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.

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 Building a Snow Mansion

Hey there blog fans! For today's blog, I'm doing something a little different. Of Intersections and Strange Things Told is proud to present our first guest writer. I'd like to introduce to you...Stoned Willy Poonhound.

Stoned Willy Poonhound's Guide to Building a Snow Mansion

Wassup Bitches and Mutts!

If yer like me 'n ya live on the Beast Coast, ya just got dumped on by a lil' blizzard named Nemo (who name's these damn things? It's like they're doing it on purpose for the internet meme creators). Well, ya can't let a lil' thing like two feet of snow get in yer way of gettin it IN like a real poonhound should. In fact, if ya know what yer doin' (or if ya have an experienced poonhound like me to lead ya) two feet of snow can add a whole new level of enjoyment to yer typical poonhound activities.

I'm gonna break it down real simple so even the most basic of numbskulls can skim thru this thing and still learn what they need to build a serious snow mansion. That's right...mansion. We don't build forts 'roun here. This is grown ass poonhounding, this aint for lil' poonpups. 

So, first things first. Yer gonna need...

Hallucinogens

Lots of em.

Many people skip this step. That is a mistake. Hallucinogens are the key to the creation of any solid snow structure; they open the doors of perception and make ya see all types of designs and formations to make in the snow. Also, spendin a lot of time exposed to snow can lead to a condition called snow blindness, and hallucinogens are a well known preventative type measure against that horrible affliction (citation needed). 

A lot of people think crazy stunnin visuals are needed to enjoy a hallucinogenic trip, but that is not true. In fact, snow is perfect for trippin cuz the endless white causes your brain to create its own light show. Next time yer lookin to trip yer balls off, stare at the snow for 30 seconds 'n look away real quick. Yea. Fireworks.

Poonhounds prefer psilocybin (magic mushrooms) but acid, lsd, dmt or any other hallucinogen of yer choosin will do just fine. I recommend mushrooms cuz they're all-natural 'n the others may cause ya to forget that yer building a snow castle and put ya into a deep dissociative state where ya think yer trapped in an avalanche 'n the only person who can save ya is Sylvester Stallone but he's too busy fightin John Lithgow so ya gotta dig yerself out but ya can't tell which way is up or down cuz gravity has no effect on yer body cuz it's just a theory anyway man I mean who the hell does Newton think he is and matter a fact who the hell does that beaver over there think he is with his tiny top hat and bow tie why is he dressed up like that and why isn't he helpin dig he's just starin at ya with his little nose twitching and his teeth making that noise that's usually so cute but now it's crazy loud and annoying and it may cause yer left eye to burst from its socket so ya better choke that damn beaver but it's too late he's gone and yer arm is buried in snow up to the shoulder cuz ya lunged for an imaginary beaver and now ya wished ya listened to those damn drug PSAs in 5th grade gym class.

So yea, I just go with mushrooms.

Mushrooms are a very spiritual psychedelic, 'n it's important to get in the right mindstate before ya take em so that yer in the right mindstate while yer on em. Before I eat god's toe fungus, I like to spend a lil' time meditatin on the beauty of the circle of life while evacuatin all waste from my body into the porcelain throne. For the simpletons, that means I think positive thoughts on the toilet taking a shit before I eat shrooms.

Taking a psychedelic voyage is all about love and positivity and peace. Positive Energy Activates Constant Elevation. Bring positive vibes 'n all will be right in yer brave new world. 'N make sure to eat at least a quarter.

Down the hatch!

So now that yer mind is right, next yer gonna need...

Music

This is somethin ya need prepared well before yer journey. Everything's better with music, 'specially a spiritual quest to construct the most spectacular spectacle of a snow mansion. 

Yer gonna need an ipod or a smartphone and a small mobile speaker. I like this guy:

Look at his lil' winter hat! This lil' fool actually carries a mean sound, and he fits right in yer coat pocket so he'll stay dry. ImixID Audiobots are the name of these speakers and I highly recommend em. They're great for all types of outdoor poonhoound activities. Yo ImixID holler at me 'bout that product placement deal my doggies.

Yer gonna need a playlist just for this adventure (unless ya already have a Trip List, as a real poonhound always should). Here's a few suggestions:

-Anything and everything by Bonobo (a must)

-Jimi

-Blockhead

-DJ Shadow

-El-P (especially his instrumental stuff)

-DJ Krush

-Tommy James and the Shondells' two best songs

-Pink Floyd 

-Led Zeppelin

-Anything from the Beatle's LSD Years

-A selection of Black Hippy songs

-Ol' Dirty Bastard

I guess ya could make a playlist of any music ya love personally, but for real, ya should learn to love all the stuff I mentioned. These artists have a way of heightenin the intensity and beauty of a spiritual journey that will forever change the way ya listen to music. Especially Ol' Dirty Bastard. Word.

Ok, you should be mentally and aurally prepared to start building your winter wonderland. Now you just need...

At Least 2 Feet of Snow

Minimum. Otherwise ya gotta shovel yer whole yard and half a yer neighbor's just to have enough to make a lil' snow coffin for yerself. Fuck that. Two feet of snow is perfect cuz ya get all the snow from the driveway and road and sidewalks, which gives ya 'bout 4 feet of snow over a good portion of the yard. Plus, as ya dig, ya keep adding to the top, so it gets even higher. If yer in an area gettin more than two feet of snow on the reg, ya don't need me to tell ya how to build a proper snow castle, ya probably live in one. And if ya live in an area that didn't get at least two feet of snow, ya didn't eat those mushrooms already did ya? Damn. I knew I shoulda mentioned this rule first.

Ah well, for the rest of ya, ya should be knee deep in snow on a head full of shrooms with a small speaker in yer coat blasting the trippiest music outside of a Twilight Zone episode. 

Now, let's talk about the diggin equipment yer gonna need...

Yer Damn Hands

It's a snow fort. Mansion. Whatever. It's snow. Put on some gloves and start diggin. Ya got intricate, powerful tools attached to the ends of both yer arms. Use em. 

But since yer ancestors evolved to form opposable thumbs (ya lucky sons of monkeys) ya might as well use those, too. So if yer not hound enough to dig with yer bare paws, use...

A Cheap Little Snow Scraper Thing

Put this in yer dominant hand 'n get to hackin. This is strong enough for areas ya want to bulldoze thru 'n precise enough for when ya wanna put the finishin touches on the ceiling and ionic columns and whatnot. Besides the scraper, yer gonna need sumthin to remove the snow as ya dig. A push broom does a good job clearin out the snow from the inside. Most people simply use a shovel to get rid of all the extra snow. That's cuz most people aren't poonhounds. We don't take the easy way. What I use is a metal dust pan to scoop the snow. But wait, yer probly sayin, "doesn't that make more work for yaself?" Huh. Yer mos def not an experienced snow architect. That's ok, that's why I'm here to guide ya thru it. 

The dust pan holds the perfect amount of snow with each scoop. When throwing snow on top of the ceilin of yer structure, ya can't throw a large amount of snow at one time. A heavy load will collapse the whole damn thing. I use the dust pan to slowly spread out the snow on top of the castle, lettin it to grow at a nice even pace. The snow gets packed down as it rises up, and I can keep diggin out the ceilin from the inside. 

This is scientifical shit right here. I use the dust pan cuz I'm a perfectionist. I keep my angles precise.

Also, I forgot to get the shovel before I ate the shrooms 'n Jimi started talking to my soul while his guitar tore a lightnin bolt thru my brain so I just picked up the first thing that looked like it could hold snow 'n headed out into the cold night air like the abominable shroom-man.

I could have used an ice cream scoop and it wouldn't have mattered. The psilocybin tapped into the natural diggin instincts of my breed and as ODB shimmy shimmied his ya I cleared out 125 square feet of snow.

Another reason to use the random shit lyin around your house is because it's cost effective. Ya dont need to waste any good equipment on this lil' venture. At one point, I got lost in the melody of a Blockhead beat when the broom suddenly became a beautiful black stallion that I mounted and used to gallop round the driveway. Unfortunately, the stallion couldn't hold my weight and it snapped in half. So don't use yer best equipment is what I'm sayin.

Bein a poonhound means knowin when to pimp and knowin when to scrimp. You can scrimp on the diggin tools ya use to make yer snow castle (like I said, ya really only need yer hands) but when it comes time for the tools yer gonna need inside yer castle, a real poonhound knows it's time to pimp...

A Proper Beverage 

A drink says a lot about a hound. I typically don't drink anythin that doesn't come in a purple velvet bag, but in blizzard conditions, the beverage ya choose can literally make or break the success of yer venture. We all know that liquor warms our insides, despite what quack doctors wanna tell us, but when buildin a snow mansion, ya need a beverage that will lend yer ice abode the touch of class that distinguishes a masterpiece of snow architecture from a flimsy, low-class snow shack. 

Another thing that separates the real craftshounds from the fake is what ya got decoratin yer snow pad. Yes poonhounds, it's truly what's on the inside that counts.

Lights

Ya need something to light up yer newly dug snow mansion, but ya dont wanna be running extension cords or wasting a whole bunch of batteries. I highly recommend the lil' lights that come with these gloves:

See that lil' light on the index finger? Take it off the gloves and stick the back of the light right into the ceilin. They'll stick there for however long ya need and ya got yerself an illuminated igloo of ecstasy. 

Now yer ready to enjoy the fruits of yer labor. The great thing bout chillin in a snow castle is that ya can make a pillow anywhere you want. Find yer comfort zone and lay yer hooded head down on a pile of fresh snow, letting yer mind drift into the pleasantly melancholic soundwaves comin from yer pocket 'n the dazzlin light show behind yer eyelids. Any other personal indulgences you may want to...indulge in should be prepared well in advance. Ya dont wanna be in a dimly lit snow fortress listening to Bonzo's Montreux on a head full of psychotropic substances tryin to roll an acceptable L. Any tasks requirin fine motor skills need to be done before ya imbibe any hallucinogens. Again, all my real poonhounds already know.

Once ya settle in, yer gonna find yer head 'n butt groove, yer drink and whatever whatever will be right in arm's reach, yer body 'n mind n' soul will be perfectly in synch with each other 'n the natural world around ya...this is Parad-Ice. (Come up with yer own name puns, that one's mine.) Now all ya need to do is call up some snow bunnies, tell em to bundle up and come over to the Poonhound Playa's Ball on Ice, and start spreadin that weedle love. 

Well, there ya have it. If ya follow these steps, yer gonna have the most impressive snow domicile (snowmicile?) on yer block. A good snow castle is perfect for journeys into yer inner-most being, chillin with yer favorite bitches and mutts, or for more practical purposes, such as like when ya need a lil' hideaway from those bail bondsmen that may or may not be lookin for ya. I'm not sayin I'm wanted in three states, I'm just...wait. Ya hear that? That twitchin....and teeth suckin....that goddamn beaver's back! Why's he starin at me? Did I disturb his nest? Do beavers have nests? Why is he so loud?

"Po' up."

What?! It talks! I jumped to all fours inside my Fortress of Poon-itude. Shit, I talk, so I guess I shouldn't be too surprised. What did he say?

"Po' up."

Huh? Am I buggin out? Well, I mean, yeah I'm buggin out, but what is he sayin?

"Po' up."

Wait a minute. I thought for a second, then repeated, "Po up?" 

A single word came out of the beaver's twitchy lil' mouth. "Drank."

I replied, "Head shot?"

"Drank." He waddled closer to me. "Sit down."

I sat back on my hind legs.

We said in unison, "Drank."

He reached his short arm towards me. I felt a natural urge to bite his furry little paw, but sumthin held me back long enough to watch him grab my bottle of whiskey, unscrew the top, and tip it in my direction.

This wasn't a belligerent beaver bent on me buggin out on a bad trip. He was my spirit animal, here to guide me on an inward journey to enlightenment. 

I took a drank and offered it back to him, but he was already gone. It was just me, Stoned Willy Poonhound, trippin my un-neutered balls off in a freshly built ice hotel with Kendrick Lamar bumpin on my miniature snowman speaker and three of my favorite bitches on their way.

And that's how ya build a snow mansion.

Peace!!! and Spread Weedle!

-Stoned Willy Poonhound, SWP World Ambassador

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of Stoned Willy Poonhound and do not necessarily reflect the views or positions of this blog. Names and places are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Events portrayed in this article are creations of the psychotic/genius mind of a fictitious character. They should not be attempted in the real-world. 

Unless of course you're a big boy or girl and you don't need any stupid "legal disclaimer" telling you what to do.




I Love You All...Class Dismissed.

Spoven Weedle Presents... A True Hollyweedle Story

"Wise Up" by Aimee Mann

Spoven Weedle Presents... A name that symbolizes greatness achieved through peaceful chaos. Although the name and the movement itself is world renown, the origins of the phrase are known to only a select few. Here is the story of Spoven Weedle Presents...

SWP was born in the late 20th century. It all started when two freshmen crossed paths on a Friday night on the Storrs campus of the University of Connecticut. They exchanged greetings and one asked where the other...ok wait. I was going for the third person omniscient, but these mysterious pronouns aren't working. It's me and Nick Jake. Our brothers had been roommates at UConn for two years before we got there. My brother graduated, his brother had one more year. Jakiel and I knew of each other, but we had only met once before, randomly, when we both played for a summer league all-star baseball team. Then, on the first weekend of college, we ran into each other, again randomly. I told him I was going to an ice cream social, he laughed at me a little, then told me to come hang out with his brother and friends at their dorm. I hesitated. It was free ice cream after all...

That night Jakiel and I split a bottle of Goldschlager and Blackberry brandy and we been chillin ever since.

Now let's fast forward a couple years before this turns into a bad best man speech. We were living in Apt. E9 in Barbara Manor (later Cedar Ridge) at UConn with two other roommates and many other unofficial roommates. One thing that has always connected me and the majority of my friends is movies; even when we disagree on quality, it's great to argue about movies with friends. During my time at E9 I probably watched more movies than any other time in my life. Certain movies entered the regular rotation, and we would watch these movies an inordinate amount of times.

I like all types of movies, but most of my favorites illustrate the complexities and absurdities of life; one movie from my college days does that better than any other movie I've seen. The movie was so powerful and enjoyable to me that I even bought the soundtrack, which features nothing but songs from a female folk singer, and Supertramp...and I love it. Magnolia uniquely showcases the inter-relatedness of all living beings: it reflects how all individual organisms are part of a greater whole; everything is connected, and oftentimes that connection is manifested in extremely bizarre ways. 

I bought the VHS (that's right) simply off the strength of Tom Cruise's performance. Remember the time when people looked forward to seeing Tom Cruise in a movie? I also wanted to analyze the movie. It was very intriguing, but I wasn't sure if I liked it or not. Then I watched it again with Nick Jake, and after the second time I knew: this movie would be with me for the rest of my life. Jakiel loved it as much as I did and it entered the movie rotation. One of my other, much Skinnier roommates refused to watch it out of pure spite; he didn't want to admit we had good taste in movies because he had such objectively horrible taste. When he finally did watch it, he couldn't deny its greatness. Call it irony, karma, full circle, or whatever, but after he had talked so much shit about the movie, the fact that he loved it (and actually admitted that to us) was something right out of the movie itself.

I came to see Magnolia as a representation, a meditation, on life and all its beauty. One scene, and one quote in particular, became a favorite of ours.  Whiz Kid Donny (William H. Macy) is at a dive bar, sitting next to the old man from The Burbs. As Donny rambles on about his miserable existence, the sarcastic-but-wise old man states, "We're all just a spoven weedle." It is almost inaudible and Donny continues talking as if he doesn't hear. He finally stops rambling and asks, "What does that mean, a spoven weedle?" To which the man replies, "Things go round and round, don't they?"

When Nick and I first heard it, we couldn't make out what he was saying. After rewatching it several times, we both agreed that he was saying "spoven weedle." We didn't know if those were actual words, but we figured it was some obscure or foreign phrase. We knew the gist of it; the explanation was clear ("things go round and round," we had enough college philosophy and bad 80s music to understand that concept) so we just accepted the phrase and made it our own.

To us, Spoven Weedle represented synchronicity, the way events will sometimes align in meaningful yet unexplainable ways; it represented the way in which life progresses in a circular motion, so what happened in the past reverberates into the present and the future.

"And the book says, 'We may be through with the past, but the past ain't through with us.'"


To Jakiel and I, the entire meaning of the movie (and to an extent, life in general) was encapsulated in those two words: Spoven Weedle. It was a beautiful phrase that reflected the deep, complex philosophy behind the movie. 


And it never even existed. The guy was saying "spoke in the wheel," not Spoven Weedle. It must have been the 36th viewing when we both realized that we had based an entire philosophy on a misheard quote. 

Although we felt like idiots, it actually reaffirmed our stance that the quote encapsulated the movie's message, as well as our own view on life. Much like when our other roommate finally succumbed to watching the movie and ended up loving it, we felt like this was something that would only happen with this movie. The entire movie consists of "stories of coincidence and chance, of intersections and strange things told, and which is which and who only knows?" It only made sense that watching the movie would cause some strange, ironic, coincidental occurrences in real life. It also made sense that I shared such an experience with this particular roommate, considering the intersections and strange things that led to us being roommates in the first place. 

We continued to use the phrase to describe our outlook on life, constantly adapting and evolving our philosophy as we experienced more of what life had to offer. The actual phrase "spoke in the wheel", was incorporated into the definition as well: we are all individual spokes in the wheel of humanity, and although we all have our own hopes and aspirations, the inevitable and powerful force of change causes us to follow along with the rest of humanity, continuing the cycle of existence. That's basically what we meant by Spoven Weedle anyway, just a little bit more comprehensible.

The term itself continued to evolve into something bigger, yet the central tenets of "peace" and "chaos" always remained. When trying to come up with a name for our groundbreaking, game-changing, league-energizing beer pong team, we decided on Spoven Weedle Presents... (Shout out to Jeremy for the suggestion! Weedle is always a collaborative effort.) SWP became similar to a production company, with a new, unique team name every week of game play. So we had names like "Lunatic Stare Defense" or "The Electric Weedle Acid Test" on any given week, while maintaining the overall group entity of Spoven Weedle Presents... 

Spoven Weedle Presents... Lunatic Stare Defense

Spoven Weedle Presents... The Electric Weedle Acid Test

Since Spoven Weedle essentially represents change, the revolving team names was the perfect meta-joke (in my humble weedle opinion). It also allowed us the opportunity to make our inside jokes public. We could take our views and philosophy to the next level; little by little, like a virus, we would spread our philosophy throughout society, slowly gaining momentum until it became a commonly accepted, mainstream point of view.

WE ARE NOT A CULT!

Soon, a loyal mascot/disciple/ambassador was born into the world, like a modern day Pinocchio (who never left Pleasure Island).

And the world was never the same...

T-shirts, hats, stickers, blogs, facebook profiles, origin stories...Stoned Willy Poonhound and Spoven Weedle Presents... were everywhere. 

Spoven Weedle evolved from a misheard quote into a philosophy, and ultimately, a way of life.

An entire universe was created, consisting of real heroes, cartoon icons, mythological beings, and various other characters. This parallel universe exists to reflect the beautiful chaos of our own universe, acting as a mirror to inspire positive change.

SWP represents a movement for positive change; our mission is to exert positive energy, activating constant elevation while acknowledging and increasing the chaotic tendencies of the natural world. Spoven Weedle represents all that is, was, and ever will be, encompassing the eternal essence of existence, transgressing all ideologies.

Spoven Weedle Presents... Get with the movement.

"And we generally say, 'Well, if that was in a movie, I wouldn't believe it.' Someone's so-and-so met someone else's so-and-so and so on. And it is in the humble opinion of this narrator that strange things happen all the time. And so it goes, and so it goes." 

I Love You All...Class Dismissed.