Uttabollux Creation Myth

In the beginning, the world was without form or chip shops. Then the semi-omnipotent Skhighhibhoss said ‘let there be stoats’ and lo, only 28 days later the stoats were delivered – but to the wrong address.

After another week of increasingly frantic phone calls to various places in the delivery chain, Skhighhibhoss finally received his crate of stoats, and a credit note for £1.75 by way of compensation for his inconvenience.

Of course, it goes without saying that the stoats were the wrong colour, matt instead of gloss and – most significantly - metric instead of the Imperial He had specified.

Sighing majestically, Skhighhibhoss slumped down on the deckchair in his shed and created a nice cup of tea out of the form and void. At this rate, He thought to himself, His creation would not be ready for several months. Seven days – well, six - it said in the advert (with the seventh – as far as he could tell – to be used in mainly sitting back and admiring your handiwork, maybe even getting a grunt of acknowledgement from the wife that all the time he spent down in his shed was not a waste of time after all). He had said to her though, that every being – no matter how (almost) Omnipotent needs a hobby, and that was the trouble with living… er… existing outside of time, Sunday afternoons especially did have a habit of dragging on a bit after the first untold eons.

Maybe, He thought to himself, maybe this being a God was not all it was cracked up to be… After all Old Whatshisname a few doors down had no end of trouble with his creation. A terrible infestation of humans, apparently. He’d tried sending his apprentice down to sort it out, but the boy couldn’t get the parts to fix it. In the end he’d has to have the whole of his creation fumigated, just to get rid of the humans. ‘Global Warming’, he’d called it, or something like that…. And, he’d never really managed to get it working right, he’d made a real bodge of getting the gravity to work properly alongside the quantum forces, or so he said down the pub the other night. In the end, he said, he’d had to tie it all up with string, or something.

Skhighhibhoss sighed again; he gave his creation a kick and light flickered into being, before spluttering out again. “Oh, sod it,” He said, getting the box of assorted animals down from the shelf and desultorily sprinkled them all over the surface. Then he picked up the pair of humans he’d bought off that bloke down the pub and dropped them into a green bit. “You two sort it out” He boomed mightily from the clouds above them. “I’m off to watch the football on the telly.”