THE MOOJ WEEKLY STANDARD
VOLUME III, No. 31, August 18, 1999

The Mooj Mail Bag

Special note:  Due to the fact that The Mooj has little or no time to waste this week, all reader mail will be presented as is.  No editing (or responses) will be provided.  I had toyed with the idea of letting Lance Worthy answer the mail again but .... well, you know. 

Dear Mooj,

I miss the Mooj Cam.  I feel disconnected from your daily rituals.  Who else can I watch meditate with tortillas stuck up their nose or bathe with an Ernie doll?  I'm distraught.  Can't you set up a freedom cam from bus?  Please try!!!!

Sleepless in Mt. Shasta
Frankie- 

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Escaped One,  

Great little secluded place, off the beaten track... Sublette, KS... Pheasant Lodge, conveniently located next to a bowling alley for entertainment and home cooked meals, local police focused on speed traps not criminals, guns allowed as long as lodge towels not used for cleaning weapons and game hens can be cleaned in shower... What more could you ask for?

[unsigned] 

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To Mooj:

I must say that I was outraged by the material presented in your newsletter last week.  Although The Mooj Weekly Standard may have skirted the fine line between ambiguous suggestion and actual lewd or inappropriate material in the past, it never actually crossed that line until last week.  And because of that I am now canceling my subscription.  Lets just say that I was horrified when I saw my children viewing your sidekick’s naked butt (that he thought appropriate to link to from your web site).  You should clean up your act before you lose any more readers.

Abe Z.
Laconia, NH 

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Mooj,

Why in the world must you insist on letting that idiot Lance Worthy substitute for you?  In my opinion it would be better to not publish the newsletter during the weeks you can’t work on them then have that half-wit Amish idiot do it.  I happen to find Lance Worthy’s sense of humor offensive and I’m sure I'm not alone.  He seems to stand for everything that you're against.  Why let him pollute the harmonic balance of your fine newsletter?

F. P.
Falls Church, VA

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 Great Omnipotent Mooj,

We can both laugh at J.J. Bigsby and those rat bastards in the FBI, ATF, CIA, etc.  Your minions must have told you by now that we were on to those rat bastards from the start.  We knew they would try to infiltrate The Mooj Freedom Network so we hired a Doug Redhand look-a-like to join the Mooj Freedom Convoy and flush  them out.  The real Doug Redhand is me and I am not a fugitive pirate or drug lord.  These are just lies disseminated by those ugly rat bastards.  I am just a simple man running a capitalistic business, as protected by our great constitution, on a desert island about 3 hours from Honolulu.  I am an "exporter" you might say.  How dare those rat bastards slander my good name!  A good friend of mine, Tom U., of Radio Free Halethorpe, MD, works at WBAL on the graveyard shift and he can identify the arrested D. Redhand as being an impostor and vouch for my integrity.  Well Mooj it's time for me to go and tend to my crops so I can send my next scheduled shipment to the mainland.

The Real Doug Redhand
Guano Atoll
An Unincorporated Territory of the United States 

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Mr. Mujaputtia,

First, let me first introduce myself.  My name is J. Edgar Gayson, and I am the new acting Director of Eastern Operations for the Federal Bureau of Investigations.  I am writing to personally offer you Amnesty (with the exception of the four weeks you still owe The Commonwealth Pennsylvania and any additional time assigned to you as a result of the indictments currently pending against you in Florida and Alabama).  All you have to do is show up at any local law enforcement agency and they will feed and bathe you until I can come and get you.  We will even re-charter The Mooj Freedom Bus if you want and drive you all the way back home to Chester County in it.  

Between you and me I’m not even sure how Operation Mooj Bait got so out of hand.  The FBI has now spent $20 million dollars and lost two of its best agents trying to apprehend you.  Both of those agents were good friends of mine and I feel I owe it to their families to set things straight.  One of these agents was a fellow named C.J. Merryweather.  He was a 30-year man with an outstanding record.  Agent Merryweather now goes by the name “Special Agent Ziggy” and has turned into a drug-crazed Rastafarian, who now sits around all day down in the Caribbean listening to Reggae music and smoking marijuana.  The other agent was a fellow named J.J. Bigsby.  He was the best FBI man I ever knew.  He was even on the short list to be the new director of The FBI as soon as the next Republican Administration took power.  He was a true professional and was the best crime fighter this Country ever had until he went insane last month.  I should warn you that Bigsby no longer works for the FBI and is hunting you down like a dog.  (He claims that he is the real Mooj and that you are the impostor and he must kill you to set things cosmically straight.)  Bigsby is a former navy SEAL and is considered very, very dangerous.   He is an excellent tracker and is currently sniffing his way through the Alabama forest looking for you.

In closing I, again, plead with you to give yourself up.  There’s a cup of hot cocoa waiting for you in my office.  Maybe you just need someone to talk to; or maybe you just need a friend.  I would like to be that friend, Mooj, I really would.

J. Edgar Gayson
New Director of Eastern Operations
Federal Bureau of Investigations 

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A letter to be sung to the tune of the Bee Gee’s Jive Talking:

"....Trash talkin,’ that’s all he do is trash talkin’ …Lance won’t come through ‘cause Lance is a fool.  He’s always trash talkin’ and he ain’t cool....."  There Mooj, sing that to yourself as you run amok through the jungles of Alabama.  Keep Lance and his filth out of your newsletter!

K.D. Larramie
Yakima, WA 

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Wow, finally a real newsletter!  Lance may be a bit bizarre but at least he knows how to throw together an interesting newsletter.  Keep the kid; he’s definitely an asset to your otherwise pointless publication.  I suggest you give him a weekly column and a bigger cut of all your scams.

James Hasslehoff,
Plaska, Texas 

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I’m so tired.  I can’t sleep.  I’ve been awake for weeks now.  So tired.  Tired.  Must sleep.

[unsigned] 

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Dear Mooj,

I rode on the Mooj Freedom Bus with you from “South of the Border,” South Carolina to Kissimmee, FL.  I wasn’t part of the official Mooj Entourage, just a friend of one of the girls who was in the entourage.  (Actually, as funny as it sounds, I guess this girl had an entourage of her own.)  Anyway, I just wanted to write and thank you for all the life changing lessons you taught me on that trip.  Those two days spent on the bus with you were the most enlightening days of my life.  Now I know why people are attracted to you and your teachings.  You are a very spiritual and holistic person and you have taught me how important it is to think of others before thinking of oneself.  Also, forth coming or possibly attached to this note is a summons for you to appear at the Orange County, Florida Courthouse on September 12, 1999.  This is in regard to a lawsuit that I am filing against you and The Mooj Freedom Network for injuries I sustained at the Green Briar Trailer Park.  Since my injuries and subsequent arrest I have been unable to maintain any kind of meaningful employment or relationship.  My lawyers will contact you.

Richie G. Sambucco
Dillon, SC 

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I eat only corn.  I eat corn for breakfast; then I re eat it for lunch.  And then I re eat it for dinner.  What a pip I am!

Prof. G.H. Lewis
University of The Americas
New Gabon 

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Dear Sir(s),

Attached is my check for the Ling-Ling, The Musical Ape Fund.  Please use this money in any way you can to help poor Ling-Ling.  Also, when can I become a Mooj Super Fund Gold Star Winner like that lady from Texas?  I, too, have given over $10,000 to your socially progressive funds and the only thing I ever got in return was a “Mooj for West Chester Selectman” bumper sticker.

Miss Etna Green
Wahoo, NE 

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To: Mujaputtia Umbababbaraba.
From: Mack McMartin, Attorney at Law
Bowling Green, KY
 
Sir,

I represent the Estate of the late Roger Harold Gregory Fallow III.  I am writing to inform you that you were named the prime beneficiary of Mr. Fallow’s Last Will and Testament, which he revised and had me re issue last month.  The reading of the will shall take place in my office, located at 7654 Green Spring Ave., Suite 54A, Bowling Green, KY.  Two times have been established for reading the will since Mr. Fallow had such a large family and my office complex is rather small.  The first reading will take place at 8:00 p.m. on August 15th, 1999.  The second reading will begin at 10:00 a.m. on August 17th, 1999.   Several members of the Fallow family have asked that if it is at all possible that you attend both sessions since they have no idea who the hell you are, or how it is that their father left the vast majority of his $18 million estate to you and your Save The Eastern Pennsylvania Rain Forest Fund.  Please contact me as soon as possible so that travel arrangements can be made.

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Why do women have smaller feet then men?  It’s so they can stand closer to the stove!  Ha!  Hey, why don’t women need to wear wristwatches?  Because there’s a clock on the stove!  Ha!

The Irish Jokester
County Cork, IRE 

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Great One!

Can you use your influence to get me admitted to the Mummers Guild?  I'd be a pretty good Mummer.

Eldridge G. Libby
Philadelphia, PA

A tear rolled down my cheek as the last of my entourage was hog-tied and dragged off to one of the waiting police buses parked in the driveway of my Blount Springs, AL safe house.  A part of me wanted to surrender with the others but I was naked and too embarrassed to show myself.  (For some odd reason I had decided to pick elderberries in the nude that morning.)  I had no choice but to sit in the woods and wait for everyone to leave.  After all the people were gone I bid farewell to the smoldering remains of the safe house (which had been set afire by ATF agents) and then wandered off into the woods.  For nearly a week I roamed aimless inside the dense William B. Bankhead National Forest, collecting berries and foraging on dead animals.  (As most of you know The Mooj is a vegetarian so this was something I did only as a last resort.)  Finally I reached a small village near Piney Grove, AL.  Since I was still naked I needed clothes and so I decided to attack the next person who came along.  (As most of you know The Mooj is a non-violent pacifist so this was something I did only as a last resort.)  I couldn’t believe my bad luck: the first six or seven people that I ambushed and knocked unconscious were elderly women attending some nearby social function.  And not one of them was wearing something that would fit me!  One of these ladies put up quite a fight and I had to use my karate skills to try and subdue her but she too was skilled in the martial arts and got the best of me.  My screams of agony during her attack attracted unwanted attention and soon a crowd began to appear to cheer the old woman on.  I escaped from this angry mob and ran for my life into the deep woods.  Now instead of just being cold, tired, naked and hungry I was also beaten to a pulp.

For five more days I wandered around searching for food and shelter in those dense, unforgiving woods.  To compound the situation the monsoon season began and it rained almost everyday from then on.  (So I guess not only was I cold, tired, naked, hungry and beaten, I was also soaking wet.)  I promised myself that I would surrender to the very next human being I saw if ever I got out of those woods alive.

Finally my wish came true and I emerged into a clearing.  A road sign told me that I had entered the sleepy hamlet of Addison, AL.   I searched in vain for someone to surrender to but the town was completely empty.  Not a soul was to be seen as far as I could look.  (It must have been the day that The Winston 500 was being run.)  I walked down Main Street to the sheriff’s office and found the door locked.  It was then that I felt more hopeless than words can describe.

But then the sparkle came back into my eyes as I noticed and began reading a sign hanging in the sheriff’s office window.  It was a flyer for a Poetry Symposium in Anniston, Alabama.  I became electrified!  My suffering was permanently erased from my mind and I was alive yet again! I was The Mooj again!  I read and re read the flyer to make sure my eyes weren’t deceiving me.  It was as if that Poetry Symposium was meant just for me (the theme was “Poetry in Conjunction with Kung Fu Dancing”).  I quickly ran to the main highway and stole a car.  (I actually didn’t intend to steal the car, I only wanted to flag down the driver and see if he’d give me a ride to Anniston.  But when he saw me running toward him stark naked and all he panicked and fled from his vehicle.  I tried to give him a ride but he refused to get back into his car with me.)

The fact that I was still naked, hungry, dirty, wet and swollen from my recent beatings did not bother me anymore; I was too busy thinking about the upcoming Poetry Symposium.  But then a horrifying thought occurred to me.  What if I had missed the deadline to submit my abstract?  I had lost knowledge of all space and time—in fact, I had no idea where I even was!  My heart pounded in agony, fearing that it was too late.  I knew I had no time to waste so I drove as fast as that Yugo would take me into eastern Alabama.  As soon as I entered Anniston I stopped and asked the first person I saw what day and time it was.  When that person informed me of the date and time I leapt for joy!  I still had 15 minutes before the deadline expired!  I had no time to waste!  I put the car in gear and sped toward the Anniston Convention Center;  arriving exactly one minute before the deadline.

My time in the forest had greatly changed my looks.  Gone were my boyish good looks, they were now replaced with the face of a haggard old man.  I had lost nearly half my body weight and I was covered from head to toe with welts, mosquito bites, poison ivy rashes, and other assorted blotches.  I knew my appearance would be a disadvantage; but I also knew my talent would win the hearts of the admission committee so I proceeded with high hopes.

But then my psychic senses began to warn me that something was amiss.  I had the strange sensation that I was in danger; my Ying and Yang were out of sorts.  I decided to sneak into the building through the back.  In through a broken cellar window I crawled and then I used my psychic powers to navigate my way up to the reception area, where the admission committee was conducting its last audition of the day.  It was then that I saw my exact double performing my famous kung-fu dance!  This person resembled me (or at least the way I looked before I had aged and lost all my body weight) in every way imaginable.  This person also possessed my rare talent for kung fu dancing and poetry—it was as if I was watching myself perform!  This impostor had all my moves down and, in some respects, did a better job then I had ever done.  Just as I was about to jump out from my hiding place to expose this fraud all hell broke loose.  Out of nowhere came hundreds of Federal Agents and local lawmen.  They beat the fake Mooj to a pulp.  When the dust had settled I heard one of the agents yell:

“Bigsby, you idiot!  You’re not The Mooj.  You fool—you are so Mooj-like now that you even walked into your own trap!!!”

It was then that I realized what had happened.  The Poetry Symposium was a trap; it was a trick to lure me in and somehow that poor unfortunate Mooj impostor guy was snagged instead.  As the lawmen collected their things and lit the convention center on fire I quietly exited the building and drove my borrowed Yugo off into the sunset.  By then I had become comfortable with my nakedness and decided that clothes would never cover my body again.  I had reached a higher level of awareness that day.  But I was also pretty cold.

One night I got mugged while walking to my car in Baltimore.  It was horrible!  The thieves took my wallet, my class ring and a very expensive designer watch.  As soon as the muggers took off I stumbled to a nearby pay phone and called the police.  The cops arrived in a short time and began asking me questions.  I described my assailants to the best of my ability and one of the cops radioed to the station with the information I provided.  Even before he signed off he yelled back to his partner:

“Hey, Unit 66 thinks they may have picked up them muggers!”

Through me the cop on the radio compared, feature by feature, identifiable characteristics I remembered about my muggers with those possessed by the suspicious looking guys that were stopped by the other nearby police unit.  It was pretty apparent that these were probably the guys so the cops asked me to hop into their car and drive to where the suspects were being held so that I could make a positive identification.  When we got to the scene I got out of the car and saw the two suspects spread out, face down, on the street.  From where I was standing I could see that the two men looked just like the guys that had mugged me.  In fact, I was almost sure it was them because the taller of the two men was wearing a dark hooded sweatshirt, a big “cat-in-the-hat” type hat, and bright red jogging pants, which I couldn’t help but notice when I got mugged.  The other suspect had on knee length white shorts, long striped tube socks and an oversized gray tank top, which, again, was something I noticed during my attack.  Both were wearing expensive bright orange basketball shoes, which really stood out.  My muggers also wore bright orange shoes just like them.  I told the cops without hesitation that these were the guys that mugged me.  The two suspects were then hoisted up by their handcuffed arms and dragged to a waiting squad car.  Just as I was about to leave I noticed (as the two men were dragged past me) that these guys were old, very old—probably in their 80s!  I quietly walked back over to the cops and told them that these weren’t the muggers after all because my muggers were teenagers, not old men.  I sure felt sorry for those two old timers, but then—really—what the hell were they doing out that late dressed up like that anyway?

   

 

SPECIAL NOTICE The Western Alabama Association of The Boys Scouts of America sadly announces that this year’s August 13-16 Alabama Regional Jamboree has been called off until further notice.  Event organizers have been warned about strange occurrences in the Bankhead National Forest and have decided to postpone the event.  Several local residents have reported seeing some sort of "half man/half ape-like creature" foraging through the woods, attacking trees, lawn furniture and animals.  Several members of the Blount County Historical Society's Ladies Auxiliary were also reportedly injured by this creature when he (or it) jumped from the trees, beat them over the head and then pulled their outer clothing off.  We have been asked by the BSA Alabama Chapter to postpone the Jamboree in Bankhead National Forest until this creature or thing is verified destroyed.  Anyone with any information about who or what this thing is should contact The Alabama Department of Natural Resources, The Blount County Historical Society, The Western Alabama Boy Scouts Association, The Blount County Sheriff’s Office or J.J. Bigsby (formally of the FBI).