This messiah was born to the wrong species, and he was born already crucified. Standing in a field, guarding it from crows, he used his clay-pot head to contemplate his straw legs while concocting a philosophy for scarecrows and other creatures around the world to live by.
His given name, Stuffy, was not impressive by any decent measure. The best he could come up with, given his limited experience of the world, was a bad, meaningless pun.
His master believed in him, however, and it came to pass that the Crow-Magnon Man was carried from village to village on a stick, spreading his message surrounded by snake-oil salesmen and escaped circus geeks.
After gauging the limitations of announcing his message from the shoulders of a cross-eyed drunk, Stuffy ran away in the middle of the night with a comely geek by the name of Nostalgia.
Together, they reminded people of better, perfumed times when possibility was not a nasty word. Nostalgia took the idea far by seducing the twin sons of a village chief.
They were hunted down by the village folk. Nostalgia was made to settle down with the twain, and Stuffy was stood in the town square and burnt. Combined with power drawn from Nostalgia’s tears, Stuffy’s fumes spread throughout the village, intoxicating the hopeful.
Stuffy lived on in incense and candle wax, weaving a new religion for a new age.