptism ceremony involves you pushing someone else’s head into the font and flushing.

Inside every Sozian temple is a strange ritual artifact known as the “Pritster”. When Sozians gather for worship, they form a square around the Pritster. This is followed by a collection for the temple upkeep, where the priesthood go around their flock and steal their lunch money with menaces. Now, lead by their high preristess Miss Guided, the congregation adopt a sanctimonious countenance, cross their fingers, and recite,
“I am sorry that my behaviour in the past has upset people. It has never been my intention to cause upset to anyone; I acknowledge that I am direct and have at times got frustrated”. The high priestess will conclude the ritual by responding with, “I now consider the matter closed”.

The sacred animal of Soz is an inconsolably weeping crocodile. The sacred texts of Soz are all inscribed on sugared rice paper to ensure that they are palatable.

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Hughjanus – The “Do As I Say, Not As I Do” Demon

May 25, 2020October 15, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ 1 Comment

Hughjanus is an evil entity who hovers on the shoulders of those in positions of power and whispers, “…but it’s okay if you do it. You’re special.” He is also said to ride forth across the land spreading disease and pestilence wherever he goes.

It is said by some that Hughjanus son of Werentme, the God of Denial. Werentme will not confirm the paternity, but Hughjanus was spotted staying at his celestial barn conversion the other week.

Hughjanus has two faces, mounted back to back. His head is constantly spinning around Exorcist-style, so that each visage can try to defend and excuse the behaviour of the other in turn. The first face appears bluff and jovial, luring you in, the reverse has a sinister countenance and is known as, “The Glower Behind the Throne.” Statues of Hughjanus usually only depict the head, as the rest of his body is all arse.

Hughjanus loathed by most, and is only worshipped by those whom he as managed to lure into his thrall. Once you are under the spell, it is harder to get out of his sect that is is to get out of the mafia. Hughjanus looks upon all his acolytes as expendable herd beasts, unless they are momentarily useful. He does not consider mortals to be capable of true emotion. Any problem of his is more urgent than your problem, and grief he feels is more profound than your suffering. He will not hesitate to demand the sacrifice of one or even hundreds of lives for his gain or convenience.

Thanks you to @Canocola of Twitter for helping to create and name Hughjanus.

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Werentmee – God of Denial

October 6, 2019October 15, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ 1 Comment

With the innocent face of an angel, the God Werentmee is impervious to all blame. Any excrement thrown his way slides right off. The divine light shining from his reverent rectum means that any shade thrown does not fall upon him. He has two other avatars not shown here. One is a lyre playing musician with flaming underwear and a nose as long as a telephone wire, and the other is the invisible divine ghost known to children and cyclopes everywhere as “Mr Nobody”.

Werentmee, God of Denial should not be confused with any Ancient Egyptian river deities. Werentmee hasn’t had any dealings in that region since the “The Aswan Dam Wasn’t an Environmental Disaster” incident.

The philosophy of the cult of Werentmee is not to avoid the sin, but to avoid the blame, the shame and the consequences. His devotees include corrupt politicians, environment destroyers, emotional fuckwits and asset stripping CEOs who sink their companies. Essential personal qualities for joining the priesthood of Werentmee are twinkling charm, a posh accent, and a very short memory. Having a conscience is considered to be a severe handicap, and may render one unsuitable to serve.

Werentmee’s priests can be recognised by the distinctive mittens they wear to prevent any finger-pointing. They also always wear spotless white robes, except at Hallowe’en, when they dress up in an autumnal themed costume made of russet leaves, berries and pumpkins. These seasonal vestments are known as the “Fall Guise”. The priesthood always tackle every task or project in a team of at least 6. This is “herd action” a defensive precaution. A team structure makes it nigh on impossible to isolate any single under-performing individual. The High Priest of Werentmee is known by the title “Pastor Buck”. He travels constantly in the pursuit of his duties, serving the faith tirelessly. “The Buck” never, ever stops. He is aided in is work by his deputy Mr Scott Free.

The roof of the Temple of Werentmee bristles with cruel spikes, scarecrows and decoy birds of prey. Atop all this sits a priest in the highest room of the tallest tower with a shot gun. Anything to prevent the pigeons from coming home to roost. The interior of his temple is strangely decorated to appear as though it is a photographic negative. Black is white in there. The Temple also houses a menagerie. Here you can see the two unique species which are Werentmee’s sacred animals. At the centre of the menagerie is a large lake, in which live a bask of Crocodylus lacrimosa (a kind of salt water crocodile). In the green field around the lake graze a flock of the rare goat breed Capra piaculum (or Scapegoat). In addition there is a single ordinary, elderly, wiffy hound dog called Patsy. He is kept at the temple purely to be the publicly acknowledged culprit of every fart dropped within. The temple has innumerable entrances. When you visit, will you enter via the Watergate, the Hackgate, the Donnygate, the Blobbygate or the Camillagate?

There are few strict rules in this faith, but one of these rules is that the dish “Eggs Benedict” is forbidden. In fact, if you tried, you would find it impossible to make a hollandaise sauce in the Temple of Werentmee, because the butter wouldn’t melt.

Many seek the divine assistance of Werentmee to get themselves out of a spot of bother of their own making. For serious misdemeanours they will attend the temple and take part in a rite where one of the Scapegoats is sacrificed and burned on a pyre of shredded documents and compromising photographs. For less serious quotidian situations, the temple press publishes a handy reference list of societal groups that you can blame for your daily fails. For example, today’s list includes: young people, teachers, parents, snowflakes, liberal lefties, immigrants, the European Union, women, the weather and the Hungarians.

Werentmee is often mentioned in the mythology of other faiths. Usually as a filthy piece of toe rag with a cherubic face who will ultimately bring about the end of days.

Thank you to Robin Lawrence for suggesting Werentmee.

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