Plunk, the new weather god, sat at his desk. There were piles of paper to the right of him and piles of paper to the left of him. He hadn’t seen that much paper since the village feast when they’d all eaten some dodgy meat and the privies had used up every book in the village, including the village priest’s only Big Book of the Gods and Their Doings. That copy had been donated to the village by a group of peculiar individuals who went from village to village seemingly only to leave behind copies of the book. All of which was often a bit pointless as reading was not much called for in villages that struggled to manage to get the crops in in time before the rains ruined everything… as usual.
Plunk had not wanted to be the weather god. He was happy… well, not absolutely miserable… looking after his pigs. But apparently one of the older gods in his younger days met Plunk’s grandmother – the one with the tooth. She, of course, had been much younger and – quite possibly – still had all (or most) of her teeth. She and the god had done that thing which always seems inevitable when gods and mortals get together. The result had been Plunk’s mother, who it seems another god later got together with, resulting in Plunk himself.
So, he was – partly – a god, and apparently immortal too. Although, that hadn’t helped the last weather god. That previous weather god had let his duties slide. Then he’d been disposed of by Plunk’s own village as he was about to continue the tradition of consorting between gods and mortals with young Berna, the village barmaid and champion pig wrestler.
Still the paper made more sense than The Machine. Plunk eyed the device warily. Apparently, it was a new thing in Paradise, the home of the gods. The machine was meant to make the paper obsolete, but seemed to produce even more of it. The machine made strange whirring noises and filled the picture square on the front of itself with meaningless gobbledygook. At least it was gobbledygook to Plunk, some of the younger – more enthusiastic gods – did get rather excited by the machines. They were especially excited the way the machines could display images of mortal women without their clothes on, which got them all a bit too excited under their heavenly robes for Plunk’s comfort.
He couldn’t see that much to get excited about. In the villages, where the rain fell and everything that wasn’t mud was covered with damp mud stains, seeing women, or men, naked was no big deal. Sometimes it was not worth the effort of struggling your way into damp or soaking clothes, especially when trying to move the pigs from one end of their mud-filled pen to another. Washing mud and pig shit from the body was much easier than trying to wring it out of clothes that were themselves often only held together by mud anyway.
Plunk missed the pigs now he was weather god. He was even beginning to miss the naked women too, especially during the pig wrestling championships that were coming up soon. But he was afraid to go back to his village now he knew why it rained all the time. He could still remember – so vividly – the pitiful final screams of the last weather god who had visited the village.