An Absolutely 100% True Story About Ween

As told by Mr. YaaDeedle Vinks

Written for Grid Magazine.

My name is YaaDeedle.
Mr. Yaa-Deedle Vinks.
I report for a paper in town.
I report about people,
both the sweets and the stinks
and my pants are more up than they're down.

I drove to the City of Salt
(what a pity)
to chit with these chaps they call Ween,
They'd come from on yonder
and songs they had squandered
by hundreds of teens'd been seen.
I'd heard they'd worked magics
and goofies and doofies
some sads with some la dee da doos
and the teens who had seen'em
were cured of their oofies
and krickers and powder mugg blues.

I knocked on the bus
that was parked at The Palace
and out stepped a Lady of Voodoo.
She said "Are you Yankee Doodle?"
"Mr. YaaDeedle Vinks,
it's a pleasure and how do you do doo?"
"Well then Vaa Deedle,
is that your pink Beetle?"
"No, Mine is the Caddy down there.
"The boys will go with you
as long as you promise
not to kiss them or mess up their hair.
The bus will be leaving
to Denver however
at midnight, not one minute later,
and if you are late,
I will fill up this plate
with YaaVeedle Dinks head mash pataters."

"Its a deal Lady Voodoo."
( My word's worth a doo doo.)
then pooferdee puff she was gone.
And fluffed from the puff
came two nurfish fellers,
one roundish the other one long.
"Buenas tardes amigo,
nos vamos con tigo."
I said "What does that mean?"
"Good afternoon my friend
we'll come with you.
Our names are Gene and Dean Ween
Take us away far,
at least six jillion inches,
Lady Voodoo is wicked!" they said.
"She pokes us and pinches
and gives us both zinches
and Indian burns on our heads."

We hopped in my Caddy,
I started to stutter.
We puttered n' buttered the bird.
Then the chit chatty,
( like turds from an udder)
turned cluttered and utter absurd.
"W-W-What d-does Ween mean?"
I asked Gene and Dean Ween.
I clammed and awaited response.
"Good Sir don't be nervous,
we're really quite standard
and silly when given the chance."

Then they chanted;

"Ween is the bean
we can glean from our spleens
that can aid us in times of great pains,
Perhaps it may spook us,
for it may de-nuke us
n'scrape mucus right off of our brains.

Like a Japanese cowboy
Gene started to yodel
n'I wondered if he was all right.
He seemed kinda groggy
and a bittle bit grumpy.
The Caddy was bumpy that night.
"Chocolate and cheese.....
Oh please" he requested.
But I hadn't one curd nor one chunk.
"But wait" I remembered.
"The peaches and blender
and custard I kept in my trunk."

I curbed that big Caddy
ten feet from the corner
where State Street meets ol' Joppa Road.
Then with one hippa hoppa
der flipperdeefloppa
the Weens both turned into a toad.

So I kissed them and they turned back into Ween.

"Can I make you a
Blended-Peach-Custardous-Creamy?"
I asked as I opened the trunk.
"Yes yes, I'll have two
and Dean will have thirty
and we'll listen to country and funk."
We slurped and we guzzled,
Dean looked kinda puzzled
or frizzled or frazzled or dumb.
Then a voice said, "Excuse me,
can you help my poor pony?
He's hurtin', I think it's his lung.

"Who's that?" yelled the Deaner.
"It's that weener" said Gener.
"Mr.. Richard F. Smoker the First.
"Here have a mango,
I've no time to tango,
my ponys' left lung wants to burst."
Mr. Richard F. Smoker
was a known poopie poker
who chokered and pokered his pets.
He once choked his chicken
then was sued and was stricken
by the Salt County Legion of Vets.

"Step back! I'm a medic.
His lung's cop acetic.
Sweet Jesus but look at his spine!"
"Acute Meningitis"
This didn't delight us,
but lucky for him I had twine.

So twined to my roof
was a poor dying pony
and off to the doctor we sped.
"Wait" said Gene Ween,
I know a smart farmer.
He helped me when Fluffy was dead."
"Turn right up here,
down ol' Joppa road.
He'll help'm... he'll help our poor pony."
When we got to the farm
(no baloney) the pony
was bony n' colder than stony.
We lifted the pony
all crumpled and rumpled
to a dumple tree stump in the barn.
We laid him out flat
and the farmer took samples
from balloonish type deals on his arms.
The farmer said "Brethren,
his chances 'r slender,
fer yer blender I'll help'im next week.
Which means you must leave him."
We had to believe him.
(Our prospects were looking so bleak.)

I looked at my watch.
It was fifteen to midnight.
The bus would be leaving 'fore long.
Ween had to be
out in Denver on Thursday
or Denver would not hear Ween's song.
What's worse is that Voodoo
was known for her noodle
spoodling up gasses and flames.
If they didn't get back
by midnight exactly,
someone was bound to be maimed.

"What should we do?"
Dean said to Gene Ween.
"We can't leave this pony aloney"
"Don't wanna leave you
on the farm oh dear pony.
Can't leave this sick pony named Tony.
Cancel the tour
and send home the drummer
Lady Voodoo can tissle her tuss.
But Tony the pony
will not be aloney,
though he's got....a bum spine.....he's got us."

"Get Vaseline
and get him all greasy
find pumpkins and melons and roses."
"The roses are free here."
said the fine farmer,
"But for melons you'll pay through your noses."
"Cost is no matter
for Tony is battered
and a battered up pony is awful.
If we must sell our bus
well then that's fine with us.
We'll even do what is unlawful."

The melons were grinded,
the pumpkins all blendered,
the roses were turned into juice.
The pasty concoction
souped all vaseliny
and directly was pumped up his goose.

And for hours Ween did
what Ween didders do
for countless afflicteds and sicks,
doing weenderful tricks
singin' weenderful licks
like Freedom Of 76.
"Pony dear pony
for Chachi for Joanie
for freedom of body and mind.
Rise and be well.
We'll walk down to Woolworths
for bacon steaks til we go blind."

Then... a gasp and a squeal
and a squirm and a wiggle.
All eyes were focused on Tony,
But then there was nothing,
not one single jiggle.
We had witnessed the death of that pony.

The Ween boys were shattered
Their Ween hearts were tattered
and squashed up like poor little bugs.
They hugged that poor pony
so battered and bony
till teardrops were squozed from their mugs.
The teardrops were flowing.
Gene's butt crack was showing.
They cried till their eyelids would crack,
sniffing and sobbing
and blubberly blobbing yelling
"Tony oh Tony come back!"

"Its no use fellas."
said the farmer so softly,
that hardly a person could hear,
"I think we should have
three minutes of silence
for Tony the pony so dear."
We all bowed our heads
and took off our hats
and listened to crickets and stars.
I believe we heard moonbeams
and stardust and Martians
whistling sweet music on mars.

Then like a drifter in the dark came these four words;
"My--- name ------ is --------- Eddie"

"Who said that? Who muttered?
Who uttered that sentence?
I know it was none of us five.
It must be the pony!
Oh cheese macaroni!
HE'S ALIVE HE'S ALIVE HE'S ALIVE!!"

Then after ten minutes
of barfing and pooping
and snotting big snots on the driveway,
Eddie was better.
Yes, better than ever.
He survived in the bestest survive way.
"How did you do that
Sir Eddie the pony?"
"Ten minutes ago you were croaked.
You worried us silly.
We thought you were Tony,
a pony whose spine had been broked.

"The reason I croakered,
was that mean Richard Smokered
always told me to piss up a rope.
Unable to cope,
I floped like a dope.
But now with you all, I'll have hope.
The problem was never
my spine nor my lung,
'twas really a much greater pain.
With all the mean jokes
that Smoker had jokered
thick mucus had smothered my brain.

'Twas that teardrop that fell
straight into my heart
and dribbled down into my spleen,
the tear was that Ween
that weenderful bean
that beams as love's gasoline.
The gasoline bubbled
and boiled all my troubles,
scraped mucus right out of my head.
'Twas your weenderful Ween
and my weenderful spleen
that redeemed me back from the dead."

Joy overcame us.
Nobody could blame us.
Our tummies were tickled with love.
For forty two minutes
we danced and we jickled,
Then a crash came from straight up above.

BOOM POW KERRPLAPPLE
The barn started quaking
and shaking and breaking to bits.
Then in came the Voodoo
with fifty two screws loose
her face now exploding with zits.
"I warned you!" she screeched.
"Back at midnight or else!
And now the or else time has come!"
Her noodle exploodled
green flames and dead poodles.
She coughed and shot sparks from her bum.
"Your singing careers
are over. she cackled.
And you Deedle man, you are dead."
She sizzled and crackled
but then she exploded,
seems her tantrum had killed her instead.

"Finally we're free
of that Lady of Voodoo,
But Denver awaits us." said Dean.
But with no bus and no band
we're screwed up the yoo hoo
and besides, I'm about out of steam."
"You know, I'm a drummer."
said the smart farmer.
"I play a mean tuba." said Rich.
I said, "Take my blender,
it kinda makes music.
Use the speed knob to fiddle the pitch."
"Well thats fine and dandy.
But how do we get there?
We spent all our money on melons
"I've got the answer.
I'm an airplane. said Eddie.
I was taught by a mallard named Ellen."

He laid out and long
and stretched a few meters.
His ears both turned into propellers.
He sprouted some wings
and some tiny round windows
and said, "Climb on aboard nurfy fellers."
They climbed through the back,
yeah, the back of the pony.
The rear door if you know what I mean.
And I cant put my finger
on what I was thinking,
but I know it was 5:17.
His ears started twirling.
His tail started whirling.
Then smoke billowed out of his butt.
He rumbled and roared.
(My head was now swirling.)
Had I not seen it, I'd think me a nut.

Then they were off, Four messy haired men
in a flying pony.

So Eddie the pony,
Richard F. Smoker,
the farmer, the blender and Ween,
left me in the City
of Salt (what a pity)
when they flew to the big Denver scene.
And some people say,
"Gee that's a neat story,
but YaaDeedle Vinks what does it mean?
Don't poop where you eat ,
Don't listen to Voodoo,
and never get rid of your spleen.

the end