THE MOOJ WEEKLY STANDARD
VOLUME III, No. 32, August 25, 1999

Written and Edited by Mujaputtia Umbababbaraba, Most Favored Mooj  
Tinkers, Evers, Chance to Mooj
The Mooj Mail Bag

Special Notice:  The Mooj Mail Bag was completely filled up again this week.  Since I could not possibly get to it I asked my trusty sidekick and number one devotee Lance Worthy to sift through it all and answer what he could.  I know that in the past Lance has been rude to you minions.  But that will not be the case this week.  Lance has assured me that that he will never again let his anger interfere with his skill as a correspondent.  I trust Lance.  Next week I promise that I will read and answer all reader mail.  
 
Cook's Corner  
Some guy from New Jersey sent in a very nice recipe for a Pulled Pork Sandwich.  However, until I can verify that there really is such a thing as a "pulled pork sandwich," the recipe will not be placed in the newsletter. Click here for other "Pulled Pork" related items.
Travels with Mooj  
Part IV:  Down to the Crossroads
 
For three straight days I drove without once having to stop to eat, sleep, gas up or go to the bathroom.   Since I am a Yoga Master I can control all my body functions and so the lack of sleep, nourishment and waste removal was nothing abnormal; but how it was that I never ran out of gas was actually quite puzzling to me.  I wasn’t sure what kind of gas mileage a Yugo was supposed to get but it couldn’t have been that good.  It was then that I realized that Divine Intervention was keeping my Yugo gas tank full.  Was this my reward for all the good karma I had gathered over my lifetime?  No, it was more than that.  It was as if I was on a secret mission from God and this was proof of that I was His Chosen One.  Unfortunately, though, that realization proved not to be exactly correct because as soon as I began crossing the Mississippi River, heading into Helena, Arkansas, all four tires on my Yugo popped off and the car rolled over, catching on fire and exploded as it fell into the river below.  If I was the Chosen One, then I was going to have to complete my mission on foot.

I swam to the eastern bank of The Mississippi River and climbed ashore.  Those fishing nearby were too busy running for their lives (as the bridge erupted into flames and assorted fireballs fell into the river) to notice me emerging from the muddy waters and crawling into the nearby swamp.  For two days I wandered aimlessly through those hot, sweltering swamps, collecting what I could to eat and drink from the wilderness.  Luckily there were plenty of dairy cows around this part of Mississippi so I was actually eating pretty good.  (And I got plenty of fresh milk to boot.)

After nearly a month without human companionship I was beginning to feel mighty lonesome.  Those glorious days of travel on the lavish Mooj Freedom Bus (surrounded by my many happy devotees) now seemed to be almost a lifetime away.  If ever I was sadder in my life, I couldn’t recall.  And then one night I heard the sounds of some good old-fashioned delta blues filtering through the magnolia trees.  It was coming from a small hamlet far off in the distance.  It was well past midnight and the moon was full.  I heard an old hound dog howling way off in the distance: a bad omen, true, but I was too lonely to stay in the swamp that night and so I slowly emerged from the wilderness and walked as slow as I could toward the town.  

I walked along an old dusty road, lurking in the shadows to avoid being seen by the old folks, who sat quietly on their porches drinking malt liquor.  Soon, I was standing in front of a small ramshackle hut—a juke joint of some sort.  The crowd inside was loud and there was a band inside playing the blues.  I stepped inside and the place fell silent.  All eyes were upon me as I walked through the door and approached the stage.  I wasn’t sure if it was because I was stark naked or because I was carrying my old trusty ’52 Telecaster, which I had brought with me all the way from Chester County.  The Mooj was in Mississippi now, the home of Robert Johnson, Blind Lemon Jefferson, Ralph Machio and Sleepy John Estes—The Mooj was there to “cut heads” with whoever would challenge him.

But the crowd remained silent.  Finally one old man stood up and yelled:
 
“Lookie here nature boy, you can’t just walk in here and play—this is Mississippi, boy, and we got rules about who can and can’t play!”

I didn’t wait for the man to finish; I plugged in my ax and began playing.  Never before had I played so passionately and with so much feeling.  For over a month I had been so lonesome and on that night, that hot humid Mississippi night, I sang about it in my tortured blues medley.  Not a person in that crowded smoke-filled room could speak when I had finished.  Men, women, children—all—were just standing there crying.  But that didn’t stop them from pulling me off stage and beating me senseless with my old telecaster.  If I was going to make it as a bluesman in Mississippi, it wasn’t going to be there.  I lit off for the woods and slept beneath the stars once again.

I had no luck as a bluesman.  I barrehoused up and down the delta and couldn’t land a gig anywhere.  I became desperate.  Finally someone told me about a crossroads near Friars Point—the very same crossroads Robert Johnson went to “to make his deal.”   I swore to myself that I wouldn’t even think about such a thing and I kept on a trying to land my first gig.  And then finally one night I found myself there—at the crossroads.  It was midnight and not a soul was stirring.  I could feel the sadness of a million souls that night as I stood there waiting.  I began playing my guitar (like Robert Johnson had done) and waited for “him” to arrive.  Finally I decided to run away before “he” showed up.  What was I thinking?  How could I even think about doing what I was about to do?  I quit playing and slowly started walking back along the road from which I came.  But I was too late.  I was no longer alone.  “He” was walking beside me in the darkness.

“So you want to play guitar here in Mississippi?” said the stranger beside me.

 I was too scared to talk; I just kept walking.  But the voice continued:

“Sign here and you'll be all set.”

The Mooj took the paper and signed it.  The man then handed me my union card.  And then he was gone.  There was no turning back now: The Mooj had joined the American Federation of  Musicians, Local 777.

The Buray Bengali (Note: These jokes are not intended for children!!) 

One jhatka-wallah was riding on his jhatka, when suddenly a scooter rider came and hit the jhatka.  The jhatka-wallah got real mad and confronted the scooter-wallah, saying:

"Kya ma?  Tumhare paas scooteran hain, brakesan hain, vuyy kehtey lagathey, humey kya ghode ke kahn pakadna hai kya?"

A father and a son went to an X-rated movie theatre.  Just before the movie started the lights went dim and the son said:

"Baba, Baba!  Yeh lightsan aise kyo hallon se dimmu hotha hai?"

The Dad replied:

"Yeh kya hain ki beta! Woh plugsan haina plugsan usko halloo se nikalthee so!"

A Bihari went to New Delhi for the first time in his life.  He went there during the time of Asiad and was very excited to see all the new stadiums, newly constructed roads, flyovers, etc etc.  The poor fellow hadn't seen all this ever before so when he went back to Aligarh, and people asked him how he liked Delhi, he said:

“Yaar Delhi to buhat top ka laga, pura Delhi chamak chamak raha tha, sab kuch jagmaga raha tha, sab shine maar raha tha lekin yaar ek cheez hum understand nahin kar paye, yeh itta barka barka speed breaker kahe ko bana diya hai!”

 
Two Bihari college students were talking.  One said to the other:

"Aaj Hillary Clinton a rahen hai Kennedy Auditorium mein saam ko aap chalenge na, hum aap ko 5.30 p.m sharp pe lene aienge.”

The other fellow didn't know who Hillary Clinton was and replied back:

"Nahin bhai aap hi chale jaiye hum English film nahin dekhte hain.”

Sacred Hindi Poetry?  Probably not. 
Every once in a while The Mooj is asked to showcase poetry from other cultures.  Here's a rather clever poem that was shared with us by Swami Sabahat Ashraf of New Delhi:

Chandi chandi sab koe'ee karai hai
I work all morning and all day

Chandi sakay na koe'ey
I eat no lunch, I collect no pay

Chandi ka jab samay aa'yay
What's that you ask me? What's that you say?

Lan k-haRay na hoe'ey!
I hear you Sweet Babu now please go away

Un kee shaad hee main thamboo chandi chaloe
Valimay kee daighain pakaanay chaoe!!

Closing Thoughts 
I think John Wilkes Booth summed it up perfectly when he said: "Sic semper tyrannis" 
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 The Power of Positive Thinking and Good Karma
 

The Mooj Self Realization Network Presents a 1-day "karma bolt" personal development, motivational and goal setting seminar that energizes participants onto the path to achieving, having and doing all they want and desire. Throughout this fast-paced, dynamic seminar, you will uncover the foundational elements of turning your goals into reality. The curriculum for this exciting program includes:
 

This is The Ultimate Success Formula!! 

At the end of the seminar, you will receive ABSOLUTELY FREE:

REGISTER NOW!  Seats are going fast!  Only the first 100 people will be admitted.  All seats $750.  (Corporate rates available.)

Two Sessions to be held on August 21st and August 22nd
Seating begins at 8:00 a.m.  Seminar will last approximately 4 hours.  (Less if it’s hot and humid)

The Amish Beer Garden
126 Old Lancaster Pike
(In the barn out back)
Bird in Hand, Pennsylvania

Motivational Speakers to Include:
Lance Worthy
Lance Worthy’s Grandma
Lance Worthy’s Grandpa
A Cal Ripkin Impersonator