I'm a SMIB from Southern Maryland and darn proud of it. First thangs first, their ain't no Wicomico County in SMIB land. That county is across the bey, we have kin over their but they mostly breed their own. Secondly, arsters get shucked and crabs get picked. No SMIB gal in her rite mind would shuck a crab. Mooj, ifen that young fellar wants to marry a SMIB gal and she accepts, he outta consider himself lucky. Those gals no their place once they're wed. They cook, clean, make babies, and don't talk back. If you need a beer, smokes, or chewin tobacky, they'll run out and fetch it for you. To sum it up, don't bad mouth a good thing until you have lived our life. This ain't Annapolis or St Michaels so the area ain't quaint. This is good old American livin. So come down on that stupid freedom bus, drink some beer with us, pitch the empties into the ditch, and have a chaw. Maybe you'll understand our plight.
Teach Lusby, SMIB
Hollywood, Maryland
The Mooj meant no disrespect to you and your people. To be honest I never even heard of SMIBs until last week. Thanks for clearing things up for myself and my fellow Mooj Heads.
Great One:
I remember my first time too. I was a freshman at the University of Cincinnati and I had just moved into the dorms. It was my first night in the big city and I was scared (I was from a small town in West Virginia). That night as I was taking a shower I didn’t notice that the bathroom window was wide open. After drying myself off I saw that there was a tall, dark and handsome stranger standing at the window. At first I was outraged! How dare that Peeping Tom look in on me! His gaze was intense; it was as if he was looking right through me. Then I became flattered. If this tall, dark and handsome stranger wanted a show then, I thought, I’ll really give him something to look at and so I dropped my towel and did a dance for him. But he continued to just stare straight ahead. Then I noticed he was doing something with his hands—he was eating a bowl of spaghetti covered with chili! He wasn’t even aware that I was standing there—he was too enraptured with that bowl of chili! I finally broke his concentration and asked him if I could try some. He reluctantly gave me a spoonful. “Wow,” I said, “what kind of chili is that?” “Skyline,” he said and then disappeared into the night. I quickly got dressed and ran out and got my own bowl of Skyline Chili. I wasn’t afraid of the big city anymore.
Brenda Lee Kay,
Cincinnati, OH
The Mooj has no idea why people keep sending in stories about the first time they tried Skyline Chili. What the hell is Skyline Chili?
Mooj,
I have a problem. I just can’t get a certain girl off my mind. I met her at a party last night and we hit it off great. We sat and talked for hours. Then before I knew it she was gone and I had forgotten to ask her for her phone number. Can you use your psychic powers to tell me her phone number? (And her name.)
F. C. M.,
Swainsboro, GA
I tried to use my psychic senses to help you out there F.C.M. but couldn't really pick up anything. The only thing I can gather from disturbances in the ether in and around Swainsboro, GA on the night in question was that you were drunk and sitting on the couch next to a big palm tree. If I were you I'd drink less and socialize more with real human beings.
Dear Mooj:
I’m an ex con, who is addicted to crack and heroin. I have no
idea who my father is and my mother was recently arrested for running a
methanphedamine lab out of her basement. Both my sisters are prostitutes
in Philadelphia and both my brothers are serving non-parole life sentences
in the Pennsylvania State Mental Hospital for something I can’t even talk
about. I have recently become engaged to a hooker from Camden, NJ,
who is currently unemployed due to a particularly virulent case of herpes.
We intend to marry as soon as possible but my problem is this: I love my
fiancée dearly and look forward to bringing her into my family,
and of course I want to be totally honest with her. Should
I tell her that I graduated from Ohio State University?
Signed,
Worried About my Reputation
No, The Mooj recommends that you keep that "dirty little secret" secret.
Dear Mr. Umbababbaraba:
Several matters need to be addressed before Operation Mooj Capture can be wrapped up. Of prime importance is the recent disappearance of J. Edgar Gayson, the acting FBI Eastern Operations Chief. Everyone on the scene at the Memphis General Hospital has reported to me that you were one of the last persons to have been in contact with Mr. Gayson prior to his disappearance. We know that he sat with you for many days before your conveyance back to Pennsylvania and that he shared with you many personal things. We need to know if Mr. Gayson mentioned anything to you about plans he might have had about leaving the country. He might have even mentioned friends or family that he wished to visit, near or far removed from the Memphis area. Mr. Gayson was a quiet man and few of us know anything about him, other than the fact that as a child his mother never gave him a Bigwheel.
Mr. Gayson was last seen by one of the staff nurses at approximately 02:00 hrs on September 15, 1999. She reported that Mr. Gayson appeared to be “out of sorts,” and have trouble walking. He told her that he was leaving to go “get something to eat.” She thinks that he might have been under the influence of alcohol or drugs because he seemed so disoriented and smelled so bad. We have checked Mr. Gayson’s dossier and it suggests nothing about past or present drug and/or alcohol abuse (or that he was non-hygienic.)
If you have any knowledge of Mr. Gayson’s potential whereabouts please contact me as soon as possible so that I can clean out his desk, if need be. The staff surgeon in the Chester County Jail Infirmary has reported to us that in a few days they will remove your face bandages so that we can conduct a more detailed interview with you. We will discuss further developments concerning Mr. Gayson’s disappearance at that time.
Another serious issue that needs to be discussed is the murder of “Blind Lemon” Washington, a blues musician from Clarksdale, Mississippi. The killing took place last week in a Mississippi Juke Joint, near Friars Point. Witnesses described the “killer” as a deranged blues singer matching your description. It was a classic Mississippi-blues style murder (involving a no-good woman, whisky, and a jealous husband). The jealous husband was killed in a rather grotesque manner (kind of like someone with Special Forces training might have done it). We believe that you might know something about this murder and we will discuss this with you when your face bandages are removed. We have plenty of time to get to the bottom of all these little “sordid details” that we are uncovering as we put together your file. (You’re going to be one sorry bastard when I get through with you.)
I warn you that you should not even think about escaping again. We will not be so easy on you next time.
H. H. Monroe.
Interim Deputy Director of Eastern Operations
Federal Bureau of Investigations
The Mooj is very puzzled by all of this. I hope J. Edgar Gayson can stand up to any punishment coming his way. As far as the murder in Mississippi I can assure everyone that I was nowhere near the scene of the crime on the night of question (whenever that might have been).
Dear Mooj:
I work at a college radio station and saw an interesting story come in over the wire about you. I thought I'd share it with you:
The Mooj escaped from the Chester County Jail in Pennsylvania just 3 weeks short of his scheduled release date, where he was serving a 364 day sentence for mail fraud and impersonating a holy man without a license.
Mujaputia Umbababbaraba, who claims to be an Uzbekistani refugee, is the author and editor of a free underground newsletter circulated on the internet among so called “Mooj-Heads.” Mooj-Heads are said to be “Moojed” when a non subscriber receives the free subscription from a subscriber. The letter provided readers with psychic advice, favorite recipes and fan mail for the Mooj.
The FBI said that while The Mooj was on the run, he claimed to have the gay porno star Lance Worthy fill in for him, answering fan mail as well as Worthy’s Amish grandmother. That is where the trail began which lead to the capture of the Mooj.
Special Agent C. J. Merryweather Jr., a linguistics-computer expert with the FBI, said that he meticulously reviewed each of the answers provided in a foreign language in the newsletter and recognized a certain pattern deliberately programmed into the Internet translation service known as “Blah-Blah Fish.”
Agent Merryweather contacted the Webmaster at Blah-Blah Fish and had a reverse trace place on all transmissions containing any reference to “The Mooj.” The trace was a success and the FBI located The Mooj furiously typing out the next edition of the newsletter under a new pseudonym, Pedro Barachomuchacho.
Special Agent C. J. Merryweather Jr.,is the son of C. J. Merryweather Sr., The Famous FBI agent who cracked the Soviet's Alger Hiss code. C. J. Merryweather Sr. is currently residing in the Caribbean, working as an importer/exporter for Redhand Enterprises, LTD.
“The
Mooj is no longer a threat to society,” said Agent in charge H.
H. Monroe, “he has been captured and exposed for the fraud that he
is.” Mooj is currently recouping from injuries he sustained
from jumping out of a 4th floor window trying to escape his captors. He
will be returned to the Chester County Jail as soon as he is well
enough to travel.
Mark Webber,
Radio Station KCPR
San Luis Obispo, CA
The Mooj can assure everyone that at least half of the above story is false. I'm not sure about the other half, it's probably all lies as well.
To Drake L. in Bemidji, MN: Like most things in life you can’t have too much of a good thing. This, unfortunately, will prove true for you because of all the Viagra you took last year. I can’t get into specifics other than warn you not to fly in an airplane [or do anything else where atmospheric pressure may fall below 200 mm HG].
To Mandy G. in Silver Lake, CA: Beware of your best friend Cinnamon; she has designs on your boyfriend Freddo. Freddo is weak and will not be able to resist her tempting ways. Also beware of your other best friend Sasha; she too has designs on Freddo and he will be unable to resist her as well. While you’re at it you might as well beware of your other friends Monica, Kelly, Marci, Kendra, Dawn, Jasmine, Mia, and Tracy—they too will prove to be too tempting for Freddo. Actually, If I were you I would just dump Freddo!
To Kiwi in Sherman Oaks, CA: The Mooj strongly advises you against getting breast augmentation to please your boyfriend Bobby. For heaven’s sake child, you’re only 12 year’s old!
To Zit-Ass Zippy, the Circus Side Show Freak: Zippy my pal, I’m sorry that things didn’t work out between you and “Big” Bertha. Don’t worry. There’s got to be another 2,000-lb. woman out there for you somewhere.
To Jimmy G. in Alexandria, VA: I know that the ‘therapeutic’ massages you’re currently getting from that gorgeous blond masseuse at the health club are legitimate but I would still keep them secret from you wife. I just don’t think that she would understand that whole “towel spank/pain endurance” training thing your masseuse does at the end of each session.
To Sammy K. in Asheville, NC: A fool and his money are soon parted and that will prove true yet again if you spend another dime on that piece of crap car of yours. Take it as a sign from God that you just weren’t meant to be a BMW owner. (But in all honesty, Sammy, I can’t comprehend why you would be foolish enough to buy a “previously owned” BMW in the first place.)
To The Scarlet Avenger, somewhere in the heart of Texas: Scarlet Avenger, I’m not sure why you contacted me telepathically but I stand ready to help. I know that you are on a mission of some sort but I’m not terribly clear what that mission is. Please redirect your query via email and I will respond appropriately.
When
we were finally given the “go ahead” to move we did, driving west through
Arkansas. The driver followed the strict internee developed by the
The New Mooj Freedom Network and we zigzagged aimlessly throughout
the Ozarks. After a full day of this nonsense I began to grow very
angry. Not that I didn’t appreciate the efforts of the The New
Mooj Freedom Network to execute my flawless escape, it was just that I felt
that since they were spending so much of my damn money on everything else,
why couldn’t they at least get me something comfortable to drive around
in? For God's sake, I was in a full body cast, lying flat on my back
in the rear of a 30-year-old VW microbus that had holes in the floor and
no shock absorbers. Hell, the damn microbus didn’t even have an air
conditioner! I was literally baking alive inside my full body cast!
And worst of all, the half-wit of a driver they hired to drive that piece
of crap microbus abandoned me at a rest stop in the middle of nowhere (he
was recruited and dragged off by a bunch of Hari-Krishnas). Boy
was I pissed!
After hours of painful rolling and crawling from the back of the microbus I was finally able to get myself into the driver’s seat and get that damn thing started. I had no idea where I was but knew my only course of action was to get back on the road and drive until I could find a pay phone to call for help (the pay phone at the rest stop was out of order). But my problems were only beginning because not ten miles from that rest stop that f____n microbus broke down!! That piece of crap microbus—the one which had run over me in the first place to cause me this incredible suffering—became, yet again, the object of my scorn as I crawled away from its rotting carcass and clambered along the side of a long, desolate highway toward the glow of a distant town. Darkness was now upon me and I was completely alone in the Arkansas wilderness. Exhausted, I fell asleep in a swamp and awoke only when the rising sun began to cook me inside my full body cast. I knew by then that I was doomed. I knew that I would surely die if someone or something didn’t come along and save me.
But I’m The Mooj and luck seems to follow me wherever I go. When things seemed their most hopeless a glimmer of optimism came into view and I saw a sign that Hope was ahead. At first I thought I was delirious from the heat but the closer I got, the clearer the sign became. When I finally reached the sign I saw that I was in a place called Hope, Arkansas. That had to be an omen that things were only going to get better.
Hope, Arkansas was a quaint village with little or no activity. A few stray dogs barked at my heels as I walked along the road into town (looking much like a mummy). I soon realized that I was somewhere very magical for I saw pictures of Bill Clinton everywhere. I passed two or three houses where signs proudly proclaimed that the dwelling had once been the boyhood home of our 42nd President. Literally dozens of homes had signs proclaiming that “[omitted due to very poor taste] slept here.” I was very excited to be in such a wonderful place; beneath my full body cast I was grinning from ear to ear.
As soon as I found a pay phone I called The New Mooj Freedom Network headquarters to report what had happened to me. But the woman answering the phone greeted me with disdain and had no idea who or what I was. Whoever The New Mooj Freedom Network had hired to run their switchboard was by far the rudest person I had ever talked to. I finally hung up in disgust and made a mental note to have that woman fired, or at least reassigned to a job where customer skills weren’t needed. I then began to ponder the fact that I really didn’t know anything about The New Mooj Freedom Network. I had no knowledge whatsoever about whom was in charge or how the organization was run. Using my superior intelligence I quickly came to the sturdy conclusion that there was no such thing as The New Mooj Freedom Network. Yes—of course—it was as plain as the broken nose on my face! Somehow, someone had swindled The Mooj! The evil mastermind, whoever it was, probably stole everything I had and left me to dangle in the wind!
I quickly made a collect call to Lance Worthy and he confirmed my suspicions: Mooj.Com Enterprises was now completely insolvent! Someone had bamboozled poor Lance into diverting all my specialty funds into a phony, off shore, organization called The New Mooj Freedom Network, Ltd. I reassured Lance that he had nothing to be ashamed about—that The Mooj would forgive him (because that’s the kind of guy The Mooj is). Our immediate attention was then focused on getting me out of my present situation.
After I hung up I looked around to ensure that I had not yet drawn attention to myself (and I hadn't) and then walked across the street to one of the Clinton Boyhood Homes. It was not open as of then so I climbed inside through one of the windows and hid up in the attic. And it is here in that Clinton Boyhood Home that I presently sit, baking alive inside my full body cast in the sweltering summer heat. Hopefully Lance Worthy can think of something in a hurry. I doubt I can last much longer up here.
On a side note I would like to issue an apology to to the manufactures of the VW microbus. I know that I might have sounded harsh when I described your product. I meant no harm by it. (As far as I know there are thousands of satisfied VW customers out there.) In all honesty I should report that later I learned that my microbus didn't actually breakdown, it ran out of gas. Sometime during the following day (after I had arrived here in Hope) someone stole the bus and drove it east. This person, an unlucky sort I gather, was killed when the microbus was swallowed up by a giant sinkhole. Below is a picture Lance Worthy found when he was doing an Internet search for "sink-holes."
Until next week, love and hugs to all,
