Grand opening spoiled by mis-location and mis-communication

Institute's solution to fatwa pollution ends up in "state" of Ill-annoyed

Once again, the Mt. Palomine Institute of Mysteries' efforts to share the common sense of our magnificent and generally peaceful world, Erde, with the sub-standard nincompoops bedeviling the surface of our parallel universe echo-world, "da Urth," have come to less-than-nought. Realizing that the "Urther" Muddled-Easterner tendency to promulgate endless piles of rules and regulations was based in convoluted neurotic obsessive-compulsive behavior, we created a judgement-addict assistance organization called Fatwa-Watchers and entrusted our "Urth" agents to set up the first office in the heart of an ancient place called Kai-row, in the land of E-jipt. Instead, it ended up in a strip mall in Kai-row, Ill-annoyed which is nowhere near either pyramids or any Muddled-Easterners (aside from a thoroughly pleasant Packy-stanley fellow who runs a laundromat nearby). Oyl well!

Mt. Palomine's Perky Pair of Anthro-No-Apologists, the Pille sisters (Patty and Penny), garbed head to toe in wacky gal-hider gear required for that overheated region (I like getting stoned but not with real rocks!--quipped Patty), researched the fatwa problem earlier this year. Confessed one confused and tearful mullah, "I wake up each morning and promise myself no fatwas today; by breakfast I change that to one fatwa--I'll allow myself just one small fatwa this day, only one. By noon I've issued five or six of them on every topic from hairstyles, to what months of the year one may eat oysters. I can't stop myself, I'm out of control, and I then do up to twenty or thirty more of them. Look at me! I'm gaunt and tense, I have a crazed fanatical look in my eyes, my family and neighbors hate me because I'm always passing judgement on every little detail of their lives. I find little pleasure in the few things left that I haven't already issued fatwas against, like lukewarm drinking water and dried dates. I'm a fatwaholic and I need help, bad!"

The Pille Sisters, a bit miffed by the (by Erden standards) sub-Paleolithic (uh, their exact venom-loaded words were pre-human) attitude toward the "weaker sex" that they found in that part of "da Urth," initially made some strong recommendations that we are reluctant to pass along, us not wanting to wreck our reputations as somewhat enlightened pacifist folk. Cooler heads here at the Institute convinced them that relocating all the Muddled-Eastern men-folk to the backside of "da Urth's" moon (their compromise solution!) was not a workable plan, so after a night-long brainstorming session we came up with a comprehensive strategy that included this seemingly innocuous Fatwa-Watchers scheme.