My mom is the president of the Child Survivors of the Holocaust, and she sent a package to the Turbish Children in Rockville, MD. The package came back to her and someone had written in neat all-caps:

RETURN TO SENDER
THERE ARE NO TURBISH CHILDREN LIVING HERE. I HAVE NOT EVEN HEARD OF THE TURBISH CHILDREN. THE CLOSEST I HAVE EVER HEARD IS THE WHIRLING DERVISHES WHEN I SAW A PBS SPECIAL ON THEM. THE WHIRLING DERVISH CHILDREN ISN'T REALLY THE SAME THING, THOUGH. BUT I THINK IT WOULD BE A GOOD NAME FOR A BAND. FEEL FREE TO USE THAT IDEA IF YOU LIKE. ALSO, IF YOU WISH TO SEND THIS PACKAGE OR ANY OTHERS TO THE ADDRESS, SEND IT TO THE WHIRLING DERVISHES. THANK YOU. PLEASE DO NOT CONTACT THE AUTHORITIES.

Debra and Steve live in LA and were staying with Deborah and Eryq until the next evening.  I called them in the morning about another matter, and Debra got on the phone and asked if I still wanted to go to the Whirling Dervish house.  I resisted for a moment, but quickly changed my mind and drove back over there.  When I got there, I found that they had been busy constructing a gift for the “Whirling Dervishes.”  They had taken an old, broken blender, and put a big sticker on the front that said, “BROKEN, RETURN TO BLENDER.”   Under that was a sticker they made that said “The Whirling Dervishes” with a picture of “Taz” on it. They had changed all the labels for the buttons. The red one for stop was now “Panic.”  Next was “Whirl” (of course), and I can’t remember many of the rest, but there was “Fellate,” “Bludgeon,” “Emasculate,” and “Gooify.”  There were pictures of whirling dervishes (downloaded and printed from the internet) inside the pitcher.  On the side of the pitcher, where there were cup measurements, the one cup became “1 Fish,” the two became “2 Fish” then “Red Fish,” “Blue Fish,” and finally, “Derv Fish.”

I brought some extra skirts for whirling in, and even the men put them on.  We all piled into the car and with a few trials and tribulations finally found the place.  I was hoping the person or people would be home, but not everyone hoped so. John had asked me not to get shot, and Debra had mentioned hoping not to get shot as well.  I felt that someone who would have written such a note was not one to go shooting friendly weirdoes.  As we pulled up, it didn't look like anyone was home.  My cohorts were reluctant to knock on the door, but I encouraged them, and Eryq did. Unfortunately, no one was there, but we whirled around and around on the lawn and Deborah took pictures which will soon be sent to the same address.  We all had a great laugh and talked about sending packages to the Whirling Dervishes every year.