I guess leaving Sedona will officially end my career as an artist since it is unlikely that people will take me seriously as a new age painter without the Sedona mailing address.  Like all good things I guess it all had to come to an end at some time.

I guess we should just get on with the newsletter so let's look at the Mooj Mail, shall we?

Yo,

Mooj my man. What up? Yo, I got some good [stuff]. Wanna smoke a [omitted] with me?  How bout a couple drinks after that? What do ya say?

Peace out!

DaRealMooj@aol.com

Odd, very odd.  I think this fellow (who calls himself DaRealMooj) has been smoking too much [stuff] lately.  Perhaps he should cut down and let his brain recover.



Most Impotent Mooj,

Me and my buddies were hoping that you would settle down here in SMIB land but I see that the desert southwest appeals to you more.  Hell, we would have let you paint a mural on the face of Calvert Cliffs because we are just plain tired of looking at the dirt.  Stay away from the peyote and loco weed because your mind does not need any more altering.

Teach Lusby
Hollywood, MD

Odd, very odd.  The Mooj isn't quite sure why all these SMIBs seem to think that I would fit in down there in Southern Maryland.  The Mooj is a man of culture and good taste; surely this would offend most of the SMIB population.       



Mooj:

Not only are you psychic but you must also be some sort of clairvoyant!  You probably don’t even realize this but did you know that letters from dead people often appear in your newsletter?  Perhaps I can enlighten you (if I may).  When I was a boy my father used to work as an insurance underwriter for Lloyds of London.  His job was basically to investigate suspicious shipwrecks.  In his den he had a very large tome entitled Tragic British Shipwrecks.  I loved looking through this book because it was filled with thrilling tales.  When I saw The HMS Marrytang mentioned in your October 31, 1999 newsletter I immediately remembered reading something about that ship in my dad’s shipwreck book.  Curious and all I did some research and found that there was indeed a ship called The HMS Marrytang; and that it sank off the coast of Newfoundland, Canada on August 24, 1912.  Following the maritime traditions of The British Admiralty, no ship of the line was ever re commissioned with that name again.  I flew to London last week and checked the official Royal Navy Seaman Registry and found that a person by the name of Jo McGregg was listed as a crew member of The HMS Marrytang from January 1911 until its tragic sinking.  Ironically, he was also listed as the only survivor of the shipwreck.  (The official report stated that McGregg had been found shortly after The HMS Marrytang wired off a distress signal.  McGregg was found 15 miles from where The HMS Marrytang was thought to have been sinking.  The search was soon called off because no other survivors were found in the vicinity of McGregg.)  The HMS Marrytang and her crew (other than McGregg) were never seen or heard from again.

While in London I found Jo McGregg’s sister (now 103 years old).  She told me that Jo McGregg was killed a few days after his miraculous rescue.  He was apparently run over by a trolley car while walking home from the hospital.  Is that strange or what?

Also, if anyone cares, The HMS Marrytang's crew listing also included a fellow named Inge Svensson.  I searched the British Royal Family Archives to see if this person was ever in any way connected to the [then] Queen of England.  Interestingly enough his name was included on several guest lists and he actually slept at Buckingham Palace on at least three occasions.  I was also able to find the name Inge Svensson included in the Official Royal Navy Archives of Former Pirates.  Maybe this was The Swede Jo McGregg wrote about in his letter?  I located Svensson's grandnephew in Stockholm and will travel there to visit him next week.  I have also agreed to buy an old family Bible from the grandnephew that once belonged to Inge Svensson.  According to the grandnephew this Bible has a map of The Azores drawn on the inside front cover with a big “X” marked on a spot where something is scribbled about pirate gold.  Perhaps this is a map to “the lost treasure”?  I’ll let you know more about this later.

The second dead person to make contact with you was a fellow named Oliver Rowe from Greenville, SC.  Believe it or not someone by that name was killed back in 1978 in what is today called The General Joe E. Johnson High School Prom Night Massacre.  Poor Oliver was one of nearly a dozen students found dead in the woods following the 1978 prom.  No one was ever arrested for those murders and the case is still open as far as I can tell.  As soon as I get back from The Azores I will fly down to Greenville and check into this grizzly matter for you.

Your Pal,
Jeff W.
The University of Maryland School of Journalism
College Park, MD.

Thanks Jeff.  As always The Mooj enjoys reading your investigative insights and thinks that one day you'll make a fine journalist.  I should warn you, however, that my psychic senses tell me that you are on the verge of failing out of college because you never attend classes anymore (you're too busy traveling around).  I also noticed that you have maxed out all your credit cards paying for all these so-called "fact-finding expeditions" for Mooj related topics.  The Mooj appreciates that kind of initiative; and so if you do flunk out The Mooj will be more than happy to sign you on as one of his non-paid interns! 



Dear Mooj:

I’m not sure if you remember me but my name is Mustafa Churchill.  I was your cell mate back in The Chester County Jail.  A few weeks ago they brought in someone who claimed to be “The Mooj” but I knew it wasn’t you.  At first I thought this guy might be you (because he looked and acted like you) but soon I figured out that this dude was a Mooj impostor.  This dude knew karate, how to play the guitar, and could even dance.  He even had his own web site (Mooj.org) and published his own version of The Mooj Weekly Standard.  But instead of writing about love, happiness and spirituality (like you do) he only wrote about nasty and unspeakable things that he was going to do to someone who double crossed him back in Oklahoma.  Anyway to make a long story short this fake Mooj dude escaped from jail last night and is headed to Arizona to kill you.  

Your old pal,
Mustafa

This is very bad news indeed.    



Mr. Umbababbaraba:

I thought I would provide you with a short update concerning Holden Caufield and the Great Ponsitron Roller Rink Fire on 1977.  Last month I was finally able to secure a bench warrant from the 4th Circuit Court and have Mr. Caufield extradited from The Balmy Pines Retirement Hotel and brought back to Palm Beach County to stand trial for the Ponsitron Roller Rink fire.  Mr. Caufield (by then extremely senile) had no recollection of anything, including his whereabouts on the night in question (August 18, 1977).  We were, however, able to beat a confession out of him and the case was brought to trial on November 15, 1999.  The trial lasted six days and the jury convicted Mr. Caufield on all counts, including perjury.  He was sentenced to “time served,” since he had died during the second day of the trial.  Let it be known to all that The Palm Beach County Official Hall of Records has now expunged your name and replaced it with that of Mr. Holden Caufield.  There is also a measure on next year’s ballot to rename Holden Caufield Avenue, The Holden Caufield Trade Center and The Holden Caufield Sports Arena.  Also, The Boca Raton Women's League has requested that the statue of Holden Caufield standing in front of the Civic Center be removed.  This would have been done already except that a permit is needed to cut up the statue since it contains trace amounts of PCBs.

Sincerely,

Jefferson Davis Cochran
District Attorney, Palm Beach County

The Mooj was sorry to hear about the passing of Holden Caufield.  But, at the same time I am greatly relieved to know that the good name of Mujaputtia Umbababbaraba has been cleared (for that particular crime anyway).



Mooj:

Flush!  Do you know what sound that was?  It was the sound of you being dumped like a chump!  We, the sisters of Sigma Theta Tau, at The University of Tennessee, Chattanooga, have decided to replace you as our Stud Muffin of the Year and give the coveted prize to "Steve" on the Predators.  I hope there are no hard feelings but we know a real stud muffin when we see one!

K. G. Geller,
President Gamma Rho Chapter
Sigma Theta Tau Sorority
University of Tennessee, Chattanooga

The Mooj humbly accepts your decision and hopes that "Steve" can live up to your high expectations.  (The Mooj seriously doubts it, though.)  



Mr. Umbababbaraba,

I find your “Buray Bengali” feature very disturbing.  Please stop making fun of my people and my culture.  Nothing in your newsletter is anywhere near being amusing or spiritual.   You are a very naughty person.

Depak Panbahar
Hardwar, India

Mr. Panbahar,  The Mooj finds your letter very disturbing.  The Mooj is not making fun of your people or culture; I am merely illustrating the lighter side of living in India.  Forget not that The Mooj studied for many years at the Ashram in Ramrama back in the 1980s.  It was there that I found true inner harmony (along with Hepatitis).



Mooj:

Hey man I'm your biggest fan and I want to be the President of your fan club!  None of my friends believed me when I told them that you are the first Pokemon character to have his own web site. My friends tell me that you aren't even a Pokemon character.  Well I know that you are.  You’re the new secret one that no one in the whole world except for me knows about.  Man, I used my Dad's color ink jet laser dot matrix printer to print out your likeness from the web page.  Then I laminated it to some cards to make the Prototype Mooj Pokemon collector card.  I'm the only one to have that card and since price is relative to the ration of supply and demand, I figure that your card makes me very rich.

All I have to do is convince the rest of the world that you, the Mooj, are in fact the next and very last Pokemon character ever to have his likeness imitated on a trading card. Thanks Mooj!

Attention all Mooj Heads: I am now accepting Bids for the one and only Pokemon trading card featuring the latest, Greatest and Last Character........Mooj!

Bids start at $1.5 mil and I only will accept cash!  Kids tell mom and Dad to bust out with the "long green."  Throw a lotta lettuce my way and you will be the proud owner of the only Mooj Card in existence today!!!!!!

Pinkachu Pete,

aka: Pokemon Juan

The Mooj has no idea what this idiot is talking about!

E

Ode du Mooj

Everyday we say our thanks
We say our thanks for thee

Our teacher says that you're a crook
She says to leave you be

But we read your newsletter anyway
It teaches us to see

Someday we'll all be old and gray
But our minds shall still be free

Harmony, inner peace and self-realization:
Mooj minionship is the key!

As I ran down the street I passed many folks who seemed genuinely surprised to see me.  As usual they threw dirty looks my way (recall that by then I had worn out my welcome in Sedona) but there was also something else: their anger seemed to be mixed with a sense of bewilderment.  I was puzzled by this behavior and finally stopped the famous artist Russ Bastard (whom at one time had been a close friend of mine) and asked him why he looked so surprised to see me.  He confided in me that members of the art community (including himself) had just ambushed and beaten someone that they thought was me.  This person had been taken “for a ride” out into the barren desert, buried up to his neck next to an anthill, covered with molasses and then abandoned to die in the blistering heat.  According to Russ this was something artists in Sedona often did to teach humility when someone in the art community becomes too cocky.  Most artists (if they survive this torturous ordeal) return to Sedona humbled.  I had no time to explain to Russ that he and his fellow artisans had actually ambushed and buried the fake Mooj—ironically, their bad feelings towards me had saved my butt for the time being.  After saying farewell to my pal Russ (and giving him a nice big hug) I flagged down a passing tourist and offered him $100,000 for his car.  Before I knew it I was safely behind the wheel of a ’81 Ford Granada, driving as fast as possible north along Highway 89A.  If or when Bigsby finally escaped from his fire ant ordeal I knew he would be pissed and hot on my trail.  I had no time to waste!

I drove north to Flagstaff and then turned due west on I-40 and headed toward California.  I kept driving as fast as I could until I reached Kingman, AZ and then saw a sign for Las Vegas.  I realized at once that Vegas would be the perfect place to “hide out” until I could figure out what to do next.  Even if Bigsby managed to follow me there he would have a very hard time finding me (or so I thought).

Somewhere in the middle of nowhere that piece of crap car (which I had just bought) began to overheat.  I watched in horror as the temperature gauge began to “red-line” and smoke began to puff out from under the hood.  I couldn’t have found a worse place to breakdown even if I tried and so I just kept driving (despite the flames that were now shooting up out of my engine compartment).  Finally the car sputtered to a stop and began to burn out of control.  I climbed out from the wreckage and stood by the side of the road dazed and confused.  (I could literally see “dollar signs” puff up into the sky as the car burned out of control with my two huge bags of money trapped inside.)  Risking life and limb I retrieved one of the moneybags and then stood back and watched as the car [and the rest of my money] exploded.  My fortune had by then been effectively cut in half!

I was now once again stuck in the middle of nowhere.  (Except now I had about $3 million in cash to lug around.)  I walked along the highway for about six miles and then finally arrived in a small frontier hamlet called Chorine, AZ.  One look around told me all that I needed to know about the place.  (Among the local inhabitants were the usual mix of aimless drunks, filthy children, stray dogs and God-forsaken trash farmers.  It kind of reminded me of Texas.)

Downtown I located a Greyhound Bus station and was relieved to learn that a bus was leaving for Las Vegas within the hour.  I quickly purchased a ticket and boarded the bus, trying not to draw too much attention to myself or large moneybag I was lugging around.  I sat in the very back of the bus and suspiciously eyed each of my fellow passengers as they boarded.  It was then that I saw J.J. Bigsby get on the bus!  He sat quietly in the very front row.  His face was covered with bandages but I could still see that he was very, very mad.  To be continued next week........

Love and harmony to all,