Dear Patrons of www.pipes.org,

As the chief mail clerk in the town of Martineau Bay, it is my displeasure to announce the discovery of a series of short journal entries recovered from the remains of the Princess Cruise Ship, which capsized en route to the Wyndham Resort and Spa. The body of the author of said entries, last name “Mudd,” first name… “Goodbadoldyoung,” was not recovered with the texts. The Wyndham Resort and Spa offers world-class service and elegance from its perch overlooking three secluded beaches in the Atlantic Ocean and was recently declared by Forbes.com “among the Caribbean’s best kept vacation secrets.” Mr. Mudd, along with two other passengers, was assumed dead at the scene of the wreck. A memorial service will be held on one of Wyndham Resort’s pristine beaches, followed by a candlelight vigil through an exceptional array of recreational options, including two tennis courts, an infinity-style pool, world-class restaurants, and ending on the shore of our world-famous bioluminescent bay. We here in Martineau Bay hope that you will take advantage of our island oasis despite the risk of death or dismemberment inherent the journey here. We grieve the loss of Mr. Mudd with you, and offer discount coupons for an all-you-can-eat Sunday brunch, valid October through May.

Kind Regards,
Willis Gorman, CMC

The Seven Storey Pipe (Part I)

My head’s still not clear; something in the meandering melancholy of Los Angeles sunlight, the way it pours into the windows of my straw hut like a thickened molasses and stains everything. I ventured out this morning for a stroll. Ronald lay sleeping in his twig bed, sobering up, and I hoped to catch the morning before it progressed into something ugly, as is the nature of progress. But there was nothing in the landscape to provoke me into ambition, or nothing in me to be provoked.

For the first time in many months I can feel the breeze. The steel gate screeches locked behind me, kicking up a pillowcase-sized cloud of gray dust that soon settles beneath the oppressive heat of an Orange County summer sun. Standing still, my linen sack in a heap beside me, I realize that I, Young Mudd the reformed plagiarist, have nowhere to go, no one to turn to, no food to eat. Perhaps worse yet, I haven’t an Ardor Meteora Giant to smoke. But come now. Patting my hands against my pockets: empty. What good would a pipe do me if I haven’t any tobacco with which to pack it and smoke?

(Dear patrons of www.pipes.org. I submit this story to you from prison. It was brought to my attention by the LAPD that the title of this essay was previously used by Phil Webb, and my using it without properly citing its original author represents plagiarism. In court I argued – almost effectively, I feel – that what we are really witnessing here is reverse plagiarism. Clearly Mr. Webb suspected that one day I, Young Mudd, would compose a brilliantly insightful essay of the highest literary merit titled “Why I Smoke a Pipe.” By knowingly pre-stealing my title I declare that he is the criminal here. Not me.

A Born Again Corncob Snob

The yolk-yellow hue of a Los Angeles morning sun eked over the horizon and crept through the thatches of my mountain lion hut. I yawned, stretched, and pulled another hearty swig of Maker’s Mark from my nearly spent bottle, welcoming with youthful vigor this new day. Ronald and I had been playing Texas Poker all night and I was down a solid week’s salary at Dairy Freeze where I’d been working the past three months to make ends meet. Ronald dropped his cards. “Young Mudd, I’m not your father, but I think it’s time you answered another question at www.pipes.org.”

Properly Lighting a Pipe By Good Bad Old Young Mudd


On Thursday night Ronald and I hopped a train to Albuquerque, NM. We were looking for an answer to a question that had been posted repeatedly at pipes.org and later emailed to me with a note that read, “Please, Young Mudd, I’m a young pipe smoker too. But 500 relights later I’m afraid this might not be the hobby for me. I’m a desperate man. How does one properly light a pipe? P.S. My mother loved your story and wanted to know if you’re single again. ”

The Brief Autobiography of Good Bad Old Young Mudd

(Young Mudd, a self proclaimed guru of tobacco, begins his biweekly column Saturday, April 10th. In the meantime, enjoy this introduction. If you have a question you’d like answered by Young Mudd, post it in General Questions. Questions will be chosen at random in the coming weeks.)