When my grandmother died recently she left gobs of money for my brothers, sisters and cousins, and next to nothing for me. She was obviously still bearing a grudge over something I did many years ago and I’ve been left feeling angry and betrayed. Years ago I posed nude for Juggs Magazine and when my grandmother found out she disowned me. I know it was a stupid thing to do but I was young and really needed the money to help pay for medical school. A few years later my grandmother told me that she forgave me and everything seemed OK. Then she died unexpectedly in a huge train wreck and it was clear from the amount of money I received in her will that she hadn’t forgiven me at all. It’s not the money that bothers me. It’s the fact that she wrote me off over something that happened so long ago. People have told me she intended to change her will so that I got the same as my bothers, sisters and cousins but she died before she got around to it. I loved my grandmother and I feel guilty that I can’t get rid of these feeling of anger towards her. What do you think about all this Mooj? Am I just overreacting? Also, if any of your minions are interested they can download nude pictures of me on my new website [URL omitted] for free!
Tiffany Amber Holland
West Los Angeles, CA
The Mooj has asked his non-paid interns to delete Tiffany Amber Holland's web address above because I found the site to be totally offensive. I spent nearly three hours looking at it and decided that it really wasn't something I could recommend to anyone, let alone my minions. The Mooj will pray, fast and chant for Tiffany so that she can find true inner peace and harmony—something I believe she really needs. (That, and to lose about 20 pounds.)
Dear Mooj
A dear friend and soul mate of mine has directed me toward your web site. Obviously this is because he believes me to have some sort of cerebral disability that would allow me to appreciate you and your ramblings. Sad to say, he is right. He recommends that you take me on as not just a minion but as the official minoinette due to my demure size. Clearly he is just jealous that there exists a small exquisitely made distiller of whisky in this world whose beauty surpasses his own and who is also blessed with the attributes of the superior sex... But if there were room in your ranks, I'd be honored.
I must take issue with you regarding your Irish poem. As a Celtic born lass myself, I will tell you that although the affect of the poem is certainly accurate, there would never be wine on the table of the sad soul singing that dirge—only whiskey in that part of Ireland. And if it were written by me it would have been single malt whisky!
Slainte'
Riannon W
Philadelphia, PA
Welcome aboard Riannon! Consider yourself an official minoinette. Your official Mooj Minion Number should be emailed to you within a few days. Or you can check below in the New Mooj Minions section. Or you can contact the Mooj Support Network at moojheads@mooj.com. Or, quite frankly, since you live so close to Becky and Bonnie Yaksuba, my two non-paid interns that administer The Mooj Website, you can drop by their house and they'll give you your minion number in person. (The Yaksubas live at 144 Westmoreland Pike in Avondale Township, PA, right next to the Avondale Amish Center. If their mom answers the door DO NOT MENTION ANYTHING ABOUT THE MOOJ! Tell Mrs. Yaksuba that you're a friend of the twins from high school.)
I’m new to this whole “Mooj” thing so you’ll have to forgive me if I ask a stupid question. What exactly is your newsletter all about? It claims to be an enlightening journey to self realization but all the ones I’ve seen are totally stupid. Am I missing something?
Greg Learhamm
Beardstown, IL
Obviously you are.
Mooj,
My pal Joey and I are cesspool cleaners and love fulfilling the fantasies of bored housewives. It's not just their septic tanks we make sparkle but their sex lives too. The problem is I'm afraid of what will happen to us if our wives find out. I'm 46, a Sagittarius and been married for ten years. My wife is a Capricorn, aged 38. My pal Joey is 24 and I don’t know what his sign is. My female customers (often young moms and older housewives) have always been very nice. They often come out and talk to us as we pump out their cesspools. Sex was the last thing on my mind but I soon realized that it was all these bored ladies wanted. The first time I was at the sink filling my bucket when the customer came up behind me and put her hand on my waist. When I turned around, she kissed me Cajun style. It seemed quite natural to carry on and we ended up in her bed as soon as I got through pumping out her septic system. Now whenever I clean her cesspool the same thing happens. I don't know what she said to her friends but I have picked up loads of new customers, some of whom don’t even have cesspools. My pal Joey also got in on the act and now we both have our own customers who pay over and above the cost of having their cesspools cleaned. I know other cesspool cleaners who do the same thing but now I am worried about the risks. Both Joey and I value our relationships with our wives and don't want to threaten them. I love my wife and I'm beginning to worry that I might run into one of my female customers when we’re out together, and that the truth will come out. On the other hand there are so many women out there who would be bitterly disappointed if we didn’t provide our “special service.” We have to admit we enjoy it too. How can we continue without risking our relationships?
“Skunk” Thomas
Tolna, PA.
Hey "Skunk," do you really expect me to buy this load of crap? What kind of idiot do you think I am? I ran this scenario by The Boy Genius Trent Handjoy and he found dozens of holes in your claim. The most dominant one being that cesspool cleaners don't come and go without causing a big scene! Anyone who has ever lived on a street where people still use cesspools knows that people love to stand around and watch someone's septic tank get pumped out. No one in their right mind would have an affair with the cesspool emptier while dozens of their neighbors are standing around outside watching. Another thing Trent pointed out was that it takes 5 - 10 years for a normal size cesspool to fill up. What husband in his right mind wouldn't notice that his cesspool was being pumped out on a regular basis—especially when it costs $300 - $500 a pop to do so? Trent also pointed out that women have olfactory senses that produce both positive and negative pheromones. As a result, when 'bad smells' are present women tend to have minimal sex drives. Sorry to poke holes in your fantasy there "Skunk" but If I don't someone who doesn't care about you as much as I do will.
Mooj,
I can’t win for losing. That’s the story of my life. Just when I think I can’t sink any further I amaze myself with yet another dismal failure. Mooj, what am I doing wrong?
Bobby Shiffalee
Upper Exeter, PA
Quit writing to me you loser! Ha ha, just joking. (But in all seriousness please don't write to me anymore.)
Hey Mooj,
A friend of mine just turned me on to your site. Although I’m not ready yet to commit to a minionship, I would like to ask you about some things that have always bothered me. If you are really “all-knowing” and omnipotent as they say, then maybe you’ll know the answers to these questions. First, who killed JFK? Second, what really goes on at the Bermuda Triangle? And third, why is a [omitted] called a [omitted]?
"Citizen Gus"
Onancock, VA
Lee Harvey Oswald killed JFK. There was no conspiracy as far as I know. (There was, however, a second gunman hidden in the sewer who took a few shots at the JFK motorcade from a storm drain opening. But that guy missed.) As far as The Bermuda Triangle goes, it's actually quite simple. The ocean and the sky are the same exact shade of blue. Pilots who become momentarily disoriented sometimes lose sight of the horizon and fly into the ocean thinking it to be the sky. There are also natural fissures along the ocean floor that emit sulfur dioxide. Periodically large quantities of sulfur dioxide permeate to the surface and cause pockets of low pressure. Ships that are subjected to these gas pockets tend to lose buoyancy. If the gravitational forces acting on the ship become greater than the buoyancy forces pushing the ship upwards, the ship will sink. This is a rare occurrence but has happened at least 56 times that The Mooj is aware of. As far as your third question, The Mooj doesn't know. Maybe in the old days people "used to blow on it" and that's how that name came about.
Deer Mooj,
Will I ever have kids?
"floydd1"
Chicago, IL
The answer to your question is, "Yes."
Yes you will have lots of kids. In fact, The Mooj suspects that you're
already a father as we speak. The mother of your first born children
(triplets?) is someone
you just met. Her name begins with a "T" and she is very attractive.
I think she's someone who just started working with you at Burger King.
Wow! Last week I asked for a step up in Mooj minion registration and we got 13 new minion number requests! Let's all welcome into the fold these fortunate few, who have decided to make Mooj minionism a part of their life.
Bernard Coffee, Mooj Minion #1136 is a steam fitter from Wrightsville, PA. His response to why he would make a good Mooj Head was: "I'm basically insane and the voices in my head are telling me to do this."
Riannon W., Mooj Minion #1137 is the official single malt Scotch Whiskey expert of The Mooj Single Malt Whiskey Aficionado Society. She hails from somewhere near Philadelphia but she wouldn't tell me where. Her request for minionship was sent in via The Mooj Mail and her letter of application has already been shared with you above (if you were paying attention, that is). Until The Mooj met Riannon The Mooj only drank 25-year old Macallan Single Malt Scotch Whiskey. But I have now wised up and realized the error of my ways and will no longer patronize the mother companies but instead look for fine single malt beverages distilled by small and family owned companies like Thunderbird, Brass Monkey and Mad-Dog 20-20.
Peter Manitoba, Mooj Minion #1138 is a biker from Santa Ana, CA. His response to why he would make a good Mooj Head was: "Up yours you Uzbekistani-Punjabi freak. I don't want a Mooj Minion Number. All I just want is for you to stop bothering me and my old lady with your [omitted] up poetry! Stop sending me email or I'll come over there and squash your head like a grape."
Fred J., Mooj Minion #1139 is a dentist from Gilroy, CA. His response to why he would make a good Mooj Head was: "I was in The Peace Corps for two years and made it possible for 1000s of Malawians to live better lives. I basically rode around on my bike showing people how to use condoms with a prop I called Billy Banana."
Jeff Ranier, Mooj Minion #1140 is a plumber from Salem, NJ. His response to why he would make a good Mooj Head was: "I survived the bombing of JASCO 1-2-3. If you never heard about JASCO 1-2-3 don't worry, you're not supposed to. It's top secret and I can't say anymore about it."
Marie Childs, Mooj Minion #1141 is a 94 year old widower from White Sulphur Springs, WV. Her response to why she would make a good Mooj Head was: "How do you work this thing? Hello? How do you work this thing? Hello? Is this thing on? Hello?"
Mooj Minion #200 has been granted special "family priority seeding" because she is a member of the immediate Mooj family (she's my aunt). Katishka Punjabeiii is well known to the readers of this fine newsletter. Her response to why she would make a good Mooj Head was expressed in poetic verse (a bonus for us all):
Membership is what I want
To be in the Minion perpetuum.
To read the greatest poetry,
And cure my deviated sepetuumPlease take me into the fold of Mooj,
And call me one of the flock.
I'll smile with glee, a sheepish grin...
And rock around the clock.How great thou art...Mooj divine,
To offer yourself to us all.
I will live up to expectations.
Graffiti in every stall!!!!!Elian Gonzalez, Mooj Minion #1142 is a 6-year-old boy from Habana, Cuba. His response to why he would make a good Mooj Head was: "El Revolucionista y mi jefe, Fidel de Dios Castro diga me, 'Elian, qundo visita un mejor diablo de los mundo oest, llame un amigo de migo, El Senor MOOJ. Por favor Elian, Me gusta mucho El Gran Mujo por che el tienes on corazon de un leon y el es muy fuerte! El Mujo es un amigo de las todos gente y el es mi amigo tambien!' Se fidel te gusta El Mujajador, entonces Yo me gusta El Mujajador! Salves?, Viva el Gran Mooj y Viva la revolucion!!!" [Since The Mooj doesn't speak Cuban I have no idea what this young boy has written. I assume it was praiseworthy or our non-paid interns wouldn't have allowed it into the newsletter.]
Horatio Duffey III, Mooj Minion #1143 is a member of the esteemed Better Business Bureau and hails from Concordia, KS. His response to why he would make a good Mooj Head was: "When I was in the air force I met a fellow who's nickname was Mooj. He wasn't Uzbekistani-Punjabi as far as I recall but he did have a funny accent. He was from Tulsa, OK I think. I know you're not that Mooj but I always liked the name Mooj. Whenever I see your name on the Internet I think of my old pal from Tulsa and recall fondly all the good times we had in the service. We were more than airmates; we had a special friendship that went beyond ordinary squadron bonding. No matter how sad or homesick I was my pal Mooj would always cheer me up. It was like he always knew what I was thinking. Sometimes he didn't even have to say anything, he would just hold me and make me feel better. At night when we were aloft on our B-52 Bomber, flying NORAD missions, we would lock ourselves in the aft bomb bay and play a game called, "Guess what this thing is that I'm sticking in your [omitted]." He always won. Anyway, that Mooj is gone now and all I have left are his memories. Thank you for letting me share that special part of my life with you and your minions."Geivese Saudoni, Mooj Minion #1144 is a fur trapper from Umiat, Alaska. His response to why he would make a good Mooj Head was: "Win the sun dont shine and the win be blowin cold I tink of a special time when I was friend with people. I have seen no human for 10 years and forgit who he look like."
An anonymous female now known as Mooj Minion #1145 claims to be a high school sophomore from Norwood High School in Norwood, MA. Her response to why she would make a good Mooj Head was: "All up and down Washington Street the Hindu element is very proud of you and all you have accomplished with your limited education and morals. Come, share with us your good times and rent a free Bollywood movie and get posters of Akshay Kumar, Anil Kapoor, Sunil Shetty and Amir Khan."
Willem Estrada, Mooj Minion #1146 is an out of work actor from LA. His response to why he would make a good Mooj Head was: "If they ever make a movie about your life I want to play the part of Lance Worthy."
An anonymous male now known as Mooj Minion #1147 is a bushman from Ndola, Zambia. He claims that after Michael Jackson, Elvis, Michael Bolton and Muhammad Ali, that The Mooj is the most famous American in Zambia.An anonymous female now known as Mooj Minion #1148 hails from Downey, CA. She claims to have been baptized by The Good Reverend Shambaugh in front of millions of TBN viewers. She was the one wearing the "Surf Naked" T-shirt.
I found the following gem in The Mooj Mail Bag this week and couldn't wait to share it with you all! Enjoy:
Dear Mr. Mooj:
I hope you will find this worthy of your publication. It was written by my late Great Uncle P.P. Marshmallow. In his day, Uncle P.P. was an esteemed author and poet, traveling in the social circles of Dorothy Parker and F. Scott Fitzgerald. The following is a never before published poem we were fortunate enough to discover in our family archives. It was written shortly after Uncle P.P. was jilted at the alter on his wedding day. I am happy to share it with you and the world.
Sincerely,
James Stanley Farthington Marshmallow III.A POEM BY EDWARD P.P. MARSHMALLOW, DATED 1928
FAREWELL, MY FAWN
How could you?
How could you?
I am so sad and dismayed.
How could you?
Aamir, the Naughty (A Thrilling Tale of Misdeed and Barbarism)
Aamir began a scared journey to the Indus Valley to visit the land of his ancestors. But, alas, his journey took him elsewhere and he wound up cohorting among thieves in the village of Gujranwala. His transformation from piety to bludgeonism was slow but effective and soon he was renown for his savageness.
One night as he and his gang of bandits were attacking tourists along the old Gujranwalan Highway, one of his victims asked him kindly:
"Kripyaa, aapka naam kya hai? Maarni waala se badkar bachaani waala hota hai. Akal to dimaagh mein hota hai, par main to dil ke kaha pe chalta hoon! Mauka ek baar aata hai, do baar nehi?"
Aamir was at a loss for words because he knew that his victim was correct: there were better things in life than being a highway robber. After he shot his victim he then made a solemn vow to abandon his life of crime and return to the village of his birth to resume his duties as a Kwality Ice Cream salesman. He would have, too, had it not been for the fact that he was evil and lacking in any moral fortitude. Aamir, thus continued his aimless life until he was captured by the Pakistanis and jailed. As he sat rotting in his jail cell awaiting his execution he sadly reflected that his journey to self realization had led to his downfall. In his next life he would be less ambitious.
What a bizarre week! I guess the best way to describe it would be to just start at the beginning and go from there. As you know the three of us (Trent, Lance and I) came down here to Pickensville, SC to find Jeff W. As soon as we arrived we adopted fake identities, modified our appearances and fully ingrained ourselves into this humble, hospitable, God-fearing community. Our aim was to gain the confidence of the locals so that we could find our missing pal Jeff W. without drawing unwanted attention to ourselves. We have now looked everywhere and talked to everyone and not a living soul has seen hide nor hair of Jeff W!
Last night Lance and I were sitting around in our apartment drinking beer, watching wrestling and tossing peanut shells on the floor when Lance said to me: "You know Mooj, I'm begging to think that Jeff just fell off the face of the Earth!" I had to agree with him. Normally my psychic senses help me out in situations like this but this time I was coming up empty. As far as I could tell Jeff W. was nowhere near this place!
Lance then continued: "And you know what's really odd about this whole thing? That Jeff was a pretty good looking guy—much better looking than most of the other yokels around here. How in the world could he have arrived in this love-hungry town and not been spotted by at least one of the ten thousand teenage girls that constantly patrol this town looking for boys?"
Lance had a point! Within minutes of our arrival in Pickensville word spread like wildfire that we were here and we haven't had a moment of peace since! Quasimoto, himself, would have had dozens of Pickensville girls fight over him, simply because he was a stranger.
And as far as this whole stupid 1978 massacre thing goes, no one cared! Not one person in this bizarre little town gave a rat's ass about that long-ago massacre. Hell, most of the people seemed to think that the kids involved "got what they deserved"! So how in the hell did Jeff arrive here in Pickensville (unnoticed by thousands of boy crazy teenage girls) and ask "the wrong person" about The General Joe E. Johnson High School Prom Night Massacre? It just didn't make any sense!
"Wouldn't it be funny," Lance continued, "if Jeff W. pulled a fast one on us and fooled us into thinking he came down here and got kidnapped? What if he is really went to the Azores and dug up the treasure all by himself?"
We both
started laughing and then slowly began to cry. Holy cow! That's
what it was! That bastard Jeff W. had ripped us off! How could
we have been such idiots? Lance and I were sick to our stomachs.
Moments later Trent came home from his first ever high school dance and was in a state of bliss because he had just gotten his first ever kiss from Elizabeth Conner Reed. It broke Lance and my heart to have to spoil his special moment by telling him that we were double-crossed by Jeff W.
Trent then told us that he knew that. He confessed that he knew within a few hours of our arrival in Pickensville that Jeff W. had never even set foot inside of the Great State of South Carolina.
"What are you crazy?" asked Lance, "Why didn't you tell us? Why did you make us keep up this ridiculous charade of pretending to be three yahoos from the south? Why are you still going to high school? Why did Mooj and I have to keep our jobs at the cafeteria? Why on earth did we have to keep doing all these stupid things we've been doing for the last month?"
Trent then confided in us that he just didn't want the good times to end. Never in his life had he been so happy. He was finally a kid—a 13-year-old kid. He was no longer the boy genius dork that everyone picked on. He finally had real friends. He finally had a girlfriend! For the first time in his life he didn't care about being the best or smartest, all he had to do was worry about stupid things like not getting caught peeking into the girl's locker room or smoking in the boy's room with his friend Bubba Gordon. He didn't have to worry about disappointing his mom or dad or any of the countless others that seem to totally depend upon his superior intelligence. Instead of worrying about solving problems in quantum mechanics he now only had to worry about how fast he needed to run after flushing a cherry bomb down a toilet. He was a boy. And he was finally happy.
Trent then told us not to worry about the treasure. He knew Jeff W. was a crook the moment we met him. Jeff had a map all right but the treasure Jeff was currently in the Azores trying to figure out how to dig up was a fake one located deep within the walls of the Sao Miguel Prison. The real treasure was miles away and it's location known only to Trent.
It was then decided that Lance and I would go to the Azores and dig up the treasure while Trent stayed behind in Pickensville. From this point on Trent Handjoy would forever be known as Ezekiel Jeremiah Bogerty (his assumed identity). He wants to finish high school and marry Elizabeth Conner Reed as soon as they both turn 16. We are sure going to miss our little buddy but we are also very happy for him. The next time we all meet up I'm sure we'll have quite a few stories to share.
This week's true-life story comes from Veejay Gupta, the self-proclaimed "Madman of Missaukee County, Michigan." I enjoyed it so I gather you will, too.
The Beefeater
My dad came to this country from India in 1961 to attend Michigan State University (MSU). He came from a very strict Hindu family where meat—let alone beef—was not allowed in his house. While at MSU he developed a great appetite for McDonald's hamburgers. They were practically the only thing he could afford (they were still only 15¢ at the time) and he loved them. He ate them for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. One day while dinning out with some friends he ordered a hamburger. One of his friends found that odd and asked: “Hey, aren't you a Hindu?”
“I am,” replied my dad.
“Then how come you ordered a hamburger?”
“Hamburgers are made from ham, aren't they?” responded my dad.
When his friends started laughing my dad immediately realized what was wrong. But, since he had been eating beef for so long he figured it was pointless to stop and so he ordered a nice big juicy steak for dinner instead.