Cult of Cod

The Return of Cod

And lo, it was in the year of 2018 of the Common Era that Cod did once again appear before the Prophet and said unto him

« What in the name of ME are you doing, you fool? »

The Prophet sat bolt upright in bed, sending off a shower of blankets, cookie crumbs, and cats spilling off the bed and onto the floor. He hurriedly started throwing on something decent, having not been expecting company at 3AM - much less divine company.

« Oh whatever, it's not like I haven't seen it all before. I mean, I created you humans from the foam of the sea with my flippers. If it's a part of you, it's because I put it there. »

Nodding, the Prophet looked up and beheld a sight he had not seen in over a decade. His creator, the Al Mighty Fish that created the Universe, the one who had first bestowed the Revelations unto him almost seventeen years hence. It seemed like a lifetime ago, but now at long last, he was once more in the presence of the Fishine creator of all things.

« Well, what do you have to say for yourself you bloody fool? I came here and told you to make a Cult in honor of me, but you've just been faffing about seemingly forever. I keep losing my annual bet with Seajus that you'll actually get your head out of your ass and get back to writing scriptures. I'm down to my last yacht to bet against him, and I just can't lose the SS Fishsticks this year. So it looks like it's time to get drastic. »

The Prophet gulped.

“Well you know, it's just been really hard what with work and the economy and all this life stuff getting in my way.”

Cod rolled his eyes and glared the Prophet down.

« You bloody Millennials expecting other people to do all the work for you. Back in my day, I had to create the entire world from scratch in seven-ish days. And this is the thanks I get? My own Prophet doesn't even bother to worship me for more than a couple years before he's all "too hard, peace out, I'm gonna go watch Game of Thrones." »

There really wasn't much room for argument there - the Prophet had been slacking on his religious practices and keeping up with the Saints and many members the Cult had once possessed. So long in fact that he'd moved far from his ancestral home to live somewhere else with better jobs. Also, GoT was really good.

« Alright look - I've sent out a call to those Saints you used to be hanging around with to help you make something new. Use some of your newfangled communication tools and put together something impressive for me this year. There's no way I'm losing this bet eleven years in a row. That just won't stand. »

Sure enough, from the shadows the Prophet heard the telltale sounds of his phone notifying him of his long-lost friends reaching out and making contact with him after all these years. It was a sign of things to come. It was the start of something new, something big, something ... probably worth putting pants on for.

And so he did.

<>< Prophet