Utinam populus Romanus unam cervicem haberet!
Written and Edited by Mujaputtia Umbababbaraba (a.k.a., "The Fruitful Poet")  
The Mooj Weekly Standard is published semi-weekly by The Friends of Mooj Society, West Chester, PA.  The price of each issue is anywhere between $1.50 and $16.95, depending on where you live.  If you would like to subscribe to The Mooj Weekly Standard contact us at www.mooj.com.  If you would rather just download the newsletter for free that's okay too.  Remember, always use your Mooj minionism responsibly.
One of my minions from Salisbury State University (in Maryland) recently told me that she has a very short attention span and so she doesn't read the Travels with Mooj section or other assorted short stories because they're "way too long."  She usually confines her reading to only the short subjects, like The Mooj Mail Bag and New Mooj Minions.  Since she is probably not alone I will make an effort in the future to reduce the unnecessary verbiage contained within these award winning newsletters.  A good place to start is probably right here in the introduction (but not this week).  I'm also thinking about eliminating portions of the newsletter that don't get much reaction from the Mooj minion family, like Fisherman's Pride, Cook's Corner, My Pennsylvania Heritage, The Groovy Guru, The Buray Bengali, The Mooj's Hot Stock Picks of the Week and The Gaelic Versifier.  (Most of these sections haven't appeared regularly in The Mooj Weekly Standard for over a year anyway.)  If you would like to save any of these features let me know ASAP and I'll try to preserve them.  Say nothing and they shall be cast upon the trash heap of Mooj history.

This week, like most, we peek at the Mooj mail, report the names of new minions (and include their application essays), reflect upon two very nice poems, read another story about life in India, update the whereabouts of The Mooj and his gang of pals, say good-bye to the Bay Area Predators and maybe, if time permits, add a few more goodies.  So waste no more time here in the introduction and begin your reading adventure now!

Mooj Mail Bag 
New Mooj Minions 
This week more of the same.  Read on and see why I say that. 

An anonymous male now known as Mooj Minion #1149 hails from MIT in Cambridge, MA.  His response to why he would make a good Mooj Head was: "I can think in 7 dimensions.  Most people can only see things in 3 dimensions but I operate in phase space."
 
Bob McAllister, Mooj Minion #1150 is a retired show biz guy from Santa Monica, CA.  His response to why he would make a good Mooj Head was: "I'm the guy who wrote the song, 'Kids Aaaaare People Too, Aadoo Whacka Doo Whacka Doooo Whacka Doo.'"

"R.J.," Mooj Minion #1151 from Ephrata, PA, claims to be affiliated with the Lancaster County Board of Reclamation.  His response to why he would make a good Mooj Head was: "For years I have been hiding a terrible secret.  I have no intention of sharing that secret until the statue of limitations runs out; however, maybe Mooj minionism will help me to face the fact that I sinned against mankind and desperately need the help of a board certified psychiatrist."

"Bob," Mooj Minion #1152 is a homeless guy from Brockton, MA.  His response to why he would make a good Mooj Head was: "i served my country for 3 friggen years in the marine corps and this is all the thanks i get?  america owes me and moojhood could be a start."
 
An anonymous female now known as Mooj Minion #1153 is a stunt double for the kids on MTV's The Real World.  Her response to why she would make a good Mooj Head was: "You don't think all those idiots on The Real World do all their own stunts do you?  Every time you see them having one of those stupid contests with the Road Rules crew it's really just a bunch of us stunt doubles doing all the action stuff."

Gayle Serber, Mooj Minion #1153 is a cosmetologist from Ruby Ridge, Idaho.  Her response to why she would make a good Mooj Head was: "Many years ago my people came to America on a golden space ship piloted by Jesus Christ.  At least that's what my Scientologist faith tells me anyway."
 
B. Willis Baylor, Mooj Minion #1154 is a C++ programmer from Santa Clara, CA.  He works for Altera Corp.  His response to why he would make a good Mooj Head was: "It looks like oyster but it'snot."

Poetry Corner 
Every once in a while a real tear jerker will arrive at Mooj.com headquarters.  Our two non-paid interns accepted this poem for they felt it needed to be shared with the world.  I personally don't agree (but go ahead and judge for yourselves).

The Sorrowful Life of Beatrice Emma Kelly by Beatrice Emma Kelly

No one understands me
No one ever could

My right leg doesn't work right
You see, it's made of wood

My mothers always yelling
She says I ain't no good

I look just like me pappy
Who grew up in the hood

How can I go dancing?
Everyone says I should

How can I go running?
My leg is made o' wood.

For some odd reason my two non-paid interns saw it fitting to add another poem for your reading pleasure.  Two poems for the price of one? Why not.

The Potato Man by Ned Devine.

Potatoes in the morning
Potatoes in the evening
Potatoes at supper time

Potatoes is what I eat
'Cause my name is Ned Devine

Mooj Story Time 
This week we are once again treated to a true-life story from Veejay Gupta, the self-proclaimed "Madman of Missaukee County, Michigan."  Normally, The Mooj would never allow the same author to appear in consecutive newsletters but since no one else sent in a story this week I'll make an exception.

The Park Bench

Back when my dad was a young man growing up in Delhi, he had many naughty adventures.  I remember a particularly funny story he told me once about a park bench that he and his friends bought one summer.  They lived very close to India Gate (a large park in downtown New Delhi) and the park benches there were always completely taken up by the large crowds gathering there each afternoon.  So one day my dad and his pals carried their bench to the park and placed it under some shady trees.  After relaxing for a spell they picked up their bench and started to carry it home.  A passing policeman witnessed this and quickly arrested them for theft. When they were taken to the Judge they explained that the bench was their property and produced the bill of sale as evidence.  The judge had no choice but to dismiss the charges.  The next day the same thing happened again and they were arrested and brought before the judge; gain, he had no choice but to dismiss the charges.  This went on for several days and finally the judge ordered the police to stop wasting his time.  The police obeyed the judge's order and so my dad and his friends soon noticed that the police paid them no attention. They could then carry their bench from one end of the park to the other without so much as a glance.  When they realized that the police would not be bothered with their prank anymore they began to show up at the park without their bench and carry home a real park bench. They did this until there were no benches left in the park.

Travels with Mooj  

-continued from last week-

As soon as we learned that Jeff W. had bamboozled us Lance and I made immediate plans to vacate the tiny hamlet of Pickensville and get to the Azores as soon as possible.  If all went according to Trent Handjoy’s well-thought out plan, Jeff W. would be too busy trying to figure out a way to get inside the Sao Miguel prison (to dig for the treasure he thought it was buried there) to notice our arrival.  The actual location of the treasure was about 15 km away, on the other side of the island.  Trent then showed us the real map.  Unfortunately, due to the nature of how Trent calculated the most probable location of the treasure, his map had considerable uncertainty associated with it.  (The map was basically an isotropic plot with different rings of confidence, with each concentric ring signifying a confidence interval.)  Trent recommended beginning our search at the most probable point [in the center] and expanding outward until we found the treasure.  Unfortunately, the bounding ring (showing the 99-percent confidence interval) was almost 200 yards in diameter!  We certainly had our work cut out for us.

Since both Lance and I were fugitives we had to use our fake aliases to obtain fake passports and fake visas.  It took quite a while and required the bribery of several important diplomats (both American and Portuguese) but soon everything was in place and so we gave our notice at The General Joe E. Johnson High School cafeteria.   We then bought our airline tickets and began to stock up on digging supplies.  We were by then extremely anxious to get out of Pickensville and get along with our next big adventure.

But then something awful happened: a kid named Bobby Joe Tucker moved to town.  Elizabeth Conner Reed dumped Trent faster than a hot potato and Trent was no longer the center of attention in that sleepy little town.  Trent was devastated and couldn’t believe his horrific slide in popularity.  He became insanely jealous and vowed to win back his rightful place as the new kid in town, no matter what it took.  Lance and I soon began to worry because at lunchtime we noticed that Trent was starting to hang around with the Gothic looking outcasts of the school.  My psychic senses also began revealing to me that Trent was planning something horrendous for Bobby Joe Tucker’s 14th birthday party (at Chuck E. Cheeses).  We knew we had to act fast to save poor Bobby Joe and his guests before it was too late.  We had no choice but to kidnap Trent and take him with us to the Azores.  (Later we learned that it really wasn’t any big deal and that Trent and his pal Bubba Gordon were only going to set off a few stink bombs and then moon the crowd from the parking lot as they exited the building to get fresh air.)

At first Trent was outraged that we would take him away from his boyhood bliss but soon came to the realization that he was growing bored with Pickensville.  His boy genius instincts were becoming dull and he needed a new adventure to sharpen his wits.  Finding the treasure on the Azores might be just what he needed.  Plus, according to Trent, Lance and I were complete idiots and would never be able to find the treasure without him anyway.  (I assume he was joking when he said that.)

So, using what money we had left from The Great Thinker’s Society we got Trent his own fake passport, fake visa and plane ticket to Sao Miguel.  Tune in next week to see how we make out.

Bay Area Predators Update 
The Mooj has given up on The Bay Area Predators.  Not only are they losers but they are bad sports, to boot.  I have done everything in my power to help those guys out and not once have they even shown the slightest bit of gratitude.  Every week I humbly submit a team poem for their web site and not once has one been published—or even acknowledged.  Is that what being a sportsman is all about?  Not in my book.  The Mooj is tired of having his feelings hurt by a bunch of amateur hockey players, who have yet to win a single game this season!  So this is good-bye.  Good-redance.  Au revoir.  Lebe wohl.  Buono arrivederci.  Bom assunto secundário.  Adiós.  Sianara.

The Mooj is now taking applications from any other amateur, college or semi-pro team (hockey, baseball, basketball, lacrosse, football, rugby, etc. BUT NOT golf) looking for an official team poet.  All that is required of you is that you employ common courtesy and at least acknowledge The Mooj once in a while.  For more information about a Mooj team sponsorship contact one of my non-paid interns at teamspirit@mooj.com.

Closing Thoughts 
Well that's it.  I hope those of you out there with short attention spans got out this issue what you need.  I'm sorry if I used too many "big words" but since most of you minions are college educated I feel things should be easy to digest.  Keep all the cards and letters coming!


 
 

 

Alea iacta est!