There are also those around here that say I did something disgraceful; that I broke the ultimate taboo for an artist.  What did I do?  I painted a new mural over an old one.  I had no idea people were so sensitive about such things.  Sedona, like most cities in America fell for that whole "Wyland" craze back in the early 80s and let some guy named Wyland paint one of his famous whale murals on Sedona's Picture Rock.  (So called because back in the old days the Indians used to smoke heep-mighty big puffs of Peyote and then sit there and watch the rock for visions.)  To make a long story short the city council put an ad in the paper asking for bids to paint over the old eye-sore and I applied for the job.  I guess I was the only applicant since I wasn't aware of that mural painting taboo.

Anyway, enough of all that.  Let's visit The Mooj Mail Bag, shall we?   

Sir:

You have no idea how distressed, we, the members of the Chester County Heritage Foundation have become as a result of your recent acknowledgment that you have chosen another residence over wonderful Chester County, PA.  We feel slighted by your disparaging remarks and would like you to retract your statement that “Chester County sucks.”  I will admit that Sedona is probably a bit nicer in the wintertime but can Sedona claim to have had a Revolutionary War battle fought upon its sacred soil?  Can Sedona claim to have been the birthplace of an American President?  We sincerely doubt it!  I know that in the past we may have had our differences but we here at the Chester County Heritage Foundation have grown to love and admire you.  A recent report to the county commissioner revealed that tourism in Chester County has actually risen 0.06% this year, thanks in part to your favorable opinion of our fair community.  (It should also be noted that “Mooj Heads,” as a demographic group are usually quite affluent and well behaved—which is very desirable in a tourist.)  The Chester County Chamber of Commerce has also reported that Chester County Internet web site traffic is up slightly since you have begun providing links to our popular Chester County attractions from your newsletter.  Please reconsider your decision to call another place home.  “You have a friend in Chester County, PA.”  (I would, however, recommend that you not actually return here in person since you will undoubtedly be arrested and returned to jail—where you belong!)

Abigail Von Winkler, DAR #23,765
Chester County Heritage Foundation
West Chester, PA

The Mooj humbly regrets any discomfort brought upon my former Chester Countians as the result of my recent change of address.  Fret not, humble fellow Keystone Staters, Chester County will probably become my "home away from home" again since I doubt I can hang around Sedona much longer with everyone being so mean to me.  The Mooj is a very sensitive person and needs friends just like everyone else.  



Dear Mooj,

Let me just tell you how thoroughly disgusted I was last night when I saw my daughter’s high school drama department’s production of Oh Calcutta!  I can’t believe that her high school had the audacity to put on such a sleazy piece of trash.  It wasn’t the nudity that I objected to—that was actually done in good taste.  What really had me peeved was the gratuitous use of vulgar language.  Words like, “Jeez” and “fongool” were uttered almost continuously throughout the play by the cast.  What is the World coming to when our schools find it acceptable to subject us taxpaying parents to such rubbish?  Do you think that I’m being irrational about this or do I have a genuine gripe?

Millie Serretie
Midway City, CA
 
The Mooj isn't sure.  The Mooj really isn't sure about anything anymore. 

 

Here, smell my finger.

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

I think not!  [Note to interns sorting the Mooj mail:  Please stop sending along anymore letters from that  Professor G.H. Lewis in New Gabon.]



To Mooj and our fans:

We are honored that we have such faithful fans and a team poet to boot.  Hopefully, your poem will work and victory will be ours.  I believe I've run across the Mooj before.  You were involved in the LSD tests during the Vietnam war which caused a split personality disorder (previously latent) to emerge.  You are MOOJ the poet, philosopher, artist and sexophile (unconfirmed) on rainy days, but "Bill" during working hours.  You use "Brad" to communicate with the outside world.  "Ram" is the confused insomniac.  You cry yourself to sleep and can't stop wetting the bed.  Hmmm, who will emerge next?

We are looking for the spy within......

Anyhow, keep up the good work.  Try not to break the law and stay away from schools, playgrounds and in general, people.

Later,
Brad S.
Bay Area Predator

Er, Thanks Brad (whatever that was all about).  The Mooj thinks Brad has hit his head one too many times on the back boards.  I suggest he wear his helmet on and off the ice. 

Greetings,

Consider yourself contacted by The Great Thinker’s Society.  We are men of the highest character and have taken a solemn vow of charity to help those among our race of humans, who—through no fault of their own—were born with average or below-average intelligence.  We were chosen by God to command this Earth but instead we humbly choose to serve our fellow man by using our superior intelligence to improve the world.  Undoubtedly you have never heard of us because we are a super secret society and our membership is limited to only 25 persons.  Only death can remove a member from this organization and then the surviving members must engage in the laborious task of choosing a new member to fill the vacancy.  (This selection process has been known to take as much as 10 years.)  Don’t flatter yourself and think that we are offering you our current open position; this letter is merely a request for some information concerning the boy genius Trent Handjoy.  His nomination to fill the vacancy left by JFK Jr. was all but assured until an anonymous caller informed us that Mr. Handjoy was once a protégé of yours and that he had been “dishonorably discharged” from your mentoring program.  This is a very serious issue and must be resolved at once.  We need to know as soon as possible the specific circumstances surrounding this dismissal, as it may weigh heavy in our decision to admit the young boy genius.  This committee requests a short (10 – 15 page) explanation of what happened and why.  (Please include some background information about yourself—since just being associated with you might be all we need to know about Mr. Handjoy.)   Inasmuch as we are a super secret society we cannot give you our e-mail or mailing address.  Please place your write-up in a plain manila envelope and leave it inside one of the lockers at the Port Authority bus station in NY City.  Take the key, attach a tag to it indicating the locker number (with approximate gate location) and then place that key in a small business envelope.  Send this envelope to 7 West Broadway, 34Th Floor, New York, New York 10001.  Please delete this email message as soon as you read it and then reformat you computer hard drive.  You may never mention to anyone that we have made contact with you.

Thank you in advance,
Sir Walter Ott

Are you out of your mind?  How in the hell do you expect me to get to all the way out to NY City?  The Mooj doesn't have time to sit around and write essays and biographies about people I know little about!  All I know about Trent Handjoy is that he was a bit arrogant and that he goes to Duke University.  He claims to be a boy genius but I doubt that is true since he has claimed on occasion to find error in my logic.  He was dismissed from The Mooj Mentoring program because he insulted the intelligence of my readership.  Other than that he's a pretty nice guy. 

 
Mooooooooj:

Last night my domestic partner and I were sitting around in our hot tub reflecting on how sad it is that society has become so non-traditional.  No one seems to care about good old fashioned family values anymore.  Whatever happened to Truth, Justice and the American Way?  Whatever happened to Baseball, Hot dogs, Apple Pie and Chevrolet?  I guess they went the way of the Little Houses on the Prairie, Walton’s Mountains and Mayberrys.

Your pals,

“Hair Bear” Fred and “Wiggy-Wiggy” Pete
Alexandria, VA.
 
You are correct.  I might add that you guys sound pretty traditional yourselves.



Mooj,

I’m drunk and disgusted.  Let me just tell you that.  Let me just tell you what I think of you.  Let me just give you a piece of my mind.  Just wait till I get through with you.  Just you wait.   Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

[Note to interns sorting the Mooj mail:  Please stop sending along crap like this.]



Mooj,

We are totally in love with the Predators!  My roommates and I would love to [omitted] [omitted] [omitted].  Attached are some naked pictures of us for the boys.  Tell them if they like what they see then there’s more and that next time we'll even include [omitted] [omitted] [omitted] [omitted] [omitted] [omitted] [omitted].  Oh Predator boys—you have no idea how naughty we lonely girls can be!

Stacey, Kalua, Tomeka and Mallory
Smith College
Amherst, MA
 
Ladies!  I'm ashamed of you.  Please refrain from sending nude photos and undergarments to The Mooj Weekly Standard.  I seriously doubt that The Predators are those kind of boys.  [Note to interns sorting the Mooj mail:  Please give these naughty girls the Mooj's secret email address.]

   
Mr. Mooj,

A few months ago my son sent me your web address.  At first I was upset that he would think that I was the kind of person that would enjoy your brand of tasteless entertainment.  But, none-the-less, I was bored one night and so I started reading through some of your old newsletters.  Then something very strange occurred.  Within the span of a few issues you addressed two things that I have been wondering about for years.  I swear to God that what I am about to tell you is the absolute truth!  Here's my story:  Back when I was a freshman at Johns Hopkins I took a summer job with the Baltimore City Morgue to help pay my way through college.  It was a pretty dreadful job but the pay was good.  My job was basically to catalogue the incoming corpses and attach toe tags.  One day a vagrant was brought in.  It was late in the summer and by then I had seen hundreds of dead bodies and so my job was pretty routine.  But something about this guy was very different: he had the saddest look I ever saw.  I could tell immediately that this poor fellow had died of a broken heart.  While examining his bloated body I found a tattoo on his chest that simply read: “Tracy Giovanni—you broke my heart but I shall love you forever.  May God always watch over you and may you always be happy.”

“Wow—what true love,” I thought.  The name Tracy Giovanni has stuck in my head now for 20 years and I can never forget the anguished look on that poor vagrant’s face.  But wait, there’s more.  Here’s the most interesting part of the whole saga: a few days after this guy had been brought in I was still haunted by his look of anguish on his face and wondered what the coroner had actually listed as his cause of death.  I searched the logbook and found the man’s autopsy report.  According to the coroner this person had died because he had: “Swallowed six cans of Skyline Chili—whole cans—tin, wrapper and all.”  Up until last week I thought “Skyline Chili” was a medical term used by doctors to describe broken hearts.

Thanks Mooj,
Randy Allen Yorba
York, PA 

No, thank you Randy.  LISTEN UP PEOPLE, when The Mooj says no more stories about Tracy Giovanni or Skyline Chili HE MEANS IT!  The only reason The Mooj allowed this letter to appear in this newsletter was because Randy Allen Yorba had the gall to violate both Mooj newsletter moratoriums in one letter.

Running down the road, gotta loosen my load
Got a porta-pottie on my mind

Lookin' for another without poop on the cover
They're so hard to find

Finally across the Narrows, following all the arrows
Now I'm waitin' in a long line

Now a short time later, I'm running slightly straighter
Brooklyn's startin' to look real fine

Soon I'm in the ghetto, feeling kinda wetto
Another pot I need to spy

Intestines are a burning, innards are a turning
Think I'm gonna surely die

Now on Bedford Ave, not much time do I have
Hopin' that my guts don't explode

Somewhere there in Queens, the answer to my dreams
I find an empty, clean commode

Finally in Manhattan, my feet they start to fatten
Fifth Avenue I am almost there

Spanish Harlem cramps, chasing all the champs
Please God won't you answer my prayer

Yankee Stadium passing, suddenly I'm out gassing
Sounds like the famous ol' Bronx cheer

While in Central Park, my bowels begin to bark
Lord, here comes my greatest fear!

Up ahead I see, the finish line can it be?
Everything it aches and hurts

At the Tavern Green, the runners happy seem
Not me, I end it with the Hershey Squirts

As I review my Web stats each week I notice that more and more of my International hits are coming from India.  I don't get much mail from my fellow Asian brothers (other than the rantings and ravings from some Punjabi lunatic named Mooj-e-addabi, who claims I stole his "holy" name) so I can only assume that either India loves me or they love to read my semi-regular Hindi feature called The Buray Bengali.  Enjoy.

There once was an old man from Tamil Nadu, who had lived a long and prosperous life.  He had but one wish as he lay upon his deathbed and that was for a beautiful woman to bhagwan mainey tumse aaj tak kuch nahin maanga.  But being an honorable man he could not ask his sons to get involved with such an aberrant request and so he reluctantly asked one of the the servant boys:

"Sabu, Gawaaoon key bayaanat aur saboot ko madde nazar rakhtey.  Taz-e-raat-e-hind, dafaa ke tahet, muzrim ko sazaaye maut di jaati hai!"

The servant, a simpleton from Madurai, didn't understand the old man's discrete manor of requesting something "so embarrassing" with the use of a metaphor, interpreted the old man's request literally and brought him back a banana, two figs, some rope and a bottle of motor oil.  The old man was so outraged by this act of stupidity that he had a heart attack and died right there on the spot.  The old man's sons heard all this commotion and ran to their father's aid but they were too late.  When the servant explained to the sons what happened, the eldest son said:

"Ahh..... Jug Jug jiyo beta," and the room erupted into laughter.  
  

After all the guests had left the wedding feast both newlyweds retired to their hotel room, exhausted.  Unfortunately for the groom his mother-in-law had come down with a bad case of the stomach flu and begged the newlywed couple to allow her to remain at their hotel since she was too sick to travel.  The groom was upset about the unfortunate turn of events and told the mother-in-law that she must get her own hotel room.  But the new bride scolded him, reminding him that he had waited long already for their tender moment and that one night more wouldn't kill him.  In an outrage the groom left the hotel and went out drinking with his naughty brothers.  Later that night he returned to the hotel in a state of maximum intoxication and forgot that his mother-in-law was asleep in the honeymoon bed.  Wasting no time he climbed under the covers and geeta per haath rakhkar yeh saugandh leta hoon ki jo bhi kahoonga sach kahoonga, aur sach ke siva kuch nahin kahoonga until, finally, at the most awkward of moments his bride entered the room to see why her mother was making such odd noises.  When she saw the odd arrangement, she cried:

"Mainey is zameen ko apne khoon sey seencha hai?"

The groom then turned to his new mother-in-law and said:

"Mai tumhare bina nahin jee sakti!"

F