| Hey kids.....it's that time of year again to bug your parents about Mooj Self Realization Summer Camp! Details coming later this month - first, however, we have to clear up a few legal matters that never got resolved after last year's tragedy. I suspect that this year we'll have to soften our hazing policy and reduce other forms of ritual punishment. |
| The Mooj Weekly Standard is published semi-weekly by The Friends of Mooj Society, West Chester, PA. All material published in The Mooj Weekly Standard is the intellectual property of The Mooj and may not be reproduced in any manner, shape or form without the expressed written consent of The Mooj or one of his non-paid interns. The Mooj cannot put into words how happy he is that you have chosen him as your spiritual guide; I only wish that I could reach out there and hug you all right now! |
Greetings Mooj Heads! Once again we join together in a celebration of self realization and forward thinking. Many of you noted last week that I promised some things that I never delivered. This week I'll try again but don't count on anything since I haven't really got the time or energy to do much. Sooner or later we'll get caught up here at The Mooj Weekly Standard and things will get back on track as far as wisdom gathering goes. The truth be told, now that I'm no longer in jail I don't really have much time to sit around and write all day like I used to.
Many of my beloved minions have begun to point out that The Mooj Weekly Standard isn't exactly "weekly" anymore. This is probably due to the fact that my newsletter now appears every 10 - 14 days instead of weekly. Sooner or later we'll get back on track and publish on time again. The sorry truth is that I'm lazy, have incompetent side-kicks and can't seem to find a non-paid intern that's worth a damn.
On a related topic many of my long-time detractors are also pointing out that The Mooj Weekly Standard readership is at an all time low. A few years ago The Mooj Weekly Standard had nearly two thousand paid subscribers. Now I'm lucky if I can get 150 wayward people to stop by and visit. Does this bother The Mooj. Nope, The Mooj is too spiritual to worry about worldly things like success and fame.
"The
Mooj Mailbag"
Hey Mooj, I think things have gone a little crazy between us. Sure, we are in the midst of a losing season and that may play into it some, but nonetheless our relationship should not suffer. I'm expressing an official Predators style apology. Although your poems may have rocked the boat a little, the team’s lack of appreciation was not deserved. After all, bad press is better than no press, right? How about we come up with a compromise: You continue to write your lovely poetry and we will actually put something on our jerseys in your honor, like: "The Mooj eats peanuts from Jimmy's ass, while washing it down with the sweat off his balls." Your pal,
Gee Cory, The Mooj isn't sure whether your letter is meant
to be complimentary or mean spirited. Either way I don't care, The
Mooj gladly accepts your offer and will resume his duties as the official
Predator's team poet. In fact, just to show you how forgiving I am
I shall devote a small portion of this week's Poetry Corner to you
and your noble teammates without mentioning anything about how you wear
earrings in both ears and dress up in a Bananarama jump suit whenever no
one else is around. (Hey, if you don't want to tell I certainly won't
ask.)
Mooj, My wife has suddenly started dressing really sexy for work and I fear that she might be having an affair at the office. I'm in my fifties and my wife is 12 years younger—and really good looking. We are both Capricorns and have been married for six years. My two previous marriages ended because my wives were unfaithful. Needless-to-say, I'm now very leery when I see my present wife going off to work wearing sexy lingerie, hip boots and rubber pantsuits. What do you think oh Great Mooj, should I be worried? G. M. Harris
G. M., The Mooj detects no hanky-panky on the part of your wife (at work anyway). I would, however, suggest that you delay your business trip to Denver next week until after the rodeo leaves town. Dear Mooj, Did you know that the parts for a Mr. Potato Head are stored in his BUTT? What are we trying to teach our children when we purchase these kind of toys? I suggest that Mooj minions out there boycott this toy. By the way, Mr. Potato Head looks a lot like my boss. Scotty O'Malley
Thanks Scotty for what I assume is a heart-felt letter. I'm glad to see you are so pro-active when it comes to your kids. I personally wouldn't sweat the little things as far as the toys go since your children are probably already perusing Internet porn and making bombs in your basement (er, at least that's what my psychic senses tell me anyway). Och! Pogue Mahone you greasy Uzbekistani-Punjabi bastard! Paddy O' Keats
Thanks Paddy, and a Happy St. Patrick's Day to you too. Mooj, Like many of my fellow Americans I am expressing outrage over the level of detailed personal questions I am being asked on my 2000 Census form. Like millions of others I shall elect to pay fines rather than submit to the private nature of this government inquisition. The Constitution of the United States grants the government authority to count population—not ask intimate questions about my sex life. U.S. Code, Title 13, Section 221 states citizens must fully comply with the census or face a $100 fine. There is also a $500 penalty for giving false information. Well excuse me Mr. Clinton but you can kiss my country-fried ass! Go ahead and fine me because I have no intention of providing “Big Brother” with such probing and personal information. For example, my form asked me to list the characteristics I find desirable in a woman, including bust and hip size. I was also asked for my astrological sign and to list all my hobbies. Some of the more personal questions included describing my beliefs about religion and children! The most outrageous demand was to send a photograph of myself posing in a bathing suit! F__k that s__t! Semper Fi,
The Mooj suspects that you might have inadvertently
gotten your census form mixed up with a questioner that was sent to you
by the Internet dating service that you are currently subscribing to.
Big Brother may be watching you but it has nothing to do with your dating
habits. (Mostly it's because you belong to NAMBLA, don't pay taxes
and keep sending threatening letters to the estate of former California Senator S.I.
Hayakowa.)
I have a confession to make and I don't know who else to turn to (so I guess it's you Great Swamaji Mooj). A few weeks ago I attended my parish Knights of Columbus prayer breakfast. During this breakfast my fellow knights and I were discussing visions and miracles. One particular blowhard—a genuine ass I might point out—told everyone at the gathering that he once spoke with Jesus. Most of the other knights were pretty inspired by this fool and so when it was my turn to share my story I told a whopper of a lie to out do this other jerk. I have no idea why I made up such a blasphemous thing but I did. The following day I was asked by the parish council to repeat my story to the pastor and then the next thing I knew the pastor brought me to the Bishop. Soon I was telling and retelling this holy fabrication to every Tom, Dick and Harry that asked about it. Finally the pressure became so great that I went to confession and told my pastor that I lied about my vision and he told me to keep my big mouth shut since my parish was collecting lots of money from pilgrims, who were coming to hear my story. Next month some guy from the Vatican is coming out to talk to me about my so called vision. What should I do????? The K of C Kid
The Mooj has no idea what to tell you K of C Kid. In truth The Mooj doesn't really want to get involved in this sordid affair so I will only tell you to be more careful in the future. |
This week's light hearted story comes to us from Jeffrey Alexander in Chandler, AZ. I have to warn you....it's pretty messy! |
This week's true eerie story comes to us from The Mooj, himself (written many moons ago). I have to warn you....it's pretty scary! One day a prominent member of the parish named Philip Collins died and
Groves was instructed by the pastor to prepare the grave site. Groves,
in his typical fashion, showed up drunk and late for work. The pastor
was very annoyed with Groves (as was he often) and reminded him that Philip
Collins’ funeral was early the next morning.
When Groves awoke he found himself leaning against an old oak tree in the graveyard and it was very, very late. “Glory be, I must have fallen asleep,” he mumbled to himself as he stumbled to his feet. He then picked up his spade and resumed digging by the light of the moon. He dug for another hour or so and then decided to call it quits when he heard the church bell announce the midnight hour. “Glory be!” he said aloud, “’Tis much too late for a gentleman like
myself to be out here in this God-forsaken place.” He then climbed out
of the hole and tossed the shovel across the yard. After wiping the
sweat from his brow and rubbing his hands on his trousers he picked up
his coat and began walking home. It was then that he sensed that
someone was walking behind him. He quickly turned around and saw
a bright figure outlined against the dark woods—it was a ghost.
“Where are you going? You haven’t finished your work yet!” said the
ghostly figure.
“I want you to finish digging my grave,” continued the ghost. “I watched
you work—you did a terrible job. That grave is barely 4 foot deep.
Get back there and finish your work!”
“Rubbish. Go on, get away from me!”
“Ha, what can you do to me? Be gone!”
|
Maryland Sucks, Duke Rules! 
Maryland, Maryland, what more can I say?
Somehow, someone important must have been insane
Seeded number three you seemed a bit too cocky
Now you’re finished, humiliated with all you’re glory gone
Somewhere in sleepy Halethorpe, sits The Lonely Donkey Kong
|
As promised here's a short little ditty about our favorite amateur hockey team, the ICHL's very own Predators. Please excuse the lack of talent employed writing this verse, I did it while sitting on the toilet after eating a rather bad batch of bananas...
As the late hour approaches, the Predators take the ice
They
skate with all their glory, their energy and their might
If they could only score a goal or perhaps just stop the puck
The Ice Centre is quiet now, the game it has expired
They vow to return again next week to give it another go
|
We immediately abandoned any thought of freeing that loser Jeff W. from jail and began only concentrating on who or what might have buried something of such importance in the Azores so long ago. Whoever it was that did this went to great lengths to make sure the “thing,” whatever it was, was not easily recovered. Trent judged that the oak timbers found in the pit were ancient—perhaps, 300 to 500 years old. Trent, using his boy genius skills, concluded that we had discovered either the long lost treasure of the Knights Templar; the missing treasure of the pirate William Kidd or the missing manuscripts of Sir Francis Bacon, the person who wrote all of William Shakespeare’s plays. My psychic senses only told me that whatever it was, it was worth billions!
In order to secure more capitol for what was undoubtedly going to be an expensive venture Trent called his father again and explained to him what we had found. Mr. Handjoy—an extremely wealthy financier—was so excited about the find that he canceled his spring vacation and flew straight to the Azores to join us. Mr. Handjoy, through his lawyers, then had Trent buy the land where our pit was located and secure all mineral rights.
Mr. Handjoy arrived on the island three days later bringing with him several others (close friends I assume), whom had formed some kind of syndicate. Heavy machinery was leased in France and quickly brought to the island. As soon as the land was officially deeded to The Handjoy Syndicate, construction crews were brought in to erect a “barn-like” structure over the pit to mask our digging activities.
The Handjoy Syndicate decided to sink another shaft near the first one and try to tunnel across under the bottom of the old shaft to where they believed the treasure was located. This may have seemed like a good idea at first, but the result was inevitable. Barely had the new tunnel reached the bottom of the old shaft when water broke through and flooded it to the same level. The following day The Handjoy Syndicate sank a third shaft, ten feet away from the original pit. From the bottom of this hole they started a horizontal tunnel in the direction of the treasure. Again water burst through and flooded the new shaft as deep as the old. There were a few fresh-water springs on the island and it had never occurred to us that the water in the pits had any connection with the ocean. But careful measurements proved that its level varied about an inch for every foot of change in the tide. Then one of the laborers fell into the pit and tasted salt-water and the truth was confirmed—the pit was being flooded from the sea!
The Handjoy Syndicate then sent away for a super high-tech pumping machine. This space age gizmo arrived from England in a few days and was rigged to pump down the pit. Sadly, even this large capacity pump failed to lower the water level to any extent. Mr. Handjoy then noticed that the beach on nearby Malaga Cove seemed to have been leveled off unnaturally. Searching for the source of the seawater the syndicate stripped off the sand and gravel on this beach for a considerable distance. Finally rounded boulders were found under the surface and beneath them, a two-foot layer of eelgrass extending from the high to low tide marks. Under the eelgrass was more of the coconut fiber, tons and tons of it! More excavation located the entrances to several channels descending and converging toward a point back of the beach; these were filled with loose stones. This ancient plumbing device served to carry the water into one main tunnel, which led in the direction of our treasure pit. According to Trent the builder of this system was a genius since he was not so foolish as to dig a straight hole from the ocean to the pit since the rush of water through it at high tide would cause it to be choked with sand or collapse. The pit designer wanted a steady, even flow of filtered water from the sea which would drown out trespassers digging for the treasure. At high tide the water was absorbed by the coconut fiber like a huge blotter. When the bottom of the drain inside the pit was uncovered the coconut fiber discharged its store of liquid into the hole until the pressure was equalized. Twice a day this “blotter” was replenished by the incoming tide. Trent calculated that the flow of water into the flood tunnel was approximately nine hundred gallons a minute.
The Handjoy Syndicate made several futile attempts to locate and block off this flooding tunnel but couldn't and then finally decided to build a cofferdam around the excavated area on Malaga Cove in an effort to stop the water. I have no idea if this will work but I guess it’s better than nothing. As of yesterday The Handjoy Syndicate has spent $2 million and are no closer to the treasure than Trent, Lance and I were three weeks ago.
| Generous portions of this week's Travels with Mooj narrative were based on the works of Dick Joltes and Bradley Keys. |
Well chumps, all I can say is see you in another week to ten days. Hugs and kisses to all my friends and family out there, especially my two new minion nieces.
