"In order to enjoy the comforts of swearing without incurring the penalties of profanity, the French invented a calendar of fictitious saints' names to swear with—St. Lache, the patron of idlers; St. Nitouche, who watched over hypocrites; and St. Gris, beloved of drunkards—to which the ribald Rabelais adds a medley of his own: "By St. Godegran, stoned to death with apple dumplings . . . by St. Foutin, the fornicator's friend! . . . by St. Vitus and his jig! . . . by St. Mamica, the virgin martyr, by our lusty mammical duty to all virgins!" (William Iversen, "O the Times! O the Manners!").  [Thanks, Jonathan!]

But here's where the concept of "fictitious saints" becomes really interesting:

"Saints, as extensions of a corporate and totalitarian pseudo-religious regime, are always false and never actual in the sense that there is nothing magical or divine about them. They are mere men and women, and often quite evil men and women. But, even more interestingly for those of us interested in paganism, saints were sometimes not even based on actual people, but were simply made up like characters in a novel to sit astride the previous pagan tradition. Many saints simply do not have any historical or biographical basis. Such saints represent a mere renaming of pagan deities. These falsest of the false saints, in other words, are hidden pagan gods" (Colin Liddell).

We would take this idea a bit further: when a saint—being a fictitious sort of entity in the first place—is based not upon an actual person but upon an imaginary character, then we've stumbled into the realm of genuine mythology.

By courtesy of our friend at Frog Blog, we pay homage to Sister Teresa of Perpetual Lameness.

The patron saint of the balloonist:  an illustration from a 1907 issue of Life magazine.

An illustration from an 1897 issue of The Ludgate Illustrated magazine.  The caption reads: "The with furious force he flung it down."

"On the wall [. . .] faded pictures of saints blessed the expired time of old calendars and the clock's single hand."
—José Donoso, The Obscene Bird of Night

"If you must pray, then pray to your invisible self; it is the only god that answers your prayers, other gods give you stones instead of bread.  Unhappy are they who pray to an idol and their prayers are heard: they lose their own selves, since they are no longer capable of believing that it was they themselves that answered their prayers."
—Gustav Meyrink, The Green Face

"You have to be able to laugh at anything and everything.  The statues of the Buddha all smile, and not without reason, whilst the Christian saints are all bathed in tears.  If people would smile more often, there would probably be fewer wars."
—Gustav Meyrink, The Green Face

Here's a detail of St. Eugene, Patron of Normal Cell Division.  See the complete image here.

From our Magic Words outpost:

When Andrew Lovatt kindly praised us for "bringing the excitement and the hunt and mystery back into lexicogaphy," we realized that he had identified the patron saint of our magical dictionary: Artemis, the Roman goddess of the hunt. Thanks, Andrew!

Christopher
Patron Saint of Time Travelers

Art by lisby.

Terry
Patron Saint of the 80s

The Patron Saint of Towels

Motto: "Holy absorption of the wring of truth."

"More like the patron saint of saunas."
—Bernard MacLaverty, Grace Notes

Some Forgotten Saints You Might Want to Call Upon in Your Hour(s) of Need

courtesy of William Keckler

1. Saint Grippius--Patron Saint of Jar Lids So Tight They Drive One to Blasphemy or to Sell One's Immortal Soul

2. Saint Orapurulentia--Patron Saint of Tongue Piercings Which Get Infected and Do Not Respond to Amoxicillin or Second or Third Line Antibiotics

3. Saint Blepharius--Patron Saint of Annoying But Probably Harmless Eyelid Twitches

4. Saint Prophylactscissus ("Father Rough Plow")--Patron Saint of Broken Condoms (better offer a Novena!)

5. Saint Uhmm--Patron Saint of Awkward Silences

6. Saint Papyrmnesia--Patron Saint of Forgotten or Lost Receipts

7. Saint Hydromnesia of Antigua--Patron Saint of Those Who Forget to Flush (especially before the arrival of company)

8. Saint Pousseriana--Patron Saint and Protectress of Dust Bunnies

9. Saint Orthoplastia--Patron Saint of Plastic Surgery Gone Awry

10. Saint Pseudomirthia--Patron Saint of Those Who Must Fake Laughter at the Unfunny Humor of Bosses, Spouses, etc. (She will help loyal supplicants conjure a suitably "believable" fake titter).

"Slouched against a wall and rolling his eyes like the patron saint of boredom."
—Chris Fuhrman, The Dangerous Lives of Altar Boys

"He was born on the Lower East Side in 1967; he is hovering saintly on the edge of all my action."
—Andrei Codrescu, License to Carry a Gun

Dear Professor Oddfellow,

I would not write you if a matter of the gravest concern and import did not daily and nightly press upon my chest and constrict my very breath like a "way-too- presumptuous-dude" incubus.

A parrot-cormorant hybrid has been flying about my domicile recently...a horrible nuisance and eyesore.

I notice that it casts no shadow, but that its echoes are doubled and sometimes even trebled, so I'm fairly certain this is a creature escaped from one of your books or incantations.

It flaps from floor to floor and the only thing I could find which repels its natural and unnatural curiosity about anything I am doing (the beast has mastered the art of doorknobs with those claws!) is the sound of the homilies administered by one particularly pedantic minister down in Arkansas.

As this homily only runs at three in the morning and lasts a scant three hours, I find myself deprived of rest the remainder of the day and night, and I assure you my villainy is suffering.

If villainy needs anything, it is a good night's rest.

I notice the bird has mastered several human languages and I admit that I have found it a help in my Icelandic studies. Yestreen it was declaiming one of the ancient Sagas, albeit in a rather monotonous delivery.

Other nights it seems to be acting out some obscure Slovakian television drama or other, complete with laugh track. And worse fare. To call these raucous soundtracks vexsome would be meiosis, which I'm sure you know (I say with no condescension whatsoever) is the opposite of hyperbole.

Today it interrupted me as I was studying a dossier of medieval illustrations I have gathered providing definitive proof that many early martyred saints had begun attempts to blog. I had found clear illustrations of medieval blogging and was nearly ecstatic. Do you realize what a gift this will be to the Mother Church? I am attempting to write a monograph on the subject.

I believe there is a blogging-Purgatory connection. People in Purgatory have been blogging for millenia, but we have been confusing these messages with spam!

Rome must hear of this, and hear of this soon.

Your parrot-cormorant hybrid (and I do believe it is yours) is a handsome creature and I admit to admiring your handiwork, but I was wondering if you might convince it through telepathy or other means that other nearby dwellings might offer more appealing symbiotic "digs."

I thought it was a nice touch that the feathers have the ability to manifest images with a clarity to rival that of the flattest plasma television screen. Have you thought of marketing the beast along those lines? If you could somehow get the beast to articulate vocally in synchrony with the television program its feathers broadcast, you might be onto something.

I confess I watched a documentary on the little-known St. Thisbe of Malta upon the creature's wings as the avian was slumbering on my second floor landing this afternoon.

St. Thisbe was killed by an angry mob of theologians when he attempted to create the first God chain-letter spam. It was in the form of rocks that had Christian messages written upon them, which were to be passed on to twelve friends, who then had to copy the message onto twelve new rocks and spread the divine message to twelve friends each, etc. Here was proof of early faith spam!

It was clearly too early. The plan backfired and St. Thisbe was stoned to death with his own spam rocks, once they were traced back to him. I found this incident memorialized in a little-known etching by Goya entitled (in Spanish): "Pass this on or burn in Hell for donkey years, you cursed widget of Satan..."

Also, your winged beast thieves. Yesterday, I noticed three cupcakes, an edition of Balzac, a scatter pillow, a set of fingernail clippers and an invisibility amulet were all missing from the downstairs.

Needless to say, it is that last theft which troubles me most.

The prospect of an invisible parrot-cormorant with polyglossalaliac logorrhea haunting my dwelling is not one I wish to entertain seriously.

Any assistance you can give me upon this matter will be greatly appreciated, and know that I remain, as ever,

Yours in Logodaedaly and Phrenological Dodginess,

Wilhelm

Saint Axl
Patron of Egomania.

Art by Live Wire.

Saint Ravioli
Patron of Pasta Making.

Photo by Make Up Your Mind.

Saint Robert
Patron of Post Rock.

Photo by Great Danes.