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Special Revival Issue



The Courier Editors have been pressed back into disservice despite their staunch opposition to the people's right to know, their fervent denial of hard work being a worthwhile endeavor, & their acclaimed disdain for literacy among "stupid commoners."  Citing the recent clamoring for "deliverance from board-dumb rumors" & "uninspired tall-tales," the Editors felt it was time to "put down the uprising,  set the town records straight" & print "more exciting gossip than is heard either at Bumppo's or Miss Mary Long Carabine's Koffee Klatch."

To celebrate its revival in style, the disreputable periodical, Mohicanland's best & only, plans to run a feature story on Mohicanland's original origins. The old-timey feature is "in honor of those who've survived the assaults of the carpetbagger progressives & cruel takeover bids by two-bit scoundrels, wayward wenches, & deviant speculators." When asked to confirm whether or not the Editors themselves were involved in the sordid plots the official reply was, "Stuff it." An off the record confirmation, however, was candidly offered by one of the Editors. "Yes. Stuff it."

Titled, "Mohicanland: How One Spurious Publication Created A Community," the feature features features such as Miss Mary Long Carabine's personal recollections of the fledgling community's abduction of one J F Cooper. "He weren't nobody special ... a man without a gloss ... but we told him to write like the Dicken or die," she offered as she snortingly noted his subsequent popular glimmer-gloss tales. "We made him." The Mohicanland dame went on to describe creative creations of new identities for "vagabonds & wanderers" that haplessly "stumbled upon the renegade outpost" while searching for food. "Some folks might condemn such crafty measures," sneered the Koffee Klatch hostess, "but in them days we just called it 'nation building'." A heartwarming tale offered by the Dutch Trader explains how she "first came looking for gold, golden opportunities, & gold laden suckers," but soon fell madly in love with the new colony's dead hero, a "tragic fellow named Uncas." Explaining her odd twist of fate that led to the fatal attraction, she said,  "I knew he was dead as a gilded doorknob but his demeanor hadn't changed much in death. He was as lively dead as he was lively alive. I figured, wah-tah-heck!" TGAT Lainey added, "Mohicanland was born right here ...  in these sick, sick minds. It was like cutting out paper dolls & making them real. Soon enough, they were real!" Looking starry eyed in a fake display of nostalgia, she sighed excessively & added, "It was special, those pitiful beginnings.  We had great fun - if we didn't like a particular character we just made us a voodoo doll & stuck pins all over it. Sometimes we had the Courier print awful, slanderous, sensational gossip just to watch the fall-out & count the dead. It was SOOOOOOOO inspiring!"

Winner of last year's Thomas Payne Foundation's Award for Yellow Journalism, the Courier continues to set journalistic standards other publications only dream of in night sweats. For the complete featured feature, "Mohicanland: How One Spurious Publication Created A Community," be sure to read the next issue of The Courier, found at taverns, Hoo-Haa Houses, & other fined Mohicanland establishments.


Following a shocking discovery that nearly rocked the foundations of Mohicanland & frightened pious persons of all degrees of impiety, it has now been confirmed that the colony does have within it one of those strange secret societies about which your mother rightly warned. According to Courier reports, the dark details first came to light after one alleged society member was spotted sneaking around several residents' cabins wearing a hawkish costume & screaming, "Huzzah! Come on! Make my day! Huzzah!"  Receiving enough complaints to finally prod him from his Gallic laziness, Constable Frenchie Frye galloped out to investigate, yelling, "freeeeedom, Frye!" as he rode.  His freely obtained deposition follows. 

"What I saw was disturbing," said the disturbed mountie. "There was a buckskin wearing gentleman sporting an odd shaped hat that looked like a turbanized breech clout, brandishing what appeared to be a long stick running up & down the George Road - the gentleman, not the stick - I dismounted & hid behind the brush. As I watched, the gent seemed to engage in several lively skirmishes - though I saw no opponent - he appeared to be acting out ...  maybe ... some ... bizarre ritual? He was yelling, "Friends! Nobles! Countrymen! Send me your ears!" & "Traitors to the crown must die!" His arms wildly flailing, he paced while muttering of 'coup sticks & kingships.'  Now, with his stick  loaded, he dropped to his knees & aimed. Meeting no resistance, he whispered, "Make ready," & went on with the game ...  pretending to shoot a stuffed bear that was gagged & bound to an old tree. "Huzzah!" he yelled, "A dead shot! I ain't no damn scout! I ain't no damn militia! I'm Musket Boy!" I started toward the poor fellow, thinking a nice stay in Dr. Mary's Rest Home might do him some good. Suddenly another buckskin clad gentleman appeared on the George Road, menacing with his wild gleering eyes. Wondering if this might be a war going on I headed west to another brushy stand. "Aha! There's only room for one Hawkeye in this pathetic, stinking town! Choose your weapon," taunted the fellow, "and die!"  Next thing I knew, they were grappling & wrestling & rolling about in the dirt. "Die, imposter!" ... "Renounce your claim, Mingo!" ... "Marc, my word - never!" Those were the sorts of things I heard. Then, if you could believe it, a group of femmes dressed in all sorts of odd accoutrements just popped out from the woodlands, dancing & clapping & singing a snappy Celtic sort of tune. One had shiny gadgets tied to her waistcoat & striped skirt - & a whirling tin oddity atop her mob cap that was spraying misty water. Another was wearing white glow-skin moccasins that made the whole world seem on fire. The last three were wearing wreaths with little flasks of amber liquid dangling from beaded strips of leather all around their headdresses, making it easy to chug a half dram while otherwise busy.  After briefly contemplating the joys of 'a half-dram-on-the-go' I fired a good burst of grapeshot. "Drop your weapons  ... & your sticks ...  march slowly back to the  common." Startled out of their leggings, they un-gathered themselves enough to sneer & hiss & make evil eyes, finally moving along at a snail's pace when the gadget lass cried out, "Let's bolt, people! Head west to Can-Tiki!" "That is sedition!" I yelled, grabbing hold of several gadgets slung over her waistcoat. "That is uncouth!" she retorted. But ... sensing their jig was up, all marched for two leagues with better order, though the women were tired & the men kept poking them in an annoying manner, saying, "Snap! Snap! Stay alive!" I was able to turn in the whole lot with no losses but the experience has stirred my blood so ... I shan't sleep tonight. I shall return to New France with all haste."

The Courier has, upon further investigation, learned this odd fringe group is a dangerous, treacherous, seditious, malicious, vicious, conniving, thriving, bootlegging, thieving, lying, anarchistic, moon-shining, black powder worshipping, hawk throwing, stamp tax evading sect known as the 'un-gatherers.' Attempting to disguise themselves & fool unsuspecting pious gatherers, these former adherents of the true gathering denomination meet secretly in hidden places owned by French Broads where they learn tricks & hold sadistic rites of initiation. "That's what was going on that night," said Mohicanland's newly elected magistrate, Brother James Securemann. "They were initiating the one known as 'Musket Boy' into their depraved group. We are following all leads & promise to smoke out the other members from their holes. We know there were others on the George Road. We know they still lurk among us ... these sons of perdition!" 

While the investigation still continues, a word of caution from the Magistrate. "If anyone approaches seeking alms, alms, alms for the board, or should you hear of any persons who claim to represent either the 'Musket Boy Project' or the un-gathering sect, back away slowly, do not engage them, & be afraid. Be very afraid. Bolt your doors, hide your children, & grab yourself a musket."

For comfort & salvation, Reverend Wheelock has promised to "preach us a fiery fire & brimstone sermon" this Sabbath on "the discoveries & sordid truthes of sects." As always, a picnic supper will follow. [Editors' Note: See Related Article On Terrorism] 



[Special Report contributed by Achillse, undercover terrorist ...... or expert.]

The Courier is alarmed to find terrorism has breached the safe realm of Mohicanland, where only days & days ago Happy Thoughts were on everyone's mind. That much has become clear from a candid interview with fierce Commander Achillse of the Wah-tah-Wah Warriors. Commander Achillse spoke at length to the Courier on increased subversive underground activities taking place all over the place - even above ground. The Commander, who is a veteran of the infamous Trade Wars and Mask Wars has been undercover, posing as a foreign national, researching these activities for over 2 years.

"Yes," said the Commander, "there is disturbing evidence of extremist hard line factions operating in Mohicanland. Take, for instance, this group that calls itself the "Un-gatherers." They blatantly ignore the missive that the Gathering is cancelled, sneak into Chimney Rock Park, and have
the gall to demand the staff provide breakfast upon arrival. When denied said breakfast they proceeded to bomb the staff with rotten tomatoes. These perpetrators are still fugitive."

Rumors are rampant, many suggesting the un-gatherers have crowned an unknown participant to be their king, offering him guns, mirrors, tools ... & proper clothing, arms and equipment. This unidentified person is known by the nickname "Musket Boy," though he audaciously prefers the more haughty name "Hawkeye." When asked if this hawkish person is dangerous, the Commander replied, "No, not really. So far he's only managed to hit his left foot." The coronation took place in a place called French Broads. The Courier wonders why that particular place has not yet been renamed Freedom Broads place. Fishy? Indeed.

With the unexplained absence of She-who-tracks, Wilderness Woman, skilled in the art of tracking, has been sent into the wilderness to track Musket Boy and report back on his "perdicious" activities.
Commander Achillse called on all freedom loving, patriotic Mohicanland citizens to be alert and to report any "out of the ordinary sightings" to the special hotline somewhere in Flanders:
0-800-WHAT-TA-TALE. [There a haughty court is now in session - pardon their French.]

Asked if Mohicanland residents should take especially special precautions, the Commander reassuringly replied, "Hell no, let's roll, people. But hey! hey! HEY! Let's be careful out there." [The Courier Editors are indebted to Achillse for this Terrorism Alert]


A groundbreaking ceremony will be held next Saturday "to kick off" Mohicanland's new and only cemetery, "Mohicanland's Dead Bed." According to a leaning community pillar, the ceremonies will be "uplifting & shhfun" with community "shpirit being a partiiiicularly hiiiigh shurpiority. We've been holdin' a shpublic awarenesshh campaign, ash your readers know, with a shlogan contesht. The winnersh will be announced right shafter the ground opening. We've got shome great prizesh in shtore!" Asked to predict the groundbreaker, the drunken spokesperson replied, "Whoever kicksh off closhest to kick off time, I shuppose. I bet i'sh one of Doc Mary's poor clientsh! Oh! I hope sho. Hey! Whaddya know? Doc Mary. Tha'sh me! Ha ha!"  Illegally obtaining early contest submissions, the Courier would like to share. 'Do YOU have your six feet firmly planted in the ground?' - 'Till til you drop.' - 'It's never too early to plan your future. Come rest with us.' - & a Courier favorite, 'Early to rise, early to bed; Won't mean a lick when you're finally dead.'

Doctor Mary is reportedly "very pleased" to hear of the long awaited cemetery. Speaking to the Courier after being drowned in black coffee at Bumppo's, the good doctor said, "Seems I've been waiting an eternity! I've had bodies piling up for years. It's great knowing I'll finally have a place to put them all. And it takes the pressure off, you know ... like, it's okay to make mistakes. We've got a home for the unfortunates now!"

The long awaited cemetery will have a special memorial area dedicated to the memories of those dearly departed, not so dearly departed, & those departed without so much as a by your leave. The spokesperson requested the public inform her of any known whereabouts of the missing departed so "they might be interred properly. Dead. Alive. No matter." She added, with a wink, "That ought to stop them dead in their tracks!"

The public is invited to attend the festive ground opening.  Refreshments will be served at the pavilion immediately following the first kick off.


Hostilities have erupted in Mohicanland due to religious disputes & factional strife, leaving many residents clamoring for war. According to innocent bystanders, it's "fun, but nerve-wracking." But for Reverend Wheelock, "It's bedeviling. We've got disputes & discourse. We've got Scripture recitals & fervent denials. Now, I'm a patient & pious man, an objective man, but I tell you if we don't drive dissenters from our borders we'll soon have a bloody revolt!" Another, an elder of Reverend Wheelock's congregation added, "You know, this thing is explosive. We've already had to remove Brother James Securemann from the bench. He's supposed to be a magistrate but lately thinks himself a magisterium - whatever that is - he goes on and on citing Holy Writ & old dead guys." Brother James has been accused of very serious crimes. "We warned him," said an unnamed reformer in good standing, "but, he wouldn't stop. Got so out of hand he started writing spurious epistles." Charges of "false preaching" were confirmed by the magistrate's office who no longer has a magistrate. "Brother James wrote letters  that began 'Greetings, brethren,' & we just don't think we can allow such liberties." The infamous letters, now known as the Epistles of Brother James, have been officially declared "spurious" by Reverend Wheelock's elders who do, we are assured, speak on his authority. Brother James was tried, convicted, & sentenced this morning. Hanging was the expected remedy but due to the fact so many like Brother James, he's been freed with an admonishment to "hold thy tongue before we cut thy tongue from thy mouth." He's expected to be reseated on the bench in judicious due time.

In a related incident, Miss E Lainius has gotten herself into serious trouble yet again. Acting as a cohort of Brother James's, Miss E Lainius is charged with "pontificating within the borders of a peaceable colony of His Majesty, King George," "pomp & popery," & "stirring up the rabble against authority." A trial has been voted down with sentencing  scheduled on the morrow. Asked to comment, Miss E Lainius simply said, "I cite me." A heckler in front of the courthouse then cried, "Repent, witch!" to which the witch, we mean- the accused- said, "Ha! That's your personal judgment & it's inadmissible!" She'll likely hang on the gallows ... as was her fate all along, unless she rebels & pulls off a timely "rob-roy," which will surely irritate the King who does not, after all, enjoy being robbed. We understand Reverend Wheelock is betting on the "Scots like maneuver," saying, "33 to one odds in favor of the incorrigible wench!"

In yet another related incident, recent immigrant Anna Baptiste was also shackled on shaky religious grounds. Claiming Miss Anna Baptiste had "come bearing the rotten fruits of spiritual rebellion," Reverend Wheelock advised Mohicanland's acting magistrate to, "quit acting & arrest that woman!" Asked to defend herself, Miss Baptiste said, "I've come to Mohicanland to bring religious fervor & fever that'll leave 'em shaking in their boots ... and to see the red man." Already gaining a following, Anna Baptiste's growing sect has been dubbed "shakers" on account of their "feverish shaking."



Doctor Mary & the Huggy Merchant are reportedly "excitedly fixin' to hear the reverend's sermon" this week, claiming a "sudden inspiration." Shocked residents of the community, knowing full well the ladies' reputations for impious living & irreverent disregard for the reverend's preaching, are calling it a miracle. We don't know what to say, bumpkins, we only report the news. For those who wish to attend the sermon, it'll be at 10:00 AM sharp. For those who do not wish to attend, it will still be at 10:00 AM sharp. "The Discoveries & Sordid Truthes of Sects" will be the subject at hand. Plan on a five hour, gripping tirade as the good reverend slams against the godless un-gatherers & other wicked sects. Desperately needed refreshments will be served afterward, at which time, the Courier assumes the right to corner the two unregeneratives (Doc & Huggy) for "straight talk about sects."


Lady Jayne is no lady. So say the numerous woodcuts found around Mohicanland lately. Not wanting to further the ugly rumor but recognizing "the potential for a good story" the Courier Editors did a bit of investigating. We say indeed it can be said, "Lady Jane is no lady," & make this claim on the word of Jayne's sister, who is by her own admission responsible for the woodcut tracts against Jayne. "She is no longer Lady Jayne," said Jayne's Caine-like sis, "by virtue of her recent marriage, but now goes by the title Mistress Jayne." While we offer our congratulations to the Mistress, we still have questions regarding other woodcuts claiming "indecent attire" was worn during the ceremony. No confirmation (nor denial) was received at press time.


Magua's Moll was seen begging & gallivanting around town with the Mingo's rival Chingachgook on several evenings recently. Crying, "Ka-ching! Ka-ching! Coins for Ching!" the two-timing Huron Harpie appears to be playing both sides of the shilling. Shocked as we are by the Moll's scandalous behavior, we at the Courier don't have the heart to tell Magua, worried how the passionate Mingo will receive the news .... will you be the one to break it? 


The ever lovable Colonel Munro is planning a quiet getaway to Mohicanland soon. The Scotsman will be shown around town by two unidentified Mohicanland persons. According to Courier snoops, TGAT Lainey, who has had lengthy nosey-body correspondence previously with Colonel Munro, & Richfed, who still wants to be a "damned scout," are fervently denying they are unidentified. "Strange, perhaps ... but not undefined," says the joint press release. Considering the rarity of agreement between the two feudal despots & the futile efforts to come to terms on anything, we believe this statement has punch. There are rumors, however, that Richfed may be required to fulfill his "obligations of indebted servitude" during the time of Munro's stay &, therefore, "miss the party." TGAT Lainey would only say, "Who cares? Whatever happens, Munro must not see the burned ruins of Fort Billy Hanks. He doesn't have the heart for it." 

Main Street Business Boom

Lady Ann, seamstress & party planner, has opened a new shoppe on Main St. known as "Tailor Maid." The proud proprietess offers custom sewn "outfits for all occasions" & specializes in "long hunter costumes & accessories." In an innovative marketing strategy, Lady Ann boasts a smoking room on the premises, "complete with a well stocked supply of Madiera & Ping." Apparently an establishment "for gents only," Lady Ann has tailored her business for "those gentleman who enjoy escaping home & hearth to appreciate a good poker game." The exclusive gentleman only shoppe, while successfully building a clientele among the male population of Mohicanland, has also raised some high falutin' eyebrows. Members of Mohicanland's 'suffergents' movement have already started an harassment campaign against "Tailor Maid." Led by the queen of domesticity, Miss Mary Long Carabine, the angry women's group is threatening to "crash the joint" & terrorize the clientele. Boasting a strong membership, including the females only Koffee Klatch club, the suffergents may prove to be formidable in their opposition to "male worship." According to Miss Mary Long Carabine, Lady Ann's "establishment has a hidden agenda" & has been "the primary outfitter for that perdicious un-gathering society." Others agreed. "We suspect there's more than meets the needle eye here," said an angry Miss Adele. "And we aim to unravel this one track tailoring to men," promised a member of the original Three Piggies Production identified only as C.


Mister Scott Yangeese was arrested early Sunday morning & charged with indecent behavior.  According to the arresting poltroon, the Connecticut Yangeese has been making "indecent propositions to women of the colony" with no regard for their "marital situation, land holdings,  or religious affiliation." Apparently ratted out by Doctor Mary who finds such behavior "intolerable, abhorrent, & too competitive for my own little schemes," the accused denies all charges. "I'm innocent I tell you! I was set up." Allegations of impropriety include encouraging long hunters to "stay too long in the woods" & "suggestive suggestions." The complaint against the Connecticut Yangeese was signed by 15 upstanding citizens of Mohicanland. "It was that Jezabel!" claimed the accused. The Courier Editors don't know who Jezabel is but we do know it is NOT TGAT Lainey. Mister Yangeese is expected to settle out of court, so bond was posted by Doctor Mary.


There's so much more to tell, lots more dirt to report, & more's the pity we won't do it. This back to work thing has left us tired & in need of rest. Perhaps we'll take up the presses again next week. Til then, have fun in Mohicanland.


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