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.

Night Terrors: A Children's Short Horror Story

It's back again. In the hallway, outside my bedroom door. I can hear it breathe.

It keeps pacing back and forth, stopping next to my door for a few seconds, then shuffling towards my parents' room at the end of the hall.

This is the third night in a row. My parents didn't believe me the last two nights. They never believe me, why would they start now?

I asked Rachel if I could sleep over but her parents are in the middle of a divorce. I don't know why that means I can't stay over for a night, but whatever. It's just my life on the line here.

It's silent now. Somehow that makes it worse.

Maybe I need to confront it. It's probably just the wind or something. If it's gonna kill me, it could probably break the door down anyway, so might as well see what it is.

But my bed feels safe. My blankets feel safe. Keeping my door closed feels safe.

Even though there's no lock.

Ok, my bed is feeling less safe.

There's the shuffling noise again! It's right outside my door!

Silence. These blankets feel extra thin.

I can't take this. If it's gonna come in, come in already!

It's moving back to the other end of the hallway. Now is my chance to see what it is, if only I could move.

Focus. Start with one foot. Swing it over the edge of the bed, and hope that whatever is making that noise doesn't have any friends waiting under there.

Ok. Move!

My left foot finds its way over the edge and hangs there, waiting to be ripped off. Nothing happens. There's a chill in the air.

Move the other leg and sit up. I'm almost there. Put each foot in a slipper. Grab the phone my parents finally bought me and use the screen for a light. See mom, this phone could save my life!

Or end it, if the beast or whatever sees the light.

Turn off the phone, jump back in bed.

This is stupid. I'm not moving another inch until morning.

Except now I have to pee. That's just perfect. My phone said 4:12am. No way can I hold it until i have to get up for school.

My brother would just pee in a used bottle in his room. Boys are so lucky. He's probably fast asleep right now or playing one of his video games with headphones on, clueless to what's happening right outside his door!

Idiot!

Am I the only one who can hear this thing? Does that mean I'm the one who has to do something about it?

Even though everything in my body is telling me not to, I swing my legs over the edge and stand up. I have to face this thing.

It takes forever to tiptoe to my door, enough time to change my mind and change it back like 100 times. The only thing keeping me going is my full bladder about to explode.

When I get to the door, I put my ear to it like in the movies. I hear nothing. Maybe it left? Maybe there was never anything there. Am I crazy?

If I'm crazy, I should be able to open the door because there's nothing there. But if there is something there, I'd have to be crazy to open the door.

But if I don't open the door, I'll have to pee in something here in my room, and then I'd be really crazy. Like my brother.

Ok, I'm going out there.

The doorknob makes a deafening noise as I turn it. I never noticed how loud it was before. When there's a small crack between the door and the frame I try to peek out but can't get a good look.

I push it open ever so slightly. Now there's a good inch or two to look out and I see...nothing. The hallway is pitch black. Nobody believes in nightlights anymore. I start to push the door again with my pinky when I hear something that sounds like panting.

I'm under my bedsheets before the door closes shut behind me.

But now it knows I'm here! It must have heard me slam the door.

Of course, I'm sure my parents didn't hear the door slam. And if they did, they'll probably yell at me tomorrow morning, when I'm a half eaten corpse. I can't...

There's a scratching at the door...it's trying to get in! I should have never opened the door!

The beast is still scratching at the door. It must not have thumbs, or maybe it can't turn the door handle.

I gotta find a way out of here!

I'm only on the second floor. Maybe I can make a rope out of my sheets and climb out.

My fear keeps me motivated and I quickly, but silently, move to the window.

I could probably survive the fall without serious damage.

Better than dealing with whatever is outside my door.

Just as I start to push open the window, the scratching at my door starts again.

Before I can let out the shriek that my entire body wants to let out, my left leg is hanging out of the window sill.

Then my right leg. I'm sitting on the sill with the lower half of my body hanging outside. I start to turn around so I can slowly let myself down.

Even though I'm terrified of the beast at my door, I'm an idiot because I look at the ground below and now I'm terrified of the fall.

What's a worse way to die? This is not a thought I ever wanted to have at 12 years old.

My body is still balanced on the window sill as I hear a low grumble from outside my door.

It's getting angry!

I slowly lower myself, hanging on to the window sill with all my might.

I look down again and this time I feel like I can make the drop.

Soon it doesn't matter because my fingers slip and I feel the same sensation I felt on my first roller coaster ride earlier this year.

Except this ride is over before I get the urge to puke.

Instead, I hit the ground, and then...darkness.

***

As the sun's rays start to peek out, I struggle to open my eyes.

I feel the damp grass underneath me.

I'm in my backyard, directly under my window. From this angle, I realize how dumb I was to think I could make the drop.

As I silently yell at myself for being so stupid, I hear panting coming towards me rapidly.

I don't know whether its the pain of the fear keeping me from bolting, but I'm stuck where I am.

I squeeze my eyes tight and wait for my fate.

After what feels like a lifetime, or one of my brother's video game sessions, I feel the Beast's presence directly over me.

Staring. Waiting.

JUST BITE MY HEAD OFF ALREADY!

I feel something warm and wet slide across my face, over and over.

I put my hands to my face and push away whatever it is and I feel giant teeth covered in saliva...then fur...and big, floppy ears.

"BISCUITS! GET OFF ME"

My uncle's St. Bernard continues to lick my face as I try to push it away and slowly sit up.

My head is pounding, but I can't help laughing.

Biscuits, the Big Bad Scary Beast, is staying with us for a week while my Uncle Rob is on vacation.

I wish I had made that connection in the middle of the night.

"Good boy."

--

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!

A New Day

Mobb Deep - The Start of Your Ending

Hello you beautiful people. As you probably noticed, there have been a few changes to the blog. It was a great run for Of Intersections and Strange Things Told, but the time has come for a new blog to emerge. 

It was only a matter of time that Spoven Weedle Presents... took over the internet. 

If you've been paying attention to the blog for the past year, you know a little bit about SWP. You may even recall that my partner-in-weedle actually had a blog called Spoven Weedle Presents... However, we decided that we should merge our creative forces, since that was the basis of SWP in the first place. 

So there will be three authors to this blog: myself (Prof Thug); Nick Jake; and the hound, the myth, the legend, Stoned Willy Poonhound. It's the Holy Trinity, the foundation of SWP. 

Not too much will change, except for the amount of awesomeness. You'll still read my random thoughts and stories, you'll still be treated to the words of wisdom from Stoned Willy, and now you'll also be privy to the mental musings of the other founder of SWP, Nick Jake. 

I hope you enjoy the new layout and continue to enjoy my ramblings. I sincerely appreciate anybody taking the time to read this crap in the midst of the literally millions of other things you could be reading.

I Love You All...Class Disissed.

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.

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.