This week's most favored story........  
    The Horrors of Scooper's Wrist 

    By Jeffrey Alexander (Minion # 1055) 

    Have you ever heard of scooper’s wrist?  There is actually an official medical term for this ailment but most doctors just call it scooper’s wrist.  One gets scooper’s wrist when making continuous scooping motions with his or her wrist and muscles that are seldom used become strained.  I read a short item about this phenomenon in the paper the other day and was quickly reminded of a funny story that I thought I'd share with my fellow Mooj minions and you. 

    One summer when my sister was in college she worked at an ice cream parlor.  She had only been working there a few days when her wrist began killing her (scooper’s wrist).  On her third or fourth day my grandparents dropped in to pay her a surprise visit.  Expecting to see my sister's bright and cheerful face, they instead witnessed pandemonium.  The parlor, which had been filled with patrons, was by then being emptied by the unsatisfied customers as my poor sister sat on the floor behind the counter, sobbing uncontrollably. 

    Right before my grandparents had arrived some lady ordered several ice cream cones for her children.  Scooping each cone out with incredible pain my sister diligently did her duty.  Then as the lady took out her purse to pay she said: “Oh, and give me a gallon of strawberry to go.”  My sister pleaded with the lady to substitute the flavor for another but the woman was adamant.  The problem was that the freezing unit for the display case was physically located directly underneath the strawberry and even an ax couldn’t break it apart!  My sister took three or four futile stabs at the solid chunk of ice, dropped the scooper on the floor and then slowly sat down on the floor and began crying.  The lady finally just paid for the cones and left when it was obvious that there wasn't going to be any more ice cream scooping that day.  My grandparents arrived just in time to take my poor sister home.  Her days as an ice cream scooper were over. 
 
 Parade of New Minions
 
Name Vital Statistics In his or her own words.....
Dr. Willis Hooper, #1195 Claims to be the inventor of the Hooper High Colonic Ventribulator (HHCV).  All proceeds and profits from this invention go to the Children's Defense Fund.  Dr. Hooper also sits on the board of the American Proctology Society. I served in Korea with an Uzbekistani-American kid named Jerry Umbababbarabaguida.  He sort of looked like you and had a similar manner about him.  Was he a relative of yours?  If so, then send me $100.  That bastard borrowed a C-note from me and never paid me back.
Stoian Rackivov, #1196 Claims to be a glove box operator from Stara Zagora, Bulgaria. I meet American woman at conference in Bulgaria. she say I have good chance with her love if I become moojhead. 
Anil Vishwami, #1197 Claims to work in Bollywood as a stunt double for Sanjay Dutt. Om! Namaste!! I find your discourses very beneficial for my spiritual upliftment.  Heartiest thanks to you and your gang of cohorts at Mooj.com. 
Anonymous, #1198 Claims to be in the witness protection program. When I was a boy I remember working for an old man named Mr. Byassee.  He once told me that having a good bowel movement was sometimes better than sex.  Now that I am 45 year's old I know exactly what he was talking about.
Thomas R. Tracy, #1199 No information given. I am very impressed by your activities in the world and subscribe to your newsletter wholeheartedly. Would swami consider granting me a small spiritual request?  I have a silver Elvis TCB necklace that I wear every day. I have had it blessed by the pope and a few other select saints and it reminds me of their influence on me. Would swami consider a remote blessing of this necklace?  I would greatly treasure it for a few weeks before I sold it on ebay.
Samuel J. Patterson, #1200 Claims to have lost $32,000 on Who Wants to be a Millionaire because he thought Tess of the D'Urbervilles was written by Blackmore instead of Hardy.  Indeed a splendid newsletter for ardent seekers of truth and wisdom.  I personally don't give a rat's ass about all that and only read it for the sexual advice you give to wayward teenage girls.
Chopra Winfrey, #1201 Claims to look and act like that guy Puck on Real World. The ecstasy and the delight of the soul when it encounters the quintessence and epitome of wisdom is manifested in this newsletter.  Is there room in your heart for a guy like me?  I am like forbidden fruit: so naughty yet so tasty. Om Shaka Laka Om.
Prem Pankaj, #1202 Claims to have lived in Maharashtra, India his whole life.  He is 113 years old and still has all his original teeth in his head.  He attributes his longevity to holistic living, yoga and an occasional beer.  Aapka naam kya hai gaandu? Aapse milkar khushii huyii!  Janmadina mubaarak ho!  Alavidha! 
Anonymous, #1203 Claims to be an ex submariner from Vallejo, CA.  For more than 15 years he has lived with a terrible secret.  He won't elaborate other than to say that he hopes his mother never finds out. i feel this is a wonderful site on the net. most of the sites which claim to be for seekers of truth end up seeking the credit card number of the guest. my most humble regards.  if you want my credit card number here it is: 5565-876-87651-111-001 exp date 1/1/02. 
Brian Anzio, #1204 Claims to be a 34-year-old male from Augusta, GA.  He is college educated and likes to do crossword puzzles.  In high school he played the lead in The Music Man. A belated happy birthday wish to you revered swami Mooj, I hope all is well on your road to recovery.  Thank you for your darshan and kindness.  I hope to be made a minion. Last week I applied and was sent back an email that said I was unworthy.  It was signed by a guy named Steve.  Who is Steve? 
Trang Tran Nygen, #1205 Claims to be a 30-year-old manicurist from Richmond, CA.  She was born in Vietnam and came to San Francisco in 1977 on a United Airlines mercy flight.  She is Catholic but votes pro choice.  She wishes to marry this year if she can. 
 		 I enjoyed reading your book called The History of the Umbababbaraba Family: From Ancient Mohenjo-Daro to Uzbekistan, a Journey of 4,000 Years and 600 Miles.  I found it at a garage sale.  The old lady who sold it to me said she thought you were an idiot.  I think you're cool and want to be like you.  
Anonymous, #1206 Claims to have eaten dinner with BJ Surhoff. I applied for minionship last week and got rejected.  Some guy named Steve told me I was unworthy.  I guess I'll try again this week. 
 
 
    Poetry At Large.... 

    By Robert Oppenhiemer Asmus  (Age 9) 

    Watching Zoom  

    I sit here like a cherub, alone inside my room 
    Watching a TV show; they seem to call it Zoom 

    These kids speak in a language that really makes no sense 
    I can't figure it out; and it makes me feel so dense. 

    'Ibby obby ooby,' says the little Asian girl 
    'Ubba bubbu wooby,' replies the red head with a curl 

    The other kids then join in and the words all sound the same 
    And then they form a circle and play some kind of game. 

    I'm not as smart as I should be, I'm not what you'd call a genius 
    But at least I have my two eyes, unlike my kid brother Albert Asmus.
 
This week's Inspirational Story comes to us from an anonymous source, most likely the guy who calls himself Jules Vermilion.  Please read and enjoy it. 

AN ABSOLUTELY TRUE STORY.... (or say he says) 
    Dwight Krossa, Wherever You Are, I’d Like to Shake Your Hand   

    I owe just about everything that is most precious to me to a man named Dwight Krossa.  If it wasn’t for Dwight I would never have met my wife, had 4 children, been an engineer, sailed the seven seas, or done just about a million other things.  Not that I wouldn’t have gotten married, had children, or been just as successful as I am today, it’s just that my life could never have been as special. 

    Today if I met Dwight Krossa on the street I wouldn’t know him from Adam.  I don’t remember anything about this guy other than his name.  In truth, I only knew him for about three months and yet this person has indirectly affected everything that has happened to me since June 1982. 

    When I was a freshman in college I became good friends with another fellow that lived in my dorm.  This guy belonged to a fraternity and through him I met several other members of that fraternity.  In the spring of 1982 I was asked to pledge this fraternity and gladly accepted.  I had a blast that quarter and, being only 18 year's old, my priorities in life shifted and my schoolwork took a back seat to my then blossoming social life.  The night before initiation the fraternity held a secret meeting and the active members took a final vote.  It took only one “no vote” to ding a pledge and Dwight Krossa was the man who dinged me.  I had become good friends with just about everyone in the fraternity and from what I was told later a battle erupted between Krossa and the other members. Krossa, against the wishes of every other person in the organization, and for a reasons unknown to anybody, refused to change his vote.  

    This episode really hurt me deep down inside and I remember feeling about as low as a man could get.  The summer break soon arrived and I found myself contemplating my disastrous first year of college.  I did horribly in school and had absolutely no desire to return because of what happened in that fraternity.  I therefore transferred to another college and then, a year later, enlisted in the navy.  I know for a fact that if I had been initiated into that stupid fraternity I would have stayed at that school until I either wised up or flunked out. Chances are that I would have probably improved my study skills enough to eke out a degree in biology, which was then my major.  I never would have wound up in the navy, where I would meet my future brother-in-law, who would, in turn, introduce me to his sister, my future wife.  There is no way that my life could have been anywhere near as special as it is now if I had married anyone else or had different children. I owe it all to a jerk named Dwight Krossa.  Thank's Dwight!
 
Poetry