To Respond, or Not to Respond

A Discussion Between 
Prof Thug and Stoned Willy Poonhound on 

Responding to Facebook Comments

Prof Thug: Hey Willy!

Stoned Willy Poonhound: Professor.

PT: Thanks for joining me today.

SWP: Eh. What else I gotta do.

PT: True. You're a homeless dog.

SWP: "Wanderin tha planet searchin fer truth" n "homelessness" are not tha same.

PT: Right. Well I thought I'd get together with you to talk about something that's been on my mind a lot lately. With this disaster of an administration running this country, there's no shortage of things to get outraged about. And where else to express that outrage but Facebook.

SWP: Obvi.

PT: And express outrage I do. But I've been thinking about why exactly I respond to hateful, ignorant Facebook comments...

SWP: Ya could jus say Facebook comments.

PT: ...especially from people I don't know. Posting on my own page is one thing; it's a way to vent, to express myself, to share interesting things, all that good stuff. But I've been considering for some time now whether replying to hateful comments on other friend's pages or on the news pages is at all helpful. Or healthy.

SWP: Ok. So why ya do it?

PT: Well, I consider myself a teacher, and writer, and not just as a profession; I try to teach and write wherever possible. Deep down, I feel like I can teach a few people about a few things, you know?

SWP: Sure. So what's tha problem?

PT: The problem is, the asshole making the ignorant comments is not going to change his or her mind, so who am I really teaching?

SWP: Ya think anyone ever changed their mind cuz a sum comment they saw online?

PT: I think I may have changed one mind on one single topic in the years I've been on Facebook.

SWP: If ya know that, why do it?

PT: Well, Facebook is social. Comments can be read by other people. Maybe there is someone out there whose mind is not made up and they will be swayed by my argument. Or maybe someone out there is offended by the ignorant comment but too timid to say anything, and maybe they will feel empowered by seeing someone else sticking up for them.

SWP: That's fair. But if yer 118 comments deep in a sub-thread, is anyone really reading it besides the few people gettin tha notifications?

PT: Maybe, maybe not. The thing is, I also consider myself a student of life, and conversation is a great way to learn. Even if the conversation is with a big dumb dumb, you can learn a lot from what dumb dumbs say. They reflect society's problems. Plus, I believe it's important to engage with people who have differing opinions and worldviews.

SWP: Avoidin tha bubble n all that.

PT: Exactly. Discussing your beliefs helps shape and strengthen those beliefs. Facebook commenting provides great practice in discourse.

SWP: Yeah, but sometimes yer comments seem kinda...assholeish. That improves discourse?

PT: I'm not perfect. I can't deny that my inner asshole can sometimes take over, especially when confronted by bigotry or hate.

SWP: I can relate. No mercy fer bigots.

PT: Absolutely. But...

SWP: What?

PT: I often end up regretting commenting.

SWP: Why?

PT: Well it usually breaks down into insults when facts and reason don't seem to work. And I don't really mind that, it just seems counter-productive.

SWP: Not really teachin anybody at that point...

PT: Right. Another thing: sometimes seeing how much ignorance and hate is really out there gets to me.

SWP: Disillusioned wit tha world n shit?

PT: Exactly. Like, how have these people gotten this far in life being so stupid?

SWP: I ask myself that same question bout tha human race as a whole. All tha damn time.

PT: Funny.

SWP: No, seriously.

PT: You're probably right. We are the literal worst. As evidenced by Facebook comments.

SWP: Yup.

PT: I just try to bring a little light or sanity or reason into the conversation.

SWP: But ya cant help breaking down inta insults...

PT: Yeah. Look, I'm trying. That's why I'm talking it out here.

SWP: Lemme ask ya this: Hav ya considered...not replyin ta ignorant comments?

PT: I...well...

SWP: Yeah?

PT: It's just...

SWP: Spit it out.

PT: I CAN"T STOP, WILLY! I tried, I swear. It just feels so good to shout my knowledge at everybody! It feels soo good to shut down an ignorant piece of shit! I know it's not helpful but making someone look foolish online is one of my favorite things to do ohmygod I love it so much! But it's killing me, Willy. It's tearing my soul apart. I want to be a teacher and I want to spread love... but it feels SOOOOO good to own these clowns!

SWP: I get it.

PT: It's childish. It's pointless. It just adds to the divisiveness and the tension in this country and I hate it. But I can't stop.

SWP: I understand. You want to feel powerful.

PT: It fills me with so much power, man! Just calling these assholes out and debating with logic and facts and love and then insults feels like a shot of HGH straight to my ass cheek, man. I need it. I need it so bad. I go to sleep thinking about what kind of hateful jerk I'm going to decimate in the morning and I wake up with my finger already on the send button. I dont even know how it got there.

SWP: Thats kinda weir--

PT: I'll be halfway through typing something and I don't even know what I'm saying but I know it's brilliant and I know its gonna change the world.

SWP: Ohhkay...

PT: But then I hit send and I immediately realize the futility of it all and I feel like a moron for stooping down to their level and I want to take it all back and just delete everything.

SWP: So why don't ya?

PT: Because then I see the notification. The asshole has replied back.

SWP: So now...

PT: Now I have to engage further.

SWP: Ya gotta get tha last word in.

PT: Damn right! I'll get the last word and it'll be the best damn word they've ever seen.

SWP: What if they don't reply back?

PT: They always reply back.

SWP: Ok, but what if they don't? Or what if ya get in there n delete it before they respond?

PT: Because then I won't get any likes.

SWP: .....u serious rite now?

PT: Absolutely! Why else post on Facebook if not for likes?

SWP: So that's it.

PT: That's what?

SWP: That's tha real issue here. Yer addicted ta "likes."

PT: What? No. Huh?

SWP: Thats fuckin it dawg. Ya got a "like" addiction, homey.

PT: No no no. I have a thirst for spreading knowledge and verbally tearing morons apart.

SWP: Yea that's part of it probly. But I think it's really tha likes.

PT: That's ridiculous. Besides, they have the new emoji responses and I'd much rather get a heart emoji than a like.

SWP: That proves my point!

PT: That's...I don't...shut up. Idiot.

SWP: I see we're at tha insult portion a tha convo....

PT: What the hell's the point of arguing with you here anyways? Nobody can even like my responses so how do I know if I'm winning?

SWP: See?

PT: See what?

SWP: Yer doin it all fer tha likes man!

PT: But I...

SWP: Tryin ta "win" tha convo?

PT: ...but that...

SWP: Yer sick!

SWP: ..aw man. I didn't even realize how bad I had it until just now.

SWP: Yea its pretty bad.

PT: Wow. I need help. Help me, Willy. Please. I can't stop. The insults always get the most likes and I love that damn thumbs up sign! I need it! Each one gives me power! I eat them up like Flinstones chewables!

SWP: Those are bangin.

PT: Now Facebook does the floating likes thing on your phone when you go to your comment and that's so cool! It's like little thumbs up bubbles!

SWP: They are pretty cool.

PT: See?!

SWP: But come on man. Yer fallin apart here.

PT: I know I know. Help me. Tell me what to do, Willy. What would Stoned Willy Poonhound do?

SWP: Ya really want sum advice?

PT: Yes. Yes, please. Anything.

SWP: Create a fake online persona.

PT: Huh?

SWP: Create a fake persona. That way ya don't gotta pretend like yer doin it ta "teach" anybody. Ya won't have to feel bad fer "stoopin to their level" cuz nobody knows who ya really are. Ya won't offend any family or friends. It's easy n ya can insult people all ya want without feelin guilty.

PT: Are you serious man? I'd never do that. I'm no troll.

SWP: Scuse me?

PT: I can't even believe you would suggest something like that. That's beneath you.

SWP: But you created m--

PT: I'd never pretend to be something I'm not. Besides, I don't really think I have a problem.

SWP: Are ya kidd--

PT: You were leading me to the conclusion that I have a problem. But I think you were misunderstanding me. I don't have a problem. Maybe you have a problem?

SWP: Ya really are an asshole.

PT: Oh great, here come the insults!

SWP: I don't "like" you. At all.

PT: That's all we have for today folks! Thanks for joining us. Good talk, Willy!

SWP: Fuck you.


I Love You All...Class Dismissed.

Miracle (or Nightmare??) on 34th Street

A Discussion of Miracle on 34th Street 

Between Prof Thug & Stoned Willy Poonhound

Prof Thug: Hey everybody, welcome to the first Discussion between Prof Thug and Stoned Willy Poonhound. Since it 'tis the season and all, we figured we'd take a look at the greatest "classic" Christmas movie ever, Miracle on 34th Street.

The original 1947 film has everything a good Christmas movie needs: Santa Claus, a memorable setting, children imparting wisdom on adults, anti-commercialism, characters with infallible hope, discussions about imagination vs. reality, and redemption for the hero.

As a self-described film buff, I love the film for technical reasons, too. Old films have such a unique feel. It's fascinating to watch them and see the styles and fashions of the day, as well as the technical capabilities of the era (this film has a black and white version and a technicolor version!). Even the style of acting, the pacing, it's all very--

Stoned Willy Poonhound: NERRRRRRD!

PT: Oh, hey Willy. Stoned Willy Poonhound everybody. Welcome to the discussion. Jerk.

SWP: Waaaaaaatuuuupppp.

PT: Let's get to it. Not only is Miracle on 34th Street much better than most so called "classic" Christmas movies, it's also much deeper. It's an examination of society as a whole. It explores what happens when a truly good person tries to do the right thing. He's questioned as crazy, locked up, and put on trial. 

SWP: Dude is crazy!

PT: Relax. We'll get there. But to be clear, I disagree with that assessment. 

SWP: Of course ya do.

PT: The film opens with a guy who looks like Santa in regular clothes and goes by the name of Kris Kringle. He's in the middle of New York City during the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. Kringle runs into the guy who's supposed to play Santa in the parade, and he's drunk. That's unacceptable to Kringle (and anybody with morals) so Kringle complains to Doris, the event director. She persuades Kringle to play Santa. He owns the role so hard he's hired to play Santa at the biggest venue in the world: Macy's on 34th Street.

He's every single thing you want Santa to be: friendly, cheerful, helpful, wise. 

SWP: And delusional! Dude really thinks he's a fictional character! He calls himself Kris fuckin Kringle, n he's serious bout it! That lady Doris asks him to quit playin n tell her daughter Susan he's not really Santa, n he refuses! She jus went thru a rough divorce n she's tryin to teach her daughter ta avoid fantasies n honestly confront tha realities a life, n this asshole's like, "fuck that, embrace those fantasies girl!"

PT: Stop. You and I both know the mother is being overly restrictive on Susan's imagination and destroying her faith in humanity. When Susan goes to Macy's, Kringle's interactions with the other children restore that faith and sense of wonder. He speaks perfect Dutch to a scared little girl who didn't understand English. The girl was just recently adopted and brought to this country and he's the only one who comforted her. There's some magic there. He can call himself Topo Gigio for all I care. 

SWP: Kris Kringle. More like Kreepy Kringle tha Killer K--sumthin. Wutever. Nice Santa Clause refrence, tho. Gimme Santa Clause over this shit any day. 

PT: The Santa Clause dealt with similar themes! The idea of a real Santa Claus living among regular society and society's reaction to him. But that had a regular guy turning into Santa. And it came first, of course, so it-

SWP: Ok ok, back to 34th Street.

PT: Right. So when Kringle is at Macy's, just killing it as Santa, he tells a shopper that another store has an item she can't find at Macy's. The lady tells Julian, the head of the toy department, that she'll shop at Macy's forever now.

SWP: Except for that particular item, apparently.

PT: Kringle later tells another customer about some sweet ice skates that she can find at Macy's archrival Gimbels. Doris thinks this behavior is "crazy." He's too generous, too nice. And he keeps calling himself Kris Kringle. She fires him.

SWP: She should be applauded n promoted.

PT: Yeah, well, his "crazy" tactics actually help the store! He's generated so much positive publicity that Mr. Macy himself promises to give Doris and Julian bonuses for finding their new Santa. Then, just to satisfy Doris's misgivings, Julian makes Kringle take a psychological evaluation. He passes easily, and then starts messing with the doctor's head by questioning the doctor's own mental health.

SWP: Gaslightin him. Typical sociopath behavior.

PT: He's just smarter than the guy. So now the store expands Kringle's referral concept. Macy's becomes the store that cares most about their customers. To avoid looking greedy, Gimbels implements the same policy throughout their entire chain. Eventually, Kringle unites the bitter rivals Mr. Macy and Mr. Gimbel. He's a modern day saint! And his "crazy" ideas actually helped the businesses and regular every day citizens. We should embrace him, not reject him!

SWP: Wutever. I think he's got ulterior motives...

PT: Of course you do. Anyways, Kringle becomes friends with Doris and Susan. He becomes quick friends with her neighbor Fred as well. Fred and Kringle make a deal with each other to try to make Susan and Doris less cynical Kringle will work on Susan and Fred will work on Doris.

SWP: "Work on." Yeah. What tha hell is an old man hangin round this little girl for?

PT: He's Santa!

SWP: Come on, man. So any perv can just claim to be Santa n he's good to hang out wit little kids?

PT: You are seriously jaded.

Kringle has a talk with Susan about imagination. Susan believes it's demeaning and childish to pretend or to believe in fairy tales. She wants to be like adults. But Kringle says that's not always so smart. Imagination is an important part of life. He shows her how to pretend to be a monkey and she actually enjoys herself.

This is an important lesson, and the overall theme of the movie. Fred lays it out plainly for Doris: "Look Doris, someday you're going to find that your way of facing this realistic world just doesn't work. And when you do, don't overlook those lovely intangibles. You'll discover those are the only things that are worthwhile." Paradoxically, imagination can help us see the world for how it truly is. Kids see people for who they are and they see things for what they are; because of their imaginations, they can envision a better reality. That doesn't mean they don't understand reality.

SWP: Right, it means they're escapin reality. So live in a fantasy world? Thats yer advice? 

Me: You're a talking cartoon dog!

SWP: Dont try ta distract from tha point here. What tha hell is an old man doin alone wit a child in her bedroom?

PT: It was a different time.

SWP: Oh, tha Bill Cosby excuse.

PT: You're ridiculous. Not all old men are perverts. Obviously, her mother trusts Kringle enough for him to be there.

SWP: I guess. I mean, she was jus callin him crazy so...

PT: People change their minds when confronted with facts. Hopefully you'll be open to that.

SWP: Wutever.

PT: Ok, look. You know the Einstein quote, "The true sign of intelligence is not knowledge but imagination"? That's what Kringle is all about. It's like how Kringle's attitude and referrals are helping Macy's and Gimbels. He's showing that they can be creative and do things the right way while still being successful.

SWP: But what does he get for helpin out tha stores? He musta got some kinda bonus. 

PT: No, he gets treated like a crazy old man and called "maladjusted." Kringle learns that the psychiatrist convinced his friend (the young janitor, Alfred) that he is mentally ill, simply because he is a good person! When Kringle confronts the psychiatrist, he tells him that he has respect for psychiatry, but not for "quacks pushing lies." The man is dangerous, and Kringle knows there is only one way to deal with him: he smacks him on the head with his cane.

SWP: Man, never thought I'd see you deny science n defend violence!

PT: No no no. Kringle even says he "has respect for psychiatry." It's just that this psychiatrist is full of shit.

SWP: So he only respects it when it tells him what he wants to hear?

PT: No, this guy only thinks Kringle is crazy because Kringle is "unusually" generous. Plus, the guy exaggerates his pain from the blow to the head so he can ship Kringle off to Bellevue Hospital. What kind of doctor is that?! He's a buffoon!

SWP: He's jus lookin out fer everybody's safety in my opinion.

PT: You're entitled to that. You're wrong but you have a right to be wrong.

Kringle thinks Doris was in on the scheme to send him to Bellevue, so he purposely fails his mental exam when he gets there. He's dejected, defeated by society. But Fred persuades him not to give up.

SWP: Enabler. Always one around.

PT: More like a true friend. And it's a good thing he is around. Kringle gets his day in court, and Fred leaves his prestigious law firm to defend him. He tells Doris: "Faith is believing when common sense tells you not to. Don't you see? It's not just Kris that's on trial, it's everything he stands for. It's kindness and joy and love and all the other intangibles." That's what this is all about.

SWP: Fred lost his damn mind, too.

PT: At the hearing, the District Attorney gets Kringle to claim he is Santa Claus and rests his case, thinking it's a wrap.

SWP: It should be.

PT: The DA requests that the judge rule that Santa isn't real, but the judge's adviser explains the problem with that ruling: it would ruin his chances for reelection. The judge decides to hear evidence.

SWP: Think a tha children judge! But really, think a yer career!

PT: Well, yeah. Basically. So now it's Fred's job to prove that Kringle really is Santa Claus.

SWP: Cu-ckoo.

PT: Fred calls Mr. Macy as a witness. When the DA asks if he really believes Kringle is Santa, Macy looks unsure, then he starts thinking about all the negative press he would receive from calling his own Santa Claus a fraud. He considers all the positive press (and yes, business) that Kringle has brought to his store, and finally declares that he does believe it. Macy leaves the stand and immediately fires the quack psychiatrist.

SWP: Another good man loses his job because of Kringle. That's at least two now.

PT: Wait, you mean the drunk Santa at the beginning?

SWP: Yeah. Alcoholics need jobs too, pal.

PT: You're definitely reaching now. He was drunk on the job and...you know what? I'm moving on.

So now that Macy has testified that Kringle is Santa, Fred calls the DA's son to testify...

SWP: Dirty move.

PT: ...and the young boy says his father told him Santa was real. That's what you call a power play. The DA's own words used against him. 

SWP: It was a good move, no doubt. But now Fred's gotta prove this geezer's "the one and only" Santa Claus. And there's gotta be sum kinda authority behind tha claim, not just sum stupid kid.

PT: Very true. This is the main conflict of the story. Fred starts to panic a little.

Meanwhile, Susan now believes in Kringle and writes him a letter to cheer him up. She addresses the letter to the courthouse. When a postage worker sees the letter and the address, he suggests clearing out the thousands of letters to Santa in the dead letter office and sending them all to the courthouse.

SWP: Ahhh, tha perfect setup. Another US government conspiracy. Gotta keep tha kids believin in Santa! Keep tha economy rollin!

PT: If eyerolls made a sound, everyone within a mile radius of me would be deaf right now.

SWP: Yer a sheep.

PT: Fred gives the judge a few letters addressed to Santa Claus and delivered to Kringle. He claims the US Post Office, and by extension the federal government...

SWP: See?

PT: ... has therefore officially acknowledged that Kringle is Santa Claus. When the judge demands more proof, mailmen dump over 20 full mailbags onto the bench. He dismisses the case.

SWP: Mail? Mail won tha case for this madman? Where have I heard this before...

PT: It was a genius move, be honest.

SWP: Yea, but it only worked cuz a tha stupidity a tha opposition. Again, somethin we seen before...

PT: Hey, the ruling stands, despite how you feel about it.

So Christmas morning finally arrives. Susan is disappointed she didn't get the house she wanted.

SWP: She's really startin ta annoy me. She wants a house fer Christmas? Not even like a ipad or even a pony, a whole damn house?

PT: Hey, dream big. While Fred is driving Doris and Susan home, Susan sees the house of her dreams with a "For Sale" sign in the yard. She's ecstatic.

Fred stops the car and they get out to look at the house. Fred finds out that Doris was the one who encouraged Susan to have faith in Kringle, which led her to write that letter. He is so moved, he basically proposes to her on the spot and suggests they buy the house.

SWP: This guy really thinks things thru before actin, huh?

PT: He's a romantic. He jokingly brags about his skills as a lawyer. He did the impossible: he proved Santa Claus was real and living among us.

SWP: "Proved."

PT: Proved in a federal court of law, yes. Anyways, Doris and Fred see a red cane inside the house that looks just like Kringle's. Doris says maybe the previous owners left it, but Fred replies, "Maybe I didn't do such a good thing after all." He realizes that his lawyer abilities didn't really win the case; all he did was prove something that was true all along. 

SWP: Or, he realizes this dude Kringle is a lunatic m he fucked up by getting him out.

PT: Oh please. Why would you even think that?

SWP: What kinda phrasin is that: ""Maybe I didn't do such a good thing after all." Yeah, ya let a creeper buy a house for a little girl n now he's probly sumwhere in tha house, ya dummy. He's jus now realizin he fucked up, but it's too late. Kringle owns em.

PT: Willy, I...

SWP: Seriously, break it down. How did Kringle get tha house? It's implied he bought it, right? Where'd he get tha money? He got paid off by tha store owners who created a monopoly on tha market. There's yer "Christmas spirit." He was in it fer himself tha whole time. He buys a house fer these people he jus met? Who does that? In any other situation, we'd recognize that as tha actions of a crazy person.

And what does he want in return? His cane is there like a warning: this place is mine. I come n go as I please. Bow down.

PT: I...

SWP: Ya see it now, right?

PT: I....

SWP: Ya see how crazy dude is? N ya see how crazy this fuckin movie is?

PT: I...I'm sorry everyone. I didn't know how far gone Willy really is. He does a lot of drugs.

SWP: Don't gimme that ad hoc bullshit. Ya know my argument is right so ya jus attack me instead. I know that move, Professor. Besides, I only do weed n alcohol...n shrooms...n sum other hallucinogens.  

PT: Right. Well, it's been...interesting viewing with you, Willy. I think this movie a classic for the ages. It's about the power of the imagination and the importance of spreading love and generosity. The true spirit of Christmas. Merry Christmas everybody!

SWP: Nah. It's sum bullshit bout a maniac who cons evrybody he knows, includin little kids. Happy holidays bitchez!

We Love You All...Spread World Peace!

Stoned Willy Guides You Thru Ernest Goes to Camp

Ayyyyyyye yoooooo! Tha east coast is basically shut down after #blizzard2015 #bullshit so its tha perfect time fer yer main dawg Stoned Willy ta guide ya thru a few classic movies ya can watch in yer snow mansion.

Today's flick is part of a 9 film series that brought in over $100 million. Holy shitdick!

Tha star a this series turned inta a cultural fuckin icon. Yall know this sack a brainfarts as Ernest P. Worrell.

Yeah, I missed tha Ernest wave (bein an intergalactic immortal ambassador a peace means missin out on a few pop culture thangs here n there) n I wanted ta know how tha fuck this dipshit raked in $100 fuckin mil.

This fuckin dipshit. $100 fuckin mil. Fuck.

I'ma need a lotta mental lubricashun ta get thru this one. Couple shots a homemade Moonshyne n a few caps a tha Silly Psy Bin Laden n my level a tolerance fer this clusterfuck shoud rise wit tha action in tha second act, whaddup intro ta film.

Mmm mmmmm mmmm mmm mmmmm thas delish!

It opens up "Many lifetimes ago..." wit a buncha Native Americans chantin n one dude tied up ta a X shaped cross. Is this tha right fucking movie? Them shroomerz hit already?

Sum other dude, probly tha Chief, throws a knife at tha guy, then a axe, then a arrow, missin everythin. They scream at each other fer a lil bit, then tha homeys start chantin again. Shit's wild.

Tha camera zooms in n we see a X cross tattoo on tha guy's chest. Then we see tha same shape in tha wood above his head. A lil camera dissolve n tha shape is now part of a sign fer a modern day summer camp, Kamp Kikakee.

Aight, I ain't mad at shoutin out native peoples n shit. Plus I'm a sucker fer that "ripples in time" type shit, ya know?

Speakin a ripples in time,  I did a lil research fer this shit (do yall e'en understand tha sacrifices I make fer yall?!) n tha year this came out, 1987, was shortened by a second ta match tha Gregorian calendar. N people look at me crazy wen i say shit like time is jus a societal construct.

Anyways, its present day 1987 n we finally see tha man hisself. He's on a ladder fixing tha sign. He calls himself camp counselor, except hes really camp handyman. As he's talkin bout safety, tha ladder falls backward n he falls ta tha ground. So this tha type a shit Im in for huh?

He hits tha ground, boom, cue fuckin incredible 80's Casio keyboard riffs...maybe I judged this flick too soon?

A hot Native American-ish woman who I'm guessin questiond her life's decisions n quit actin ferever after this came out tells Ernest he needs his shots, like a stray fuckin dog. He gets tha shots while spoutin off non sense non sequiturs n somethin bout tha Lindbergh baby, provin jus how relevant this series was even in 87.

Wheres tha moonshyyne?

Grrrrrrrrraaaaaahhhhhhhyyyyeeeeaaaaah!

Tha camp counselors ask Ernest ta pick up these so called delinquents ("2nd Chance kids") from a institushun. When he gets there he's met by a buncha kids wit sunglasses, tha first sign a tru delinquency.

That tie aint foolin nobody kid!

One kid who aint wearin sunglasses spits out a pun n then puts on a pair real smooth like, beatin CSI Miami ta tha gimmick by a solid decade.

A lady from tha institushun tells Ernest she dont e'en believe in second chances. He tells her, "My motto is, I never met a bad kid."

Hol'up. Thas like, MY fuckin motto. Thas pure Weedle right ther. Tha fuck is up wit Ernest? Shows love ta tha kids, got sum weird connection ta Natives. I'ma have ta pop sum more caps n ponder this shit a lil deeper than I thought.

Tha last lil 2nd Chance kid comes out ta meet em, carryin evry one else's bags. He's a lil black kid named Mustafa, n tha lady calls him tha runt a tha group. Lemme repeat that: tha one black kid is named Mustafa, called tha runt, n made to carry all tha bags. Goddamn tha 80s were fucked up. Glad I spent most of it in tha Andromeda galaxy.

Later on all tha kids are at tha lake. Mustafa is tha only one who cant swim ARE YA FUCKIN KIDDIN ME 1980s?! Tha counselor tosses him in tha water but Ernest saves him.

I need sum dam Moonshyne. Finish this bag a boomerz too.

Gggggggyyyyaaaaaahh thas good!

At tha camp cafeteria, all tha kids are starin at tha 2nd Chance kids. A fight breaks out n Ernest breaks it up by lettin both sides kick his ass n smash a fryin pan on his face.

Huh. Savin kids. Turnin tha other cheek. Blue collar worker, kinda like a carpenter, ain't afraid ta dream big...

Oh shit. Ernest is Jesus!

Shots fer Jesus P. Worrell!

Chhh-cchhhh-cchhhh-yaaa! Jeezus thas goood!

Tha counselors hate tha 2nd Chance kids n make Ernest a counselor jus so he can deal wit em. He's fuckin thhhrrrrilled bout it n brings tha kids inta tha woods. He tells em how important nature is n says: "Stay together, be remindful a tha weather. For heavens sake, Dont pick it or it will never heal." This dude is speakin in parables n shit!

Bein typical kids, they make fun a him, sayin he looks like a walkin army surplus store. Then one of em says, "More like salvation army." Salvation Army.

Another one says, "What is this, wild kingdom?" Kingdom.

Ernest fuckin Christ. No wonder most a his movies were "Ernest Saves..." sumthin er other (n his most successful film was Ernest Saves Christmas). Nobody noticed this shit before? Yall really thought he was jus sum bumblin idiot?

I see why tho. Ta distract us, tha movie cuts right back ta sum slapstick. Our man Jesus finds a buncha badgers n starts makin stupid faces at em til they attack his stupid face. Tha kids say, "Time to practice first aid." See that shit? He acts a fool, but theres always sumthin deeper goin on. Ernest don't give ya life lessons in sum borin lecture, he finds creative ways ta get important shit across ta his disciples.

An ole Native American dude is meetin wit people tryin ta buy his land, includin tha camp. Turns out tha land was a ancient ceremonial grounds n hes tha last a their tribe. Tha Native dude wants tha camp ta stay open cuz he thinks a tha campers as young braves who keep tha tradition a his ancestors alive.

So this aint bout tha campers fightin each other. Theyre fightin tha corporashun. Im startin ta see why this shit was so popular wen it was. Tha 80s was tha greedy "me" decade n people were startin ta get sick of it. Tha stock market crashed. Reaganism was at full force, stompin on tha poor n middle class. A course people r gonna cheer fer a workin class dude n sum poor kids goin gainst a greedy corporashun.

N all that dum shit Ernest does? Physical comedy bridges cultural gaps, feel me? Ernest knows this n uses it ta bring people together. It's beautiful.

Ernest is tryin ta win over tha campers, but Mustafa is tha only one stickin by him n stickin up fer him. Oh shit, Mustafa is St Peter! He was even baptised at tha lake! Yooo!

Moooooonshhhhhyyyyyyyyne shhhhooooooootttttsss!

Later, our lord Ernest is talkin witta turtle (all God's creatures n shit nahmean?) bout how hes upset he cant make a conneckshun wit tha kids but he aint givin up. Then tha kids show up n sing So Happy Together. Funny how shit jus seems ta work out fer Ernest, ya know?

Ha. I jus caught sumthin. Tha Turtles sang So Happy Together.

Shoooottttts! Uuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhuuuuuu! Yeaaa!

Woo. Herewego.

Theres a quick scene witta empty cart drivin by. Its a runnin (ha!) joke but its really another symbol. Divine intervention. Thas God drivin that cart, savin an empty seat fer Jesus. Ya know Ernest is gonna b usin that cart somehow someway ta save erbody at tha end. C'mon son!

Now Ernest is helpin tha kids witta group project n Mustafa asks if they can they stay there forever. Ernest says yea, if it was up to him.

I'm a be honest. I need a minute ta get it tagether. Too much realness rite now.

Plus I gotta piss.

Aite lets do this!

Tha ole Native is speakin at a campfire. Hes explainin tha old ways ta tha boys. When a young brave was ready ta become a warrior, they'd place him on tha X cross n throw all that shit at him. If he had faith n was pure n brave n shit, tha Big Guy in tha Sky woud look out fer him n hed be a warrior. He didnt really get inta what happens if they didnt hav faith.

Later tha dude from tha minin company, that dick, comes ta offer more money for tha land. Tells tha ole dude its his patriotic duty to sign contract. Patriotic duty ta make money? Thas like Reaganism in a fuckin nutshell. Tha minin dude pulls sum tricky shit n tha camp gotta close.

Tha kids r heartbroken but they tell Ernest they dont wanna go back ta tha institute, they wanna fight off tha miners, tagether.

Then, yall, then...it starts. Tha quick drum roll inta tha synths. I can't explain tha senssashun that ripples up my spine. Tha voice comes down...is it an angel? A velvet throated saint returnin ta earth ta bring peace n happiness thru overwhelmin beauty?

Close. It's Gary Chapman.

Bravehearts! 
Fighting for the rights of all the dreamers
Bravehearts!
You and me we are the true believers 

Tha electric keytar's warm embrace engulfs my body like a Member's Only jacket as I watch a montage a tha boys buildin weapons ta defeat tha evil corporashun. Tha overwhelming 80s vibe a this scene is so powerful it literally turns inta a physical being n steps outta tha screen. A corporeal representashun of a abstract concept moves towards me. I can't make out its face, but its hair is crimped n its wearin fingerless gloves so I know its tha 80s.

It looks me straight in tha eyes, then speaks.

"Come with me," it says in a smoky, sultry voice.

"Are u tha physical representation a tha 80s?" I ask, knowin full well its tha physical representshun a tha 80s.

"Yesss." It let tha ssss hang out there for a while. Is tha physical representation a tha 80s tryin ta bang?

It grabs me by my arm n pulls me toward it. I think it is tryin ta bang! As Gary Chapman belts out "Me and youuuuu!" tha 80s puts its mouth over mine n inhales.

A kaleidoscope a colors passes my eyes, then darkness. Now light up ahead. Its a screen. Im in...a theater? Ernest is up on screen. Im in tha 80s! Oh shit, Im in tha 80s. Like, it sucked me right in. Dont wanna think about how its gonna lemme out...

So Im in tha back of a packed theater in 1987, lookin on as Ernest tells Hot Doctor: "They aint gonna get this camp."

Tha theater bursts inta a deafenin applause. They fuckin love this dude! Someone next ta me is cheerin at tha top a their- oh thas me.

Ernest n tha kids attack tha construckshun trucks wit burnin arrows, food, n anythin else they can shoot at em. They use a catapult ta shoot a explodin toilet at em n a soft voice from a distant time n place calls out that a explodin toilet would be tha perfect metaphor fer this entire movie franchise, but its drowned out by tha cheers a th crowd.

The people in tha crowd need this. I can feel tha energy. They are desperate fer a release n lookin fer a savior. Tha Middle East was gettin crazy as fuck, tha Iran-Contra affair was poppin off n Oliver North was showin his lyin ass face on tv evry day, AIDS n crack was ravagin inner cities, n global violence was at an all time high. Plus, Dirty Dancing was fuckin evvvrywhere. Shit sucked back then n evrbody jus wanted a escape. Ernest n his stupid faces def gave that. Its no serprise his movies started ta fall off in 1994  cuz violence peaked in 93. People felt like they aint need him anymore. Dam shame. Cuz he was more than jus a stupid face. He was a tru man a tha people n a threat ta tha powers that be, like a certain king a tha jews.

Jesus. Im sayin Ernest is Jesus if ya aint catch that yet.

Despite Ernie n his disciples efforts, a bulldozer destroys tha Native dude's house. Shit.

But here comes tha golf cart! It stops right next ta tha kids. They fill it with flammable liquids n guess who jumps on that bitch ta drive it towards tha bulldozer? Ernest muthafuckas! Called that shit! He aims it at tha bulldozer n jumps off before it crashes n explodes.

Its not over tho. Tha main dude comes at Ernest wit a shotgun. We hear a voiceover from tha Native dude:

"If he got faith, tha knife wont cut him." Dude shoots at Ernest n misses. He walks closer.

"If he got fuckin courage n shit, tha rock wont break him." Shoots n misses. Walks closer.

"If hes pure a heart, arrow wont catch him." Shoots n misses.

Dude gets even closer. Ernest puts his finger in tha barrel n says, "Looks like this ones outta yer hands." Cuz its in God's hands!

Tha dude drops tha gun n runs off. Tha theater is goin bonkers up in here! Muthafuckin 80s mutherfuckas love Ernest!

Praise tha Ern!

Hot Doctor comes thru with a notice sayin they can keep the land. Everybody breaks out inta So Happy Together, even tha fuckin audience! Popcorn n soda n acid wash jeans r flyin all over tha place! Tha 80s is crazy!

Tha room starts spinnin n my head starts poundin n tha kaleidoscope a colors returns. Im spinnin faster n faster. Then finally...blackness.

Theres a vibration against my face. Its my phone. Im home. Face down on tha floor fer sum reason.

Tha movie is still playin.

Ernest is back on tha ladder fixin tha sign. Tha ladder falls n he pulls tha whole sign down on hisself n makes a stupid face.

Uhhhh. This fuckin guy.

Then tha drums hit, followed by tha synths.

Bravehearts! 
You and me we are the true believers!

Gahhh this song is fuckin terrible. Tru believers? Get tha fuck outta here.

How'd I think this shit was good? Tha fuck is wrong wit me?

Oh yea. Moonshyne. Ugghhh.

But what tha fuck was wrong wit people in tha 80s?

Oh yea. They were probly all in a Prozac daze. See also: crack.

Yea. Forget everythin I said. Ernest is jus a fuckin dum ass n his movies r terrible.

I need a nap.

Shoulda Watched Predator 2...Spread World Peace.

Stoned Willy Predicts the Worst Halloween Costumes of 2014

"Yet year after year it's the same routine, and I grow so weary..."

Wasssssupp yaallllllllllllllls! Im hiiiiiiiiiigh as fucccckkkkkkk off this pumkin spice leannnn cuz yer dawg Willy is a sick puppy. Sweats, snots, shits n evrythannnnngggggg. What, yall dont know bout that pumpkin promethazine? Must be exclusive ta yer boy.

Anyfuckinway, lets get this shit rollin huh?

It's autumn. Awwwtuuummm. Nnnnn. Haaaa. Weird word. Awwwtummm. Haha.

Sorry. Lean is fuckin kickin innn. Fever is breakin ooooouuut.

Yo. Ok. Here we go. It's fall. Ya know wut that mean. Time fer tha offensive-as-all-fuck Halloween costume season ta begin! This year jus feels like it could be tha most offensive yet, ya know? Now I dont have fancy photoshop skills er i woulda done up sum slick pics fer yall (i got fuckin paws over here feel me? I gotta dictate this damn blog ta Siri) but jus wait til Halloween n Im fuckin posititty...positit....positive that yer gonna see each n evry one a these fuckin things.

So here's yer man Stoned Willy's perdictions fer Worst Representation a Humanity in Tha Form a Halloween Costume fer tha year 2014:

Mike Brown/Ferguson cop

Ya might think ta yaself, but Willy, how could any fuckin human bein dress up as a murdered teenager fer shits n fuckin giggles? I mighta thought that too, dear innocent reader, before 2012's mos popular costume:

Thas right! People thought dressin up as Trayvon Martin n Zim Zimmer (n racist-gangsta Peter Pan I guess?) was fuckin hilarious! Look at tha first muthafucka, he even went with tha ole white lips an eyes jus like a real vaudevillean fuckin thespian n shit! Hi-lar-ree-us!

First off, here's a general rule fer all white people: if ya got an urge ta wear blackface, dont. Jus fuckin dont.

Second, fuck ya wit a chainsaw in yer moldy belly button if ya think mockin a murder victim is funny. N its not a coincidence its always a black murder victim bein mocked. Not even gonna go there. Sheeyit  I aint tha fuckin moral fuckin compass a society here but hav a lil fuckin common sense n decency. I know thas a lot ta ask from sum pieces a shit out there, but yeezus fuckin crist people, get a grip. Jus dont dress up as murdered kids ya fucks. Shouldnt b that hard.

A Ferguson cop would be funny, tho, if ya roll up in yer suburban halloween party wit an armored truck shootin tear gas n rushin everybody wit rifles n constantly yellin in everybody's face all nite n callin em animals. But i can see how sum people could miss tha joke so ya mite wanna stay away from that one too.


Adrian Peterson beatin his kid

An enterprisin Vikins fan started early.

I dont care bout yer stance on hittin kids...nah fuck dat, if ya think hittin a kid wit a weapon is coo, fuck u. I been kicked n beaten too much ta think that shit teaches discipline er whatever yer fuckin excuse fer beatin a kid is. Plus, yer probably gonna end up in blackface too, so fuckin choose somethin else ya prick.

Jus not one a these next ones:


Gynecologist/Boob Doctor/Perverted Loser Jus Tryin ta Get Sum, Any Attenshun Whatsoever from Females

Ya know these pathetic fucks. He got a labcoat wit "Gynecologist" er "Boob Doctor" on it n he's givin out free exams er he's got a box over his crotch n hes askin everyone ta check out his gift. These fuckin guys, givin all us Y chromosome havin muthafuckas a bad name. Sad thing is they probly get laid off it. Good thing is, its unsatisfyin fer everyone involved.


A catholic priest forcin a boy ta anoint his cassock 

Nah fuck that, thas always funny. Fuck em fer fuckin kids tha fucks.

Nah fuck that, cuz yer mockin tha kids too. Dam its hard not ta be offensive. Muthafuck!!


Native American Anythin

Another tip fer tha whites outchea: If yer costume starts off wit an ethnicity, good chance its gonna be sum racist shit. Mos people dont like ta think a their ethnicities (n basically their entire essences) as a joke, nah mean? Starvin Somalian. Mexican Bandolier. Drunken Irish Wifebeater. Asian Sumthin. Best ta not specify an ethnicity. Thas specially true wit Native Americans. Aint they get shit on enuff witout yer drunk ass walkin aroun mockin their culture n dress?

I'll say this tho, its a lot less offensive ta dress up as sexy Sacagawea than a fuckin scumbag Redskins fan.

 >>> 

Guess which one of these two is gettin laid tonite?

Malaysian Flight Victims
Hahaha screw their dead fuckin faces!

Goddam man thas fucked up. Drank this leannn n chill my dude.

Plus, we don't even know what happened ta these cats. If ya dressed up in an invisibility cloak n made airplane noises, THAT would be funny. Er if ya dressed up as Wolf Blitzer n talked about tha missin airplane for 27 days straight, that would b funny. Mocking tha victims aint funny.

Wolf Blitzer haha who named that muthafucka?


ISIS/Suicide bomber

Ya mite cause pande-fuckin-monium if ya walk in wit fake dynamite strappd to ya, n yer probly gonna include blackface er a fake beard n turban n do sum bullshit accent, so nah, skip this fuckshit.

Beheaded Journalist

Fuck. No.


There ya go! Now spread tha word 'fore Halloween so we can avoid all this tomfuckery!

Ahhh who am i foolin, all this shit is gonna be out there! Jus take sum pics a tha inevitable fuckery ya see n send em ta me.

Im ouuuuuuuuut. I need a fuckinnnn nnnnnap. Wheres my draannnnnk? Sacagawea, po up tha pumkin spice, girl!

Stop it White People...Spread World Peace.

Spoilers: Enough Said.

Whassup weedles! No time ta fuck aroun tonite. I got a migraine n sum asshole jus spoiled tha last Pitbulls and Parolees fer me.

Which brings me ta tha subject at hand: spoilers. We all know n hate em. Before yer able ta see tha latest episode a yer favorite show er watch a movie ya really wanna see or, fer ya ancient bastards out therr, read a book er sum shit, sum asshole on twitter or in tha hallway at yer office ruins tha fuckin endin. No "spoiler alert!", no askin if evrybody in tha room er on their friends list has seen it. Jus sum stupid fuckin comment, er even worse sum lame ass joke, that kills tha story for ya n fuckin rips yer heart out n sprays diarrhea all over it.

This type a shit has been goin on fer centuries. U know sum muthafucka listenin ta Homer spit The Iliad fer 27 n a half hours bak in tha day had it ruined by sum random dipshit walkin by in tha 28th hour who jus decides ta spout off bout Achilles stabbin Hector thru tha neck in tha end cuz he heard tha story last week n he has to let everybody fuckin know it cuz lettin u know he knows sumthin bout pop culture that u dont is tha only fuckin way he can connect wit other livin beins n provin that he heard sumthin first is tha only way ta giv meanin ta his worthless fuckin piece a shit life.

Don't fuck wit The Iliad man, fer real.

Nowadays its a lil worse cuz a tha internet. Ya cant get away from tha shit. Evry body n evry website is talkin bout enertainment all tha dam time n tha chances are, less ya watch evry piece a enertainment yer intrested in tha exact moment it comes out, yer gonna have sum shit spoiled for ya. Ya DVR Sons of Anarchy but cant watch it fer two days n before ya do fuckin Stuart Scott is makin sum kinda corny reference to it on SportsCenter n yer like what tha fuck does Tara gettin killed hav ta do wit tha fuckin Serena Williams match Im tryin ta see highlights of, Stuart? Huh? Oh shit, spoiler alert! My bad tardy Sons of Anarchy fans.

See? Shit is unavoidable in this day n age. But its still fuckin horrible when it happens ta u. Thas why I don't like talkin bout shows I like if they r still runnin. At all. Cuz even tha basic fuckin conjecture evrybody feels tha urge ta share ruins shit: "I think that blah blah is gonna blah blah wit blah blah," or, "I heard that tha actor who plays blah blah isnt in it next season so hes gonna blah." Fuck. Don't tell me! I dont want yer fuckin hypothesis or sum rumor ya heard poisonin tha experience for me.

Muthafuckas love talkin bout shit theyre into, n if they know a lil more bout it than u, they r jus dyin ta share that info. They say shit like, "I won't ruin it, I'll just say this: yer never gonna believe it!" Or, "Oh you havent seen that episode yet? I wont spoil it but it was insane!" Or, "Oh yer gonna watch that? I wont say anythin but it was good til tha ending." Assholes! Ya dont wanna say shit but ya all said shit! Now I'm watchin sumthin wit a certain expectation in my head that I aint wanna hav. I want a blank fuckin canvas in my head wen I watch sumthin. I dont wanna read tha plot summary on netflix. I aint readin any reviews. I aint even lookin at tha posters any more cuz even major studios wanna ruin their own movies.

N sumtimes just seein the cast ruins a movie.

Shit, I dont even wanna know tha run time, that way I cant look at my watch n see how much time is left so i can figure out what type a plan tha hero can come up wit. Like, is it gonna be some long, elaborate, brilliant shit er sum quick get in, get out, bullshit deus ex machina endin? Even my own conjecture fucks me up.

After I watch a movie er show Ill read evry fuckin thing about it, whether I love it er hate it. But I dont wanna know shit before I watch.

Im puttin a permanent ban on talkin bout tv shows til theyre off tha air. I was gonna say sum shit like till a year after they come out, but some lil muthafucka jus picked up Game of Thrones season 1 right now n deserves ta not hav that shit ruined. As fer movies, they gotta be out on dvd or netflix fer a solid decade before any discussions bout em. Matter a fact, theres gotta be a remake or a gritty reboot before anybody talks about tha original. Then again, theyre remakin shit that came out like 5 years earlier, so lets stick wit tha decade rule.

Thas it. No more talkin bout shows er movies. That should make tha internet more fuckin tolerable. It prolly also means no more human interaction cuz like 95% a yer conversations r bout shows er movies, but i dont think thas a bad thing either. All yer yappin is givin me this fuckin headache.

Jus playin, humans. I still love yall. Jus stop ruinin my shit. Peace.

Spoilers Won't Persist...or Shit Will Pop-off!

Stoned Willy's Guide to Valentine's Day

Stoned Willy Poonhound's Guide to a 

Poontastic Valentine's Day

Wassup Bitches n' Mutts! It's Spoven Weedle's Spiritual Sherpa here to lead ya on a journey to the land a breast milk n' fine honeys. Let a true hound show ya how its goin down.

Ya may not like his music, but the ugly bastard bagged Beyonce. Respect the poonhound game.

Not only is today the 84th anniversary of evrybody's favorite Prohibition Era massacre, today is also the day some fools long ago decided to designate as a celebration of evrybody's favorite activity: bumpin uglies. Ya know, doin the freak nasty, the ole in out, in out. Gettin sum stank on the hang low, a lil of the old how's your father, some hide the salami, pack the pepperoni, guzzle the gabba gool, pork the pig. Im talkin bout some body rockin knockin the boots, rockin out in the nappy dugout, swimmin in a sea of shag.Yeah that's right, lovehounds,  it's Valentine's Day, the Hallmark Holiday that the US Greeting Card Association wants to remind you is extremely important to the person or persons yer currently bonin, so make sure to buy em a lil sumthin nice this year ya heartless bastard.

Now before I go revealin some of my best tricks to landin that pretty lil sumpin sumpin ya had yer eye on since you quit World of Warcraft n' finally left yer apartment, lemme break down what type 'a tradition it is we're actually carryin on here today. Back in the day when Rome was runnin shit, they had a lil celebration from February 13th to 15th. Just like any typical Roman party, they started by sacrificin a goat n' a dog (A DOG? YOU MOTHERFUHHHH RRRRRR GRRRR GRRRRR GRRRR ok calm down calm down all the Romans are dead, hubris and an overextended central government did em in, yer okay yer okay). From there, the party got a lil more awesome for the Romans and a lil less awesome for the Ro-womans. After the animal sacrifice (grrrrr fuckers) evrybody got naked 'n drunk, then the women made their own sacrifice: they waited in line as the men took the dead animal hides and whipped the shit out of em with the carcasses. Next, men drew women's names from a hat 'n got to diddle the fiddle of whoever they picked for the rest of the celebration. Women actually encouraged all this cuz they thought the ritual made em more fertile.

So, what does this mean? It means that since the beginnin of time, bitches n' mutts have done some wild shit to bust a nut.

A poonhound must know how to use this knowledge to his advantage.

Heed my words n' yer gonna be chillin with bitches way outta yer league n' knockin em up like a drunken Seth Rogen. Or if ya prefer, you'll be knockin fly honeys off yer collar like that special powder knocked those fleas off my collar last spring. By the way, just to officially end all the rumors, those fleas came from a pile of grass I rolled in at the park and definitely NOT from that lil Pekingese bitch from down the street.

Ok, so if ya didnt plan in advance for this lil national celebration of the beautiful union of two souls, all week ya been lookin round yer class or office or local bar for a warm body to spend Valentine's with so you dont have to act like yer celebratin "Singles Awareness Day" which should never be referred to in its acronym form (SAD) because the resulting irony would be so intense it would cause a black hole to form and tear the very fabric of our existence. At this point, chances are ya got slim pickens. The general poulation is about 10% date-able and you already nanaged to scare off another 5% with those facebook pics you were tagged in at last week's house party with yer cousin Chuck (what were ya doin with his gerbil anyway? Weird, man).  Here's a helpful poonhound hint: give that quiet lil chicadee at work or school wearin the conservative dress and her hair in a bun a holler. Ya never know, it could be a She's All That situation and ya could end up with Rachel Leigh Cook idolizin yer nutsack cuz ya asked her out when nobody but Steve from Sales with the wild dandruff would give her the time of day. More importantly, that lil shy dove in the office could be a screamin cockatiel in the sack, survivin on a strict diet of her man's testicular love juice.

So when ya finally got a lil date, pay attention to the bitch. Or at least pretend. A few simple nods and "yups" and "really?"'s really make her nipples push thru the light fabrics she's wearin. Askin questions about whatever type a female drama she's talkin bout will cause her thighs to slowly spread throughout supper, and if ya can somehow tie the convo into some shit she was talkin about in a previous convo, her vaginal canal will turn into Mega Maid and suck the air outta yer scrotum right thru yer urethra.

Here's how a typical Slick Willy Pimpin conversation goes down:

Fine-Ass Bitch: "So this chick at work is really gettin on my last nerve, I swear to God."

Me: *nods, looks deep into her eyes very understandingly* "Yeah?"

Dime-Piece Bitch: "Yeah, and Im not puttin up with it much longer."

Me: "What's goin on?"

Perfect Ten Bitch: "I worked too damn hard. I mean....(indecipherable babblin for three to sixteen minutes)...She swears she's better than me."

Me: "Kinda like that chick from yer yoga class right? The one ya talked about the other day."

Westminster Dog Show Blue Ribbon Award-Winning Bitch: "Yes!" *looks at me with wide eyes* "Yes, oh my god I cant believe you remembered that." *gently puts her paw on mine, lettin her eyes roam nonchalantly from my eyes to my crotch and back to my eyes* "Let's fuck."

And that's how it go. So either start carin about these bitches or start takin acting classes. Either way, when ya got the "thoughtful and carin individual" thing down, yer precious jewels will be sucked up by that vacuum-poon soon enough.

And when she goes from "suck" to "blow"? Mmmmmmm....

Since it's Valentine's Day and even the most jaded of bitches will still appreciate a gift, givin gifts is a good idea. Just dont half ass it. Unless of course yer in a long term relationship n ya established yerself as a poonhound who doesnt believe love can be expressed thru material goods n what not n yer love is so infinite and deep it could never be cheapened by gifts so ya dont exchange anything besides maybe on chrismas and every other birthday. In that situation, ya can stop at the highway underpass n grab a few roses n balloons out the back of a beat-up Plymouth Voyager and yer bitch will flip out 'n give you an unsolicited beejer cuz yer so thoughtful and spontaneous. But most of ya aint on that level of poonhoundery yet. It takes years of giftless holidays and anniversaries to establish that mindset in a bitch.

So for the rest of ya, avoid the last second gas station or CVS gifts. If ya end up empty handed at the time of the date, tell her ya got a surprise n then go to the bathroom and find some tickets or sum shit on yer smartphone. Hell, get nothing, it's better than 7-11 roses. And if ya get her 7-11 roses and she appreciates it, watch out, ya probably got a crackhead on yer hands. Then again, if shes the type that likes to wrap her mouth around a glass tube that used to hold gas station flowers and suck in crack cocaine fumes, ya know yer in for a real freaky Valentine's. 

If yer not ready for A Crackhead Valentine, chocolate is a good alternative. But fuck those bullshit assortment heart boxes with their three good caramels and maybe a peanut butter fillin' and the rest filled with some pink goo that oozes nastiness between yer teeth. Ya end up throwin half the box away cuz ya took a bite of 8 pieces and every one was cherry gel or bullshit coconut. Nah, spend a lil extra and get a shitload of specific chocolates she likes. If ya dont know what she likes, get milk chocolate, caramel, and peanut butter. If she dont like those or at least one of em, she gets no joy from life and aint worth yer time anyway lil homey.

Flowers are aite but they're played out. Plus, now she gotta find a vase for em, maybe even cut the thorns and stems, water em, all that other nonsense, and they still die quick. So get her sumthin that will at least increase her sexual desire, like chocolate, or get her somethin a lil more memorable. Tickets to some kind of event are always good. VIP tickets are better. A personal, private show in Alicia Key's limo parked in a lot overlookin the Grand Canyon at sunset is even better, but that's Weedle Level 6 and ya got a long way til ya reach that state of consciousness.

Now, ya dont gotta go crazy. Sometimes a thoughtful lil gift is better than a big ole expensive whatever whatever. Remember, pay attention to her (or pretend) and listen for lil hints that she drops when yer with her. And she will drop em. While walkin down a typical city block, a woman will spit out the phrase "Ohh that's nice" or "That'll look good with my red heels" or "I should get those after I get my income tax check" or "Yeah that diamond-studded double-ended dildo looks fun" on average at least 7 times. If ya can remember just a few of those instances, yer gonna have plenty of ideas for a gift that's sure to induce a wet bob on the knob.

Alright mutts, thats enough Wisdom of the Poonhound for one day. Peep my words, yes my heavenly words, and you'll have bitches locked up like 73rd. Word to big Ruck.

And bitches, understand that Im doin this for the benefit of the finer, sexier-in-a-summer-dress gender. I want ya all to be happy and Im tryin to teach these young hounds how to provide the happiness ya deserve. Yer welcome for that. Also, I dont leave anybody out when Im droppin knowledge, so Ill drop one last gem for ya bootylicious selves. This is very important and its somethin to keep in mind, especially durin these lil holidays when dudes buy ya that diamond-studded double-ended dildo and think they got a free access pass to all yer erogenous zones. So on this Valentine's Day, remember bitches:

Now go out there n celebrate yer sexual desires.

-Stoned Willy Poonhound, SWP World Ambassador

-----

Well! That was interesting! I hope you can take something from all this...on second thought, maybe you shouldn't take anything from this. Ever.

Peace!

I Love You All...Class Dismissed.