Written and Edited by Mujaputtia Umbababbaraba (a.k.a., "El Rey de Poetas")   
The Mooj Weekly Standard is published 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 is an equal opportunity employer (except when it comes to certain ethnic groups).  The Mooj is also very humble and caring.  Just in case you didn't know, "The Mooj" is the nickname of Mujaputtia Umbababbaraba.  
Greetings Mooj Heads!  This week's Mooj Weekly Standard is so full of good stuff that I can't wait to begin.  Due to its longer than normal length it will probably take the average Mooj Head hours (or even days) to get through but don't let that discourage you—just pace yourself and have some fun.  Hopefully, after all is said and done most of you will agree that this particular journey toward self enlightenment was well worth the effort.  As far as The Mooj and his inner circle of minions are concerned, you really can't find better self realization anywhere else on the Internet!
 
 

A Gleeful Look Inside the Mooj Mail Bag 
The Mooj received an overabundance of mail this past week.  Since there was so much (some good, some bad and some down right ugly) I asked my non-paid interns to filter the mail and include only items that were semi coherent and/or somewhat worthy of publication (but they balked at the idea and told me to stop interfering with their work).   
New Mooj Minions 
As usual The Mooj got a mixed bag of minion applications this week.  I'm beginning to think people don't take The Mooj Minion Program seriously.  But, given the chance that someone out there might actually be a legitimate seeker of spiritual forward thinking then The Mooj will continue to accept all who apply.....even this lackluster bunch.  

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."

Poetry Corner 
The Mooj isn't quite sure what to make of this week's submission of poems.  The first one was submitted by a minion named Lisa Lowb in South San Francisco, CA and the latter, from a guy in Halethorpe, MD calling himself, "The Lonely Donkey Kong."  I suspect the first poem is about love and the latter, The University of Maryland's absolute thrashing of Duke on February 9th.  

Ode to a Valentine

I have a heart
Oh yes I do

I have a heart
So why don't you?

I gave you my best
Oh yes I did

You party all night
While I raise your kid

You said you liked smooth jazz
You said you liked carrot juice
You said you liked BLTs

You lied
You lied

ARGH! 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 away

Now Duke has been beaten, spanked and sent to bed
With dreams of a National Championship, pretty much good as dead

Mooj Story Time  
Hey Mooj Heads, our pal Francis Marion Bustafusco from Walpole, MA has sent in another true life adventure story about his grandfather the oil man.  I hope you all enjoy this because The Mooj sure did. (Oh boy did he!)  

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!

Travels with Mooj  

-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-

Closing Thoughts 
I'm too tired to write anymore.  I'm sorry to leave you hanging on our Azores adventure.  Obviously we didn't drown or I wouldn't have been able to upload this newsletter from our current secret location.  I will finish the story next week.  Until then keep all your cards and letters coming!