Mickey the Machloikes Man

BS"D

Like a Chicago housing project where even police do not dare to tread, D-ward was rendered off limits for the interim director of Creedmoor Psychiatric Center, a young Russian born, American trained psychiatrist named Dr Eugene Yehuda Khaitman. Dr Khaitman, whose temporary assignment was conferred upon him as a condition for having accepted a scholarship to medical school, was warned by the largely Admou"r-suborned staff that D-ward was considered an independent country, and since it had no relations with the United States, Dr Khaitman could not travel there with his US passport. As Dr Khaitman was a refugee who had left his native S Petersburg during Communist times, he did not want to risk citizenship issues, and he knew full well that the Admou"r was not on the official treatment roster, so he had no reason or desire to visit the abandoned husk of a building that housed the Creedmoorer rabbinical court and all of its phantom followers.

However, this all changed one fine spring morning when he heard a loud, off tune, rendition of a familiar tune coming from the D-ward exercise yard, which was within earshot of his open window.

The tune was an old camp song going back to his first summer in America, when 11 year old Yevgeny Moiseevich Khaitman became Yehuda ben Moshe ha-Levi, thanks to the warm welcome he received at a camp for Russian immigrant boys that was part of the worldwide Camp Machane Yaakov movement. From that beginning, Yehuda went on to a Jewish day school and after a period of questioning in college and medical school, became a fully observant Torah Jew, close to but perhaps not a true member of the Chassidic movement that sponsored the camp.

Never much of a music fan, Dr Khaitman could not remember the actual words that fit the familiar tune. But one thing was for sure, the lyrics did not even remotely resemble what he heard, to (nit)wit: "I'm Mickey the Machloikes Man, I stir up strife wherever I can. Whatever I don't agree with I want to ban. I'm Mickey the Machloikes Man".

He had also never heard it accompanied to the sound of a small, rotund, gnomelike man banging his head against the worn padding of the burnt out shell of what had been the D-ward dayroom, before the Admou"r burned it down for insurance purposes.

Dr Khaitman asked the little man, whose name he assumed was Mickey: "What are you doing here? You don't look like a Chossid of any sort; seems you don't like us too much but are you really looking to meet the Admou"r meCreedmoor? He's in Alcatraz this week or maybe he's in Iran or Saudi Arabia for all I know...or in some beis boshes in Paris...."

Mickey replied: "What do you mean! That song is pure kefira and has no business being sung with the real words, which are "Dear Rebbe, we love you so. Why did you leave us, we do not know." And my mission is to destroy kefira wherever I can by spreading machloikes between Yidden, all in the name of my new brand of pop mussar that I teach to everyone who pays any attention to me, which is 6 weirdos just like me and a couple of goyim."

"Mussar? Well, I consider myself a Chossid of the Rebbe, but I know what mussar is, and what you are preaching is not mussar in yeshivish, but mussor in Russian. And whichever way you look at it, you are trespassing, because either this is Creedmoor and you have no pass for here, or this is the Admou"r's independent territory and he doesn't let anyone visit without paying him food stamps for a kvittel. Why are you here?"

"Oh, well, I got lost looking for the outpatient treatment center. Check your records, not that I trust anyone who went to Camp Machane Yaakov and knows the kefira songs to deal with my situation. My name is Michael Steinberg, but since my name is Mee-cha-e-l everyone calls me Mickey the Machloikes Man."

However, when Dr Khaitman requested politely that Mickey follow him back into the main building where he would find the patient records and assign him to the proper specialist, he protested:

"Really, I want to join this K'hal Sinas Chinom d'Creedmoor ve'Shaar Marin Bishin! It sounds right up my alley - sinas chinam and machloikes go hand in hand! I saw the sign from the window when I came in and I had to check it out!"

"Mickey, I would think you had realized by now that this congregation does NOT exist! Goldman, Schmoigerman or whatever his name is got himself committed here on a phoney diagnosis and uses it to commit federal entitlement program fraud on a massive scale! We can't stop him because of all kinds of civil rights laws that keep me from finding out in one split second that Schmoigerman is not a psychiatric patient. And even if I did that, the guy declared an independent republic here and got EU and UN recognition, so go figure. We're not even supposed to be here but Schmoigerman is away and no one will see us."

"But I want to meet the Admou"r. I am looking for someone who will appreciate my gadlus in Torah and my dedication to stopping the tide of kefira that is enveloping all who do not study my pop mussar, especially the Wiccans I teach it to for a few bucks!"

"Mickey, I think Dr Prasad Bakri Patel in the Outpatient Treatment and Analysis Department would like to have a few mussar sessions with you! One moment please while I call him!"

Dr Khaitman took out his cellphone and called the admitting clerk in Outpatient, herself a Russian immigrant. Translated from Russian, the conversation went something like this:

"Irina, listen, I have one I need Patel to take care of. He's actually trespassing and I can have security handle him, but he's one of ours and I think he really needs help!"

"Yevgeny Moiseevich, listen, Patel is busy; the crazy rabbi asked him to certify 100,000 outpatients and send the information to Medicare."

"Irina, that is called ILLEGAL ACTIVITY and I have only one more month here and I don't care if you, or he, or anyone else there gets caught on these rabbi scams. You want to do that kind of garbage (mussor), go right ahead and do it when I AM NOT AROUND because you work for ME right now and so does Patel! I want Michael Steinberg scheduled for outpatient consultation in FIVE minutes!"

"OK....."

Meanwhile, Steinberg heard the word mussor, which as alluded to before, is the Russian word for garbage.

"They learn mussar? They want to learn mussar with me????? I'll gladly show them how pop mussar has no problems with avoida zoro so long as they are against the kefira of Chassidus!"

"Mickey, you and they don't know Reb Yisroel Salanter zichroino levrocho from a hole in the wall! Irina's mother is not Jewish and Patel is a Hindu turned Sikh turned Creedmoorer because he's in on every scam that Schmoigerman ever cooked up!"

"Well, that's OK! My version of mussar has more to do with Budhuism than anything and so long as they are not Chassidim and acknowledge that I and my teacher, Alley Moronnos, are the leading masters of mussar today, I'll take them as students!"

Before Khaitman could start laughing, his phone rang:

"Yehuda, sholom aleichem" his rabbi greeted him: "Aleichem sholom" came the reply. After inquiring as to each other's welfare (not to be confused with welfare cheques, which neither one receives), Rabbi Mendy Eisenman continued: "Remember I asked you whether you saw who was coming in and stealing all the chassidus leaflets in shul erev Shabbos? Well, he is actually on his way to Creedmoor; he's a New Yorker originally and he was picked up doing the same thing in Flatbush! Mickey something...."

"Really! I've got him then! He's not committable but I am trying to get him over to outpatient; he was banging his head over in the Gonover Rebbe's chotzeir!!!!"

"Well, see if you can put him away or at least get him into treatment. He's a pathetic case; not dangerous but a real pest. He leaves all kinds of messages about Moronous Mussar conferences..."

"Yep, that's my man! Thanks! Zait gezunt - see you tonight at the farbrengen im irtze Hashem"!

With that, Mickey, who overheard the conversation, became quite indignant: "A koifer and an oived avoido zoro has no neemanus! You CANNOT take me for treatment! I am the only voice of true Judaism left on the planet and I have six true followers!"

"Mickey, well, it seems that somewhere in this bureaucratic mess is an order requesting your treatment, because trespass as you just committed yet again, combined with destruction of private property, are misdemeanors, and I'd be happy to ask Rabbi Mendy if I can call the cops and have you arrested..."

Mickey realized he was cornered, and followed the doctor to the outpatient clinic, where Dr Prasad Patel, wearing an aluminum Sikh turban that was said to be filled with EBT cards, awaited the duo:

"Prasad, get that tin foil off your head NOW! This is NOT crazy rabbi time. He's away and you just might also get sent away! This guy is suffering from delusions of grandeur and possible paranoid schizophrenia. And like you, he's a grade three pest! See what you can do! C-200 is empty if he needs to stay overnight!"

Dr Khaitman then returned to his office and left the mussar scholar with his equally authentic Sikh counterpart.....

To be continued on Nitel Nacht Beis (6 January 2008). This is based on the ramblings of a perennial pest and self appointed scholar on a well known Jewish forum.

Rubin-Has-No-Life

Among the myriad dupes, shills, fellow travelers and phantom multiple personalities who reside in D-ward is a rather odd fellow who calls himself Rubin, in homage to the mediocre boxer and accomplished violent felon (sextuple murderer, according to some sources) Rubin "Hurricane" Carter. Since the Admou"r is so very enamored of felons, he summarily converted Rubin to Creedmoorer Chassidus, using an WMA to mp3 converter and a catalytic converter along with his standard 110 to 220 volt converter.

For some strange reason, the newly converted Rubin (now called Reivyn), whose name was duly submitted to all welfare offices, signed up for section 8 and disability, and forged on a number of title deeds used for dubious real estate flips, became very attached to the stars of the Creedmoor music industry.

Now, everyone knows that like much in Creedmoor, said stars do not exist. You must understand that the Admou"r takes in over one trillion Estonian forints in welfare cheques, food stamps, SSI, housing subsidies, Medicare and disability per annum. This is supplemented with over three trillion renminbi yuan worth of profits from insurance fraud, arson for hire, cheque kiting, bank fraud, wire fraud, consumer fraud and charity fraud.

And it is for the sake of charity fraud that the Admou"r invented a whole stable of musical entertainers, each of whom occasionally performs for one or more of the Admou"r's fundraisers. Of course, what really happens is that a couple of Creedmoor janitors are paid a couple of cigarettes each to bang pots, pans, drums and stolen auto parts in one of the old treatment rooms which the Admou"r has converted to a stage.

In the meantime, the Admou"r launders money by reassigning subsidy payments or insurance payments from one of his nonexistent personalities to one of these nonexistent performers.

And the king of all of these performers is of course Menivel ben Zimri, or MBZ. MBZ, who exists only in the Creedmoor parallel universe, has had almost a billion Slovenian lira transferred to his slush accounts at the Thirty Second Bank of Vanuatu. And one of MBZ's favorite acts is banging pots and pans to an obscure German Eurovision entry called "Yankel Kahn."

Of course, MBZ, who does not exist, found it very hard to credit the original band, which does exist. Instead, he goes on and on performing his version of the song "Der Admou"r'z a Con", at every pots and pans banging session for every new charity that the Admou"r dreams up.

In the meantime, a less popular act, Pay Tzaddik, is largely ignored, even though their works, such as "Flipped Out Across Boiling Schmaltz" are somewhat original.

But Rubin, you see, is an activist who stands up against every injustice on the planet Mars. So, he sits all day on the Internet, attacking the nonexistent Menivel ben Zimri, and claiming that eleven Moldovan welfare cheques must be transferred to the German band in exchange for use of the tune. As his therapists have reassigned him from basket weaving to Internet therapy, he has even started a blog, called Rubin-Has-No-Life, in which he sounds off like a broken record regarding theft and copying by MBZ. Of course, he cares little that two other multiple personalities are recording MBZ concerts and selling the albums for 100 counterfeit EBT cards a piece!

Needless to say, MBZ and his fan club, consisting of the usual suspects, including Napoleon and George Washington as well as the Admou"r and all of his suborned psychiatrists, psychologists, psychotics, and psychobabblers, are not fazed by Rubin's criticism. So, Rubin goes on and on in his padded cell, tilting at windmills, while all around him, real fraud on a huge scale goes on and on.

Moshe Aryeh Friedman and the Magic Bedsheet - part 2

It is impossible for a child of ten years of age to be committed to Creedmoor. However, the Friedman parents and his many frustrated teachers, babysitters, and counselors needed a solution for little Moshe Aryeh, and fast.

So when Reb Velvel suggested Creedmoor, Moshe Aryeh's mother was only too happy to listen, and indeed she called the august institution to inquire as to whether there was a berth for her addled spawn.

While the answer was of course negative, it so happened that the medical director of Creedmoor at the time was Dr Michael Weinberg, an eminently overqualified heir to a building fortune, and himself a frum Yid of Hungarian origin with a very warm feeling toward Chassidus. So, Dr Weinberg agreed to accept Moshe Aryeh Friedman into a medical study aimed at assisting children with antisocial behavior patterns to somehow integrate into society.

This meant that every Monday, Wednesday and Thursday after school, Moshe Aryeh Friedman would be taken to a padded cell in Creedmoor for a few hours, where Dr Weinberg and his team tried to figure out what could be done to turn Moshe into "half a mensch, or eppes nisht azoy a vilder ferd," as one of his enervated teachers put it so eloquently.

Of course, when dealing with one as addled as Moshe Aryeh Friedman, success is not a given. And the treatments were given no chance of success, so that in essence Creedmoor was simply an after school day care center for "Freaky Freedy," a nickname that even the staff used for their unwanted charge.

And Freeky lived up to his name. He especially enjoyed drawing Zionist flags on the padding of his cell, and then tearing up the padding while shouting "Death to Zionism! Zionism and Judaism are direct opposites! Down with Zionist murderers!" Then, there were his myriad scams which the undersized terror carried out among the underpaid and under-documented maintenance staff.

For instance, the simplest scam was the cigarette scam. Moshe Aryeh Friedman was only 11 years old when he began this game, but credulous Mexican and Honduran janitorial assistants lined up to pay him a mere 50 cents for a pack of cigarettes "straight fin der Indianer reservation in Vilyemsburgh!" Since Moshe had driven his long suffering father to chain smoking long ago, he had no trouble obtaining Marlboro packages, in which he placed one piece of paper wrapped around chopped up rubberbands. He then resealed the packages with scotch tape and distributed them to his dupes, with instructions to "plent der cigarette in der erd end you grow a cigarette tree in tzvye months!" Given the low level of sophistication among his customers, they eagerly believed him, and when the trees did not grow in two months, he simply sold each dupe a half bottle of hydrogen peroxide for another fifty cents and told them to water their plants with "heiliger vasser fin der Rebbe."

And this was trumped only by his first welfare scam, successfully completed before he reached his 12th birthday..(part 3 coming after Shabbos).