Thanks for the new different, but not necessarily better Mooj Weekly Standard. It is refreshing to see that you support the needs of the so-called MTV generation with its short attention spans and need for shamelessly horrid entertainment. Thank God for The Mooj Weekly Standard, The Real World, Road Rules and, of course, the highlight of MTV programming, The Real World/Road Rules Challenge.
SMS,
Salisbury State University
Let it never be said that The Mooj doesn't care about his Generation X minions (all 845 of you).
Mooj, you chump!
The jokes on you!!!! The Predators won right after you "dumped" them. Perhaps it was you who was causing them to lose, no?
“jimmy”
San Jose, CA
Yes "jimmy" you are a smart one—about as smart as a 400-lb. Gorilla with a pineapple stuck up his butt! Thanks for coming out of your drunken stupor long enough to write in and tell us that our pals in the ICHL actually won a game. The Mooj and the Predators may have ended our tenuous relationship on a sour note but that doesn't mean I don't care about my techno-geek buddies anymore. I wish them all the best, including that scrawny, cheesy looking guy who stole the Sigma Theta Tau "Stud Muffin of the Year" award from me.
Oh by the way, tell the Predators not to gloat so much about their first victory this season since the team they beat (The Ice Pirates) were only at half strength and had to utilize senior citizens and girls to fill out their roster. One of my sources at the Ice Centre in San Jose told me it was really quite pathetic how some of the Predators hard checked and beat up on some of these old folks and girls during the game.
I’m a 21-year-old student from the University of Cincinnati. I manage to pull in my fair share of babes because of my superior good looks but in bed I'm a total flop. I know people say that size doesn’t matter but here in Cincinnati it really does. I'm fed up with girls dumping me because of my slight anatomical imperfection. I just started dating a girl that I really like and it would be great if this relationship could last (but I know the minute I take off my clothes and she sees my big ugly feet she’ll dump me like all the rest). What do I do?
"Toelio Tom"
Cincinnati, OH
My advice to you is leave your socks on until your married.
MOOJ,
You're sick! You're the kind of person that watches the Indy 500 and NASCAR just to see if somebody crashes! You probably have copies of The Faces of Death 1 through 52. You probably pass out cigarettes to heart disease patients and offer drowning people glasses of water! DUDE, welcome to the club! You should be a JOOM MINION! That's what we are all about here man—Rubbing it in baby! Kicking ‘em when they're down! Screwing them before they screw you! Getting pissed off instead of pissed on! War, Killing, Hating, Loving. Kicking ass and taking names, blood and guts and no prisoners!
Welcome My Brother!
JOOM-itnA ehT
The Mooj has no idea who you are or what you're talking about. I can only sense by the tone and banality of your letter that you must have me confused with another Mooj.
Dear Mooj,
My boyfriend recently died as the result of falling 300 feet from a giant 2000-year-old redwood tree. He was spiking it with dynamite to prevent loggers from chopping it down. My boyfriend and I met last month at the WTO riots in Seattle and fell madly in love. We were soul mates. But when I was going through his personal belongings to find some weed, extra cash and something to remember him by I found out that he was a card carrying member of the Republican Party! I also found several canceled checks made out to Alan Keyes and Gary Bauer. Mooj, ..... I feel totally violated! He lied to me and all the other activists in our commune. Instead of fighting for eco-justice he was really just a right-wing zealous bigot. I feel terribly cheated, used and betrayed. I was going to scatter his ashes atop Mt. Everest next year but now I think I’ll just flush them down the toilet!
Barbi “Butterfly” Babalinski
Shasta, CA
I'm not sure why your boyfriend would lie to you unless he loved you so much that he didn't want to hurt you with his political beliefs. Let the good times you spent together being eco-terrorists outweigh his "politics of isolationism and greed." It will give you better karma and might prevent you from falling to your death next summer when you and you hippie friends attempt to climb Mt. Everest barefoot. The Mooj wishes you all good luck and good riddance.
Dear Sir:
My name is Pepito Alou and I am a graduate student at UCLA. I am currently studying with the eminent Professor Gordon Wilson Griffin, who is regarded by many to be the finest abnormal behavior psychologist in the world. Together we are collaborating on a monumental study of Complex Personality Disorders (CPDs), which I hope to turn into my dissertation. For six years I have been studying abnormal psychology with Professor Griffin and hope to finish my Ph.D. soon. I introduced Professor Griffin to your collected works and he concurred with me that you are very disturbed. In fact, he has never seen anyone with such a complex case of personality disorder in his life. I am offering you a small percentage of my annual stipend to allow me to study you. It is a small sum (probably less than a hundred dollars) but I know that your love of science will probably allow you to overlook the fee anyway. Here’s what I propose: 1) several informal meetings (either via teleconference or in person) with my professor, myself, and potentially a few other interested parties; 2) a week long study session, where my professor, myself, and potentially a few other interested parties “tag along with you” on one of your so-called adventures; and 3) at least one or two conditional response testing sessions here at UCLA, where I’ll hook you up to a machine professor Griffin invented that helps people like you “tell the truth” by administering non-lethal doses of electricity. Rest assured that we shall never use your real name in our study and only refer to you with a code name (like, “Insane Uzbekistani-Punjabi Test Subject”). Please notify me in writing that you agree to the demands of our study and I will have the University of California Board of Regents contact you with the necessary paperwork and urinalysis sample kit. Along with your small financial reward I’ll also see to it that you get a UCLA coffee mug. I can’t wait to get started on this project and hope that you share my excitement. Please contact Dr. Griffin or myself as soon as possible and we'll get you started on your medication.
Sincerely,
Pepito Moses Alou
Department of Abnormal Psychology
University of California, Los Angeles
Pardon me if I sound ungrateful ...., but up yours! I am so sick and tired of you frauds from academia undermining traditional American and moral values by fostering this pseudo science called psychology. If you would like to collaborate with The Mooj on a real science-related matter then let me know. Until then please don't bother me with your pseudo science nonsense.
Mr. Mooj,
I know that you frown upon people sending you meaningless letters about sex or other stupid topics but please allow me to submit my letter. I hope you will understand after reading it why I wanted to share this story with you and my fellow minions.
Last year during my sophomore year I attended The Sadie Hawkins Dance at my school. I didn’t want to go but my mom insisted because she was worried that I might be gay since I never attended social functions with girls. During the dance I just sat in the rear of the gym and watched as everyone else had fun. I felt like a total dork and couldn’t wait to get out of there. About halfway through the dance Mrs. Grabowski saw me sitting all alone at the top of the bleachers and climbed up and sat beside me. Mrs. Grabowski teaches Algebra II and Geometry and is really nice. Mrs. Grabowski wanted to know why I was all alone and so I told her I was shy and didn’t know how to dance. She then took my hand and told me that she would teach me. The band was playing a Metallica song and we had lots of fun dancing. Then all of a sudden the band started playing a slow song and Mrs. Grabowski grabbed me and held me close to her large breasts. The song seemed to last forever and I was totally uncomfortable. Afterwards Mrs. G. followed me to the drinking fountain and asked me if I wanted to step outside and get some fresh air because it was so hot inside the gym. I said that would be cool and followed her to the quad. After cracking a few jokes Mrs. G. then asked me if I wanted to go for a ride in her new Nissan Sentra. I told her sure. We then drove around for a while listening to her kick-ass stereo and then Mrs. G. asked me if I had ever been up to the Old Gingerford Mill up on Dingle Creek (a notorious make-out spot here in Stoddard County). I told her that I had (but I never did). Before we got there Mrs. G. stopped and picked up a twelve pack of malt liquor. Then she handed me a baseball bat and told me to knock down people’s mailboxes as we sped along toward the old mill. I did and we had a blast! Then Mrs. G. stopped at a store and bought some eggs and we egged a bunch of parked cars. I couldn’t believe how cool Mrs. G. was for a teacher. When we finally got up to the old mill we finished off the malt liquor and then Mrs. G. dared me to go skinny-dipping in the millpond. I did—even though it was late autumn and the water was freezing. She also jumped in but I couldn’t tell if she was naked or not because it was so dark. Finally she climbed out of the pond and ran back to her car to dry off. She then yelled at me to hurry up and get out of the water because she needed to get home because her husband and children would be expecting her soon because the dance was just about over. We drove back to town (doing well over 100 mph) and she dropped me off at my house. As I was walking toward my front door she tossed an empty beer can and hit me in the back of the head. I could hear her laugh and then she did a hellatious burnout and sped off.
This year I have Mrs. Grabowski for Algebra II and she has never mentioned anything about that night. In fact, she pretends like she doesn’t even know who I am! I’m totally confused by all this. Was I the victim of some sort of crime?
P. Gerrett Jr.
Dudley, MO
Probably. But more importantly The Mooj suspects that you have perpetrated a crime against his sagely good nature by sending in such a ridiculous letter! If your story is to be believed (and my psychic senses tell me that it isn't) then I recommend that you get some therapy for what will undoubtedly be one of the reasons behind most of your future troubled relationships. I also suggest you inform your parents about what transpired and have charges brought against the rambunctious and rowdy Mrs. G.
To The Mooj:
Last week I saw that a guy named Donny Bosco wrote you a letter. I used to work for Donny Bosco back in the early ‘90s. I was just out of high school and very naive. Donny and his brothers Joey and Tommy were total jerks and always sexually harassing me. All day long I had to put up with them gawking, grabbing, and making lewd remarks about my body. And I’m a guy! The girls working there had it much worse. I suggest you ban the Bosco brothers from your minion program, since if you have any acceptance standards then these three pigs couldn’t possibly meet them. Keep up the good work. I’m not an official Mooj Head as of yet but hope to be soon. (I’m trying to make parole this year and being a Mooj Head might look bad on my record.)
Bart Haley
Yeadon, PA
The Mooj has no one by the name of Bosco listed in his official roster of minions. Regretfully, The Mooj doesn't really have any standards or acceptance criteria to be a Mooj Head so there is really nothing preventing the Boscos (or people like them) from joining the legion of minions. (Hell, if I had standards then I wouldn't have any minions!)
To my stupid nephew:
This is your Uncle Chandrachur writing to inform you that I was never executed for possessing an encyclopedia back in Uzbekistan. I was fined 350 Rubles and sent to a re-education camp in Tashkent for 18 years—but never executed. (And it was the H-J volume not the K-M volume.) I am sorry that your Aunt Kripyaa never informed you that my life was spared when the former Soviet empire collapsed in 1991. You were probably already living in America by then and we were probably too busy to bother contacting you. Like most of the other Umbababbarabas fleeing Uzbekistan in the early 1990s we moved to Evanston, IL. Your cousins Shahrukh, Salman and Sunil are all grown up now. They are big fans of yours and are planning to visit you as soon as they complete their studies at Northwestern University. Shahrukh is studying anesthesiology, Salman is studying obstetrics and gynecology and Sunil is studying neurosurgery. All three boys are on full athletic scholarships since they play for the Northwestern football team. Now that you know that I am still alive I would appreciate a card or letter or something.
Alavidha,
Chandrachur Chacha
Evanston, IL
You have no idea how happy I am to learn
that you are still alive dear uncle! I'm glad to learn that my little
cousins Shahrukh, Salman and Sunil are all grown up and doing very well
for themselves. Hopefully next time I'm up your way I can stop by
and visit you guys. Out of curiosity you mentioned that other members
of the Umbababbaraba family are also living in America? The Mooj
has no knowledge of this and has always believed that everyone in our family
remained back in Uzbekistan. I find it odd that members of my family
would come to America and not contact me!
Hey Mooj,
It’s me again, your anonymous buddy from The Washington Post. I wrote you a few weeks ago and gave you a few Inside the Beltway scoops. I have some more hot items for you if you’re interested? (Let me know now or forever hold your piece—ha ha ha, get it?)
Scoop #1: Your pal H.H. Monroe has finally flown the coop and vacated his comfy corner office in the J. Edgar Hoover Building. He is now working on the Hillary 2004 Campaign Committee and has no intention of returning to public life. (At least that’s what he told me last night over a couple of cold brewskis at the Watergate Hotel—slurp...burp.) My sources at the FBI tell me that a fellow named Charles Tree, a flunky from The Commerce Department, has replaced Monroe as Eastern Sector Chief and is a pretty shady character, himself (ha ha ha—get it?). Tree’s immediate plans are to find his pal Webster Hubbell a job so I doubt your fugitive butt has anything to worry about for a while.
Scoop #2: I need to correct some false information I passed along to you last month. As it turns out C. J. Merryweather Jr.—the super spy son of C. J. Merryweather Sr.— is not sleeping with the fishes at the bottom of Lake Geneva. He is actually alive and kicking and doing quite well for himself. Word on the street has it that he recently came into a bonanza (say it with me.... Bo-nan-zaaaa) of money. He is now living “high on the hog” somewhere along The French Riviera.
Scoop #3: Your arch nemesis, the wicked and self righteous J.E. Gayson, was spotted late last week sweeping the floors of a posh Sao Miguel nightclub. Contacts of mine in the Azores report that the once mighty Big Wheel Baron (I made that nickname up myself) has come upon some hard times of late and is now sleeping in the gutters and alleyways of the red light district. He was removed from the CIA’s most wanted list due to budget cuts and now no one wants to waste time or money flying out to the Azores to pick him up. (I'd do it if they promised me a seat next to Britany Spears...oh yeah baby, shagadelic!)
Scoop #4: Last but not least your pal and former agent J.J. Bigsby is currently stewing in the Clark County Jail (near Las Vegas). He’s on a 90-day all expense paid vacation for supposedly corrupting a miner. (Yep, I too thought it should be “corrupting a minor” but my sources in Clark County told me that the charges actually do stipulate that it was “a miner that wuz corrupted.” The victim of whatever it was that Bigsby did was a silver miner from Virginia City, NV. As the great Sgt. Shultz used to say: “I know nothing”—more about it. (Ha ha ha!) As far as Bigsby is concerned he ain’t going nowhere until officials in Mississippi can workout an extradition deal with Nevada to get him back to Mississippi to stand trial for the murder of Blind Lemon Washington. (Back, back, back, back, back, back—gone!)
Well that’s about it my fat, obnoxious, Uzbekistani-Punjabi buddy. I’ll let you know more if I get any more “scoops.” Oh, by the way, don't think your recent nudie bar fling on 14th Street in D.C. didn't go unnoticed by the upper echelon of law enforcement. Word has it that Ms. Reno saw you and your Amish amie at The Blue Star and would have had you arrested on the spot but she didn't want to draw attention to the fact that she was there, herself.
–anon–
Thanks anonymous friend from The Washington Post, whoever you are. I especially like all your sound effects while you relate your scoops. I should point out to all my minions that I know what you're all thinking. Yes, The Mooj knows exactly how Mr. "Super Spy" C.J. Merryweather Jr. got all his new found wealth. Undoubtedly, C.J. is living "high on the hog" with my money, which he confiscated from Gayson (who originally stole it from me). But I don't care. Why? Because I'm The Mooj, that's why.
Mooj,
Twelve years ago my fiancé promised me that we would get married as soon as he worked out some personal problems. Last week I got tired of waiting and demanded that he set a date or else. I got no response at all (he just sat there popping zits on his forearms and eating potato chips). I am now 39 and tired of waiting. Mooj, should I just dump this guy and get on with my life?
Frustrated in Delmarva
The Mooj is trying really hard to help you by focusing with my psychic powers on what your fiancé's personal problems might be. (Knowing that would help The Mooj understand why your man is so reluctant to say "I do.") As I sit here meditating on your specific question I am reminded of a funny story. It's about a friend of mine who met a girl at a bar in Tijuana. He fell in love with this girl and wanted to marry her but she always put him off and never let him see her without her clothes on.... Actually, I probably should end this story right here since it probably isn't appropriate for some of my reading audience (I'll give you a hint: it involves a big wedding night surprise). The bottom line is one should always look under the hood before one buys a car. In my friend's case he should have also checked in the trunk, under the hubcaps and inside the tail pipe. Your fiancé is obviously hiding something that is really bad. The Mooj says dump the chump and move on with your life.
What does the future hold for me?
“RipCurl”
Scranton, OH
Good news "Ripcurl." You are just about to meet the girl of your dreams. She will be exactly what you need to help you get your life back on track. Since this mystery woman is pretty desperate herself she won’t mind that you're a total loser.
I see you have a few new items on your web site called the Mooj Store, FAQ and Mooj.com IPO. I clicked on them all and it says for each one that the service is not available at this time...check back in a few days. I have checked back 2 - 3 times over the last few days and would like to know when these areas will be up and running. I am very interested in the Mooj store, especially if your artwork is available. I am really great with marketing and am more than willing to help you out in that area. Give me a call so we can discuss this possibility [phone number omitted]. I am at loose ends for the moment so even if the marketing opportunity is a no go, maybe we can hook up in a "love" kind of way.
Ramona Blevins
Troy, NY
The truth be told The Mooj is rather upset that The Mooj Store, FAQ and Mooj.com IPO links are not up and running yet. My two non-paid interns have been promising me for months that they would get these items fixed but they haven't done anything. The Mooj Store is planned to be an outlet for Mooj merchandise, such as Mooj Head T-shirts, mugs, key chains, cup holders, posters, bumper stickers, tote bags, etc. As we speak I have boxes of this crap sitting around going to waste. I should point out that it is doubtful that The Mooj Store will sell any of my artwork since I never kept any of the originals and am too lazy to ever paint again. The FAQ was actually going to be put together last summer but it never got done. When I asked the Yaksuba twins about it they told me to "put a cork in it" and then told their mom that I was bothering them again. Needless to say I doubt it gets done in the near future. As far as the Mooj.com IPO goes, things are actually looking quite promising. In the near future Mooj.com will announce to the world that we are using LINUX as our development platform and then bring our Internet site public. Since idiots jump all over Internet IPOs like flies jump on pig dung, The Mooj feels he can make millions of dollars selling stock in this spiritual portal to the world (despite the fact that Mooj.com doesn't make any money and employs only myself, two-non paid interns and a halfwit Amish guy, who used to be a gay porno star). If you would like more information about when Mooj.com is going public ask your broker or financial advisor.
Dear Mooj:
As a senior law enforcement official I am often encountering strange
individuals bent on breaking the law in the most unusual of ways.
This week I encountered a hillbilly type, smoking crack and wearing a variety
of women's apparel. His name was Billyray Syphilis. It seems
Billyray likes to get high while wearing a dress, over a blue teddy, over
a bra (stuffed with wet toilet paper), and some fancy crotch less unmentionables.
Topping off his spectacular ensemble is usually a string of fake pearls
and some cameo earrings. The other day I inquired of Billyray as
I arrested him: "Why for art thou dressed in such a fashion?"
Billyray explained: "Well, I was just over at my buddy's home for a little fun…if you know what I mean." Well, I didn't know but could only imagine and didn't want the details. I was curious about the wet toilet paper in the bra, though, and just had to ask. Billyray explained that the wetting of the toilet paper prior to stuffing it in his bra allows him to shape his falsies into just the right form of breast that a man of his build should have.
I just wanted to pass this information to you and your readers. Perhaps someone can use the toilet paper trick to enhance their own social lives. Any insight you might have would be appreciated. So long for now!
Officer James
The Mooj thanks you for your helpful advice Officer James. However, The Mooj is confused as to why you thought The Mooj Weekly Standard was the appropriate media outlet to share this information?
Fenton W. Russell, Mooj Minion #1155 is a truck driver from Falls Church, VA. His response to why he would make a good Mooj Head was: "I enjoy reading about The Mooj and would like if at all possible the opportunity to become Mooj-like. I would also like that good looking redhead across the hall to spank me!"
A. J. Benzahh, Mooj Minion #1156 is a retired civil servant from Huntsville, Texas. His response to why he would make a good Mooj Head was: "I know all about you Mr. Umbababbaraba and believe us to be very much aligned spiritually. Heck, If I wasn't a convicted murderer sitting here on death row in Texas I would be out there preaching the good word about you to all my fellow Texans."
Drake Allen, Mooj Minion #1157 is a solar panel systems engineer from Beltsville, MD. His response to why he would make a good Mooj Head was: "My girlfriend is very cool and she thought it would be a good idea for me to do this. She also wants me to pierce my scrotum."
Suzanne Sharff, Mooj Minion #1158 is from "The Bubble," also known as Fallston, MD. Her response to why she would make a good Mooj Head was: "I would like to become a Mooj minion because I like to read. Actually, that is a lie. I don't have the attention span to read anything significant. I even got board when I was writing this. So, please exuse any spelling or grammar misteaks because I do not have the attention span to proofread. Anyway I thought it would be nice if I could move to Port Charles with the Mooj. We could spend our days laughing at the funny noise our bodies make after eating a bowl full of Skyline Chile."
Douglas Loyd, Mooj Minion #1159 is a software engineer from Fallston, MD. His response to why he would make a good Mooj Head was: "... It is very necessary that I become a minion because if I don't I might turn into a big cyst on the ass of society. You see, I drink a lot. I mean a lot. The doctors told me that if I don't stop drinking I may have to get a new liver. Man, I never thought Mountain Dew could do that to ya. I'm already sterile. Which is pretty cool. Anyway, my life is wasting away. All I do is watch the Simpsons and drive my girlfriend crazy with my extremely rank, putrid, fetid malodorous feet. She can probably smell them right now and I am on the other side of the state. Please let me be a minion. Give me sanctuary. Help. Please."
Joseph Rudy, Mooj Minion #1160 is an under secretary with the Office of Housing and Urban Development. He currently resides in Rockville, MD and drives a car with less than 20,000 miles on it. His response to why he would make a good Mooj Head was: ".... Peoples, peoples, peoples...., don't you see what they're trying to doing to us? First it was Rodney King, then it was Reginald Denny, next it will be you and me. Can't you see that the Federal Government just wants to beat the crap out of us????"
Hillary Rodman-Clintler, Mooj Minion #1161 is a mother from Chappapaqua, NY. Her response to why she wants to be a Mooj Minion was: "I thought this would be a good place to get my Internet campaign off to a running start. I think it is very important to have free thinkers such as you involved on the Internet. I believe your psychic advice fits in well with the health care reform platform I stand on. You have many supporters that come from such diverse backgrounds I felt that it would be a great idea if we got together and pooled our resources to make my run for the Senate a reality. What do you say Mooj? The Lincoln Bedroom is available this weekend 2/12-2/13."
Ode to a ValentineI have a heart
Oh yes I doI have a heart
So why don't you?I gave you my best
Oh yes I didYou party all night
While I raise your kidYou said you liked smooth jazz
You said you liked carrot juice
You said you liked BLTsYou lied
You liedARGH! Damn Cat People!
*** applause please ***
Duke Sucks, Maryland Rules!
The Blue Devils were cocky, eager, on the prowl,
They were looking to dine on some Terrapin fowl
The bookmakers laughed when they drew up the line
For Duke had the advantage, a home streak of 49
The Terps played hard, the best I've ever seen
Much to the dismay of Duke fan Carleen
T’was a sad day indeed for mighty Coach K
As his team floundered helplessly, while seconds ticked awayNow Duke has been beaten, spanked and sent to bed
With dreams of a National Championship, pretty much good as dead
Home Delivery
I mentioned before in one of my previous stories that my grandfather was an oil man. Back in the days of yore almost every home in America was heated with fuel oil and so an oil man's life became very busy in the fall and winter. My grandfather owned his own business and often relied on my uncles to help out whenever the workload became too much for only one man to handle. On such an occasion my Uncle Bill was entrusted to make a few oil calls on his own. When my Uncle Bill returned to the office after making a few deliveries he mentioned sort of off handily that 'so and so' sure took a lot of oil that day. My grandfather was curious and asked him to explain what he meant. Uncle Bill then said: "Well, you know how 'so and so' usually only takes about 100 gallons? Well today he took over 500! In fact, he would have taken more but I stopped pumping before his tank was filled (in other words, the whistle on the filler pipe was still blowing) because I needed to make a few other oil calls and wasn't sure how much oil was left in the truck." Before Uncle Bill could even finish his explanation my grandfather was backing his car out of the driveway and was on his way to the house of the customer. Sure enough, just as my grandfather had suspected, the fill pipe to the oil tank had been somehow disconnected and the unlucky customer had 500 gallons of home heating oil sloshing around in his basement!
-continued from last week-
If you recall last week Trent, Lance and I decided it was finally time to leave Pickensville, SC and travel to the Azores to dig up that long, lost missing treasure of Inge Svensson (the Swedish pirate who perished on the HMS Marrytang in 1912). Trent, who had originally planned to stay in Pickensville for emotional reasons had a change of heart and decided to join us (for reasons explained in last week’s newsletter). Since there were no direct flights to the Azores from America we had to fly to Portugal. We were severely limited in funds and so we could only afford passage as far as Lisbon. Thus, it was decided to get to Portugal first and then worry about getting to the Azores later.In Lisbon we checked into a youth hostel posing as American art students. At this hostel we met many wayward international students and had a few adventures that I dare not write about since this is a family-oriented newsletter. (Let’s just say that our little Trent isn’t a “boy” anymore!) We realized right away that there was no way we could afford to get to Sao Miguel (either by air or sea). Each day that passed saw us deplete more of our limited funds and so Trent finally decided that we should just stow away on a ship headed there. (His reasoning was that we had done stupider things before so why the hell not.) Trent then used his limited knowledge of the Portuguese language to translate the daily maritime reports to find a ship that was scheduled to depart to the Azores. He quickly discovered that a cargo ship named the Amarelo o Navio was scheduled to leave Lisbon the very next morning. We traveled to the harbor and set up a surveillance post. Trent then ordered Lance and I to disguise ourselves as stevedores and hang around down at the waterfront to see what we could learn about the ship and its crew. (Neither Lance nor I spoke Portuguese but we bought lots of drinks and had a great time partying with all our new sailor friends.)
That evening we used our remaining funds to buy non-perishable food, bedding material, pillows and warm clothing. We then made our way to the waterfront and lurked in the shadows until it got dark. When the coast was clear we stole a small rowboat and paddled out to where the Amarelo o Navio lay at anchor. In total darkness Trent climbed up a small Jacob’s Ladder hanging from the stern of the ship. Once aboard Trent signaled to us that the coast was clear and Lance climbed up to join him. Together they began hoisting up our supplies (using ropes) while I sat in the rowboat and kept a sharp lookout. After everything was safely aboard I climbed the ladder and joined the others on deck. Since most of the crew was ashore drinking and carousing we encountered absolutely no resistance and quickly found our way to the main deck, where we located a small escape hatch. We opened it and saw that it led down a long vertical tube into the bowels of the ship. At the bottom (probably 10 decks below) we located a long, narrow, dimly lit alleyway. Here was housed the main shaft. We followed the shaft tunnel all the way to the rear of the ship and then found a small compartment housing the main steering gears. It was pretty isolated back in there and so we figured that no one would bother us during the two or three days it took to steam to Sao Miguel. That night we celebrated our new adventure with a nice beef jerky dinner.
Early the next morning the ship got underway and we were rousted from our peaceful slumber by the horrendous screeching of the steering gears. Since we had forgotten to bring hearing protection we had to stick candy corn in our ears (which we had brought along to snack on). As soon as the ship was out of the harbor the main engine started to turn at full speed and we were treated to an additional 150 dB of noise due to the spinning shaft and cavitating screw. Within an hour our heads were completely numb and we knew we had to vacate the steering gear compartment or else we would become deaf and insane. We next set up residence in the shaft alley, which was a little quieter but very uncomfortable because we had to crawl around on our bellies, lest the spinning shaft kill us. The alley soon began to take on bilge water and before we knew it we were lying face down in about an inch of the stuff. By noon we were pretty miserable and decided we couldn’t stay down there anymore and needed to climb topside to find another place to hide. Unfortunately, someone had placed something very heavy on top of the escape tunnel hatch and we couldn’t get it open. We were trapped! For hours we pounded on the thick watertight hatch but nobody came. We were finally forced (due to fatigue) to climb back down to the shaft alley and lay flat on our backs while smelly bilge water splashed atop our faces. Every once in a while one of us would gather the strength to climb back up to the top of the ladder to see if the hatch was still obstructed. It was. The hours turned into days and then before we knew it almost a week had passed. Finally our food supply was exhausted and we were doomed!Trent couldn’t understand why the ship hadn't pulled into Sao Miguel yet. He mulled over the situation and then sadly came to the conclusion that we were not headed to the Azores at all, but somewhere much farther away. Since the ship had been traveling at full speed for 6 straight days we had already steamed well over 5,000 miles. For the last three days the steering gears had been relatively quiet, meaning that we were by then on a relatively constant heading. Trent then sadly informed us that we were most likely headed to either South America or Australia.
Another two days passed and we were near starvation. Trent decided that we had no choice but to overheat the shaft so that, hopefully, someone would come down into the shaft alley to investigate. Each shaft bearing had a remote temperature sensor which Trent assumed was hooked up to an alarm panel in the control or engine room. We would undoubtedly be captured but at least we would be fed. We followed his directions and drained lube oil from each of the shaft bearings. Just as Trent had predicted the bearings began to heat up and glow bright red. The screeching noises made by the shaft bearings became so unbearable and we had to crawl back aft toward the steering gear compartment to escape the din. Finally we heard a horrendous “crack” and the ship stopped dead in the water. For the first time in six days we finally had some peace and quiet.
Just as Trent had predicted the escape hatch was hastily opened and voices began echoing through the long and narrow tunnel. We waited patiently in the steering gear compartment while technicians surveyed the damage. I couldn’t speak Portuguese but I knew something was terribly wrong. Trent, who could speak some Portuguese, picked up the fact that the ship was in serious trouble because the shaft had somehow snapped in two and couldn't be repaired. Soon the situation became even more alarming when someone climbing down into the shaft alley reported that there was a big typhoon headed our way. Frantically the technicians labored in vain to repair what they could until the ship began to toss and turn in what by then were very rough seas. A few more hours passed and soon the general alarm was sounded and the crew was ordered topside. The ship was sinking!
As soon as the coast was clear Lance, Trent and I climbed out of the steering gear compartment and crawled forward through the shaft alley. Water was now rising rapidly in the compartment and we barely made it to the escape tunnel before the entire shaft alley became flooded. As fast as we could we climbed up the escape ladder toward the main deck as rising water lapped at our heels. When we emerged from the tunnel we found the crew engaged in genuine panic. The ship was by now listing severely to the starboard. Lance, Trent and I decided to join the others by jumping into the raging sea and fighting for the few coveted spots left in the life boats.
-continued next week-