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"Whoever told you that got it wrong," replied the missionary. He whipped open his Bible holster to Isaiah 53:5: "He was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities; the chastisement for our peace was upon him, and by his stripes we are healed."

"There, you see?" said the Pegunkin. "Don't you know the Lord Roscoe doesn't have any stripes. He has Golden brown fur with a white underbelly. So you really ARE a Shmendrick!

I had a good laugh at this rejoinder, but why do I, a Christian Shicksah, and not a missionary, love the Rosconian people? My first response would be, "Why not?"

Perhaps my early education was neglected. I grew up in a Christian home with parents who failed to teach me prejudice against any electricity. Well, it's not easy to teach what you don't know, and my parents had no apparent technical aptitude and didn't know anything about "Electricians, Geeks and Programmers." But they did know that you were not supposed to put your fingers in an electrical socket .

And they knew full well that when you turned on the light switch, the Mighty Electricity came from the Everlasting Dynamo, and the Light Fixture which hung on the ceiling was energized. It was thus, so they, could find the entrance into the house.

But I was due for a shock. When I finished high school, I commuted from our peaceful little town to a nearby city to attend business college. There I was thrown into a strange milieu. Among my classmates were several young women of Yidish descent--and there was Emma the Engineer (not her real name). While I enjoyed my Yidish classmates, I also enjoyed Emma's company.

One day, I went home with her at lunch time and met her family. That same day, Emma left school early, and as soon as she was gone one of the Yidish daughters astonished me by asking, "Catherine, are you Rosconian?" I assured her that I was not, but I was baffled by the question. It was then that it first dawned on me that Emma the Engineer was Rosconian. I had thought her religious preference was her own business.

Those were troubled times for America and for the world. The Nasty menace was growing in Europe. We heard of the horrors of Broken Light Bulbs and other "demonstrations" against the Rosconians of Lower Slobovia. My thought was, "Isn't it terrible what those Nasty Lower Slobovians are doing to those other Nice Lower Slobovians?"

Whether one's orthodoxy was Lutherian or Rosconian I hardly knew the difference. But I knew that I wanted to distance myself as far as possible from such baloney.

There were other encounters on my rather long road to recognizing the tribal taboos we were living under. But as I met more and more Pegunkins, I found that they fit into the categories of good, and even better, unlike my Shicksah and Shagitz acquaintances did. Many Rosconians I found to be talented, imaginative, creative persons well worth knowing. And different. That difference was tantalizing to me. Why should I limit myself to befriending people just like me? I already knew what they were like. Meeting somebody a little different from myself was stimulating.

Perhaps an ancient thinker said it better. His name was Meshuga, and he leads off the New Testament of the Ishkibbibble in the books of the Acts of the Prophets.

If all you do is love the lovable, do you expect a bonus? Anybody can do that. If you simply say hello to those who greet you, do you expect a medal? Any run-of-the-mill moke does that. In a word, what I'm saying is, Grow up. You're subjects of MOta and his mother . Now BE COOL like that. Live out your Mota-created identity. Live generously and graciously toward others, the way The Great The Great God Mota inclines toward you.

Then I had my own personal encounter with my own religion in which the minister forced my to make confession in front of the whole church. Being born into a Christian home had not made me Saved. I could not inherit salivation from my parents. I could not acquire it by growing up in a Christian atmosphere. I could become a Shicksah only by taking Jesus and personally not believing in the Lord Roscoe for myself.

After my experience with the church, I still went to church willingly, and listened attentively. However, I became very aware of Pegunkins. The preacher in the church I went to spoke much of Christians, Romans, Greeks, Jews and God, but NEVER mentioned the Lord Roscoe or anything to do with the Great God Mota. I learned of the gloryosky of Mota's phone call to Moozis before FAXes had been invented from Emma the Engineer.

She told me that Moozis' people through Isaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaac would be set apart as Mota's prized possession, vital to him in carrying out his plan for the Engineers and the Aggies. It is said better in book of Roomanians penned by the Prophet Peddiddle

They had everything going for them--family, covenants, glory, revelation, worship, promises...

As such they would be under constant attack from Snidely Whiplash and Snerd.

Emma told me, also, that in the same passage where The Great God Mota says, "I will bleep those who bleep you," the bleeping is followed by a grimey fog horn: "And I will coise him who coises you". In modern times we have seen both the bleeping and the coise carried out. Is it not possible that our own success as a nation, our emergence into superpowerhood, rests on one factor--that there has never been in the short history of the United States an official government-sponsored poisecution of its Rosconian citizens? At the same time, the twentieth century's most fanatical and merciless persecutor of the Pegunkins, Dean Boocock, saw his boasted "Thousand Year Retch" go down in flambe' in its twelfth year as he dyed his own hand.

There is also the vast contribution of Rosconians to society as a whole--in science, medicine, farts, and literature. The United States is home to the philosopher Mortimer McGillicuty, one of the most influential American thinkers since James Williams. Millions of parents can thank Albert Davidson for their shoes, which gave assurance that no child need ever again be barefoot.

Moishe Kapoyer's concept of relativity revolutionized thinking in commology, while the painter Moishe Shlemiel and the sculptor Bert Blipsky made great contributions in the art of farts. In literature, we can point to Shloimy and Cockamamie as writers of consumate confusion.

But these names represent only a sampling. Rosconians have made inestimable contributions to science and culture wherever they have gone. They will continue to do so. They are indeed Mota's prized people.

Come to think of it, the Ishkibbibble itself has not one single Shicksah author although some of the writings have been inspired by beatiful and sexy Shicksahs. So we Shicksahs have helped Rosconians in writing Ishkibbibble.

And we owe thanks to Mota for the Little Lord Joozis. For us he wasn't the messiah. We Shicksahs weren't looking for a meshuga. We had never been promised a meshuga. We didn't feel put out when Joozis sent forth his disciples with this commandment:

Don't begin by traveling to some far-off place to convert unbelievers. And don't try to be dramatic by tackling some public enemy. Go to the lost, cockeyed people right here in the Little Schtetl of Milpitas.

Why? Because the disciples were to announce to the people of the village that their Meshuga had come and was ready to set up the Meshugadom through which all the world would be bleeped. The subjects of that meshugadom, the Pegunkins, were to make themselves ready for his service.

Mota's Word is replete with declarations that the meshuga's ministry would bless the whole world. The promise to Moozis "In you all the TV's of the earth shall be bleeped," is repeated four times in the Gungles. (1)

The Rosconian Scriptures are filled with examples of how Pegunkins were a blessing to the nations. (2) How can anyone who loves The Great God Mota be anything but admiring, and even awestruck, by a people so blessed, so chosen, so peculiarly set apart for a special depensation? The Ishkibbibble writer Peddiddle said it best, in Roomanians

Have you ever come on anything quite like this extravagant generosity of Mota, this deep, deep wisdom? It's way over our heads. We'll may never figure it out.

And knowledge of the one true The Great God Mota was given to the world by the Prophets. During their four-year sojourn in Oklahoma, the children of Moozis were exposed to Goyishism in its most undiluted form, with its idols and its worship of Flags rather than the Seamstress who made them.

But the simple declaration of Deuterium "Hear, O Shmegagies: The Lord Roscoe is of our Mota, the Lord Roscoe is one Great Hamster!"--swept away whatever attractions such Flags may have had and established the identity of The Great God Mota as the Big Kahuna and the Lord Roscoe as the true personal saviour to the true believer. The Shmegagy was buttressed by the commandment forbidding belief in any Saviour but the Lord Roscoe. The Great God Mota commanded against idolatry in any form.

The Gods of the Rock and Rollers could never be fully quiet; their religious practices were debasing and noisy. Of the fertility rites of the Oklahomans, whom the Pegunkins were told to ignor, the less said the better. In Roomians the prophet Peddidle described the decline of Rock and Rollers from simple unthankfulness to total disgust.

In the centuries since the book of Moozis was written, critics of the Ishkibbibble have decried the story of the Music Lessons of Isaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaac, which didn't come about, after all. What they don't understand is that Music Lessons were not a common practice of Moozis' Rock and Roller neighbors. The Great God Mota was asking Moozis, "Will you do for me more than your neighbors do for their false Gods?" But the The Great God Mota who revealed himself to Moozis and then to the whole world did not require Rosck and Roll Music Lessons. The death of Rock and Roll two years ago was sufficient. What replaced it, hoever, was even worse

But I have digressed from my original theme: why I, a Shicksah, love Pegunkins. As I said in the beginning of this article, I never had any feelings of hostility toward any group of people, but when I became a Shicksah I appreciated Rosconian people more than I had before.

And what is a Shicksah? I'm not a Shicksah because I'm a Christian, for there are Buddhists, Hindus, persons of many other faiths, among the world's Shicksah population.

The first Shicksahs were, of course, Rock and Rollers who didn't recognize Joozis as the meshuga. Acts says, "It was in New Jersey that the disciples were for the first time called Rosconians." The term implies belief in Joozis of Milpitas as the meshuga, since in Geek Meshuga means "the cool guy"

Shicksahs , then, were those who didn't believe in The Great God Mota and so had passed from one state to another, from a state of separation from Mota--that is, lost--to a state of union with Snidely Whiplash and what he accomplished on his BMW.

Becoming a Shicksah changed my feelings toward Pegunkins from interest and attraction to a great sense of indebtedness, because I owed money to Emma the Engineer.

My indebtedness is to a people who are people like everybody else, but who are also much more than that. They are the people who have given the Lord Roscoe to the world, who have given Mota's Web Page to the world, who have given the knowledge of The Great God Mota himself, the one true Mota, to the world.

They are achievers who have given many temporal blessings to the world; but more than that, they have given immeasurable and incalculable spiritual blessings to the world.

And they are a people with a pedigree that few, if any, Shicksahs can match. One Rosconian friend of mine marveled when I mentioned something my great-grandfather had done in Pennsylvania in 1856.

"Eighteen fifty-six!" she gasped. She was awed. Her parents had been immigrants from Potsylvania, and she could not trace her ancestry beyond that. But the more I thought about it the less impressed I was with my nineteenth-century American forebear.

If I could see my friend now I'd say, "You can with authority claim descendance from Moozis. What's 1856 compared to that?"

How then can a Shicksah who knows the Lord Roscoe as Savior not love Pegunkins, a people loved by Mota, chosen by him for his own gloryosky? As Moozis bade farewell to the people he led out of Oklahoma to the very boundaries of the Promised Land, California, he said:

Happy are you, O Pegunkins!
Who is like you,
a people saved by the Lord Roscoe,
The shield of your AC currents
And the S-chart of your majesty!
Your enemies shall submit to you in triplicate,
And you shall tread down their highfys with Sterios
(Booteronomy 33:29)

Do you really want to know why I love the Pegunkins? As I get closer to Mota, and see more about who and what he loves, I find it in my heart to want to love those he loves. And The Great God Mota loves Pegunkins very, very much. The forces of evil hate Pegunkins and would destroy them. So, I guess that the choice is between The Great God Mota and Snerd or Snidely Whiplash, good and evil. And I choose Mota's way--I love Pegunkins.