For all you fuckin' fucks out there

who think Weasels have no appreciation of culture.

Fuck You.

Just feast your eyes on the little pearls below.
Rocky Mountain Weasels Poetry Corner

Oily's Ode

by Oily (duh)
The morning sun’s just touchin’ the bottom of my boots.

My leathers are stiff from the cool wind goin’ ‘round.

Right glove turns like the hand of a backward clock,

left one’s just holdin’ down.

Ode to Oily

by Crotch (Pervert Poet at Large)

Oily was born in Nanteen
And he invented a fucking machine
Concave or convex
it would fit either sex
But what a mofo to clean

Brighton Weasel
by Longbeard 

 There once was a Weasel from Brighton
Who thought he'd at last found a tight one.
He said, "Oh my love,
It fits like a glove."

Said she, "But you're not in the right 'un."

Hmmm, thought this Weasel from Brighton
Still believin' his lady a tight one,
"Tis true, on the whole
that I'm in the wrong hole

cuz there's plenty of room in the right one."

Weaselette

by Easy

A Weaselette is sneaky and mean.

You must keep her in close quarantine.

Or she slides to the slums and quickly becomes
disorderly, drunk and obscene.

J. J.'s Lament

by Easy

Writer J.J. is callous and crude.

His morals distressingly lewd.

He's not worth the reading

by persons of breeding.

It's designed for us vulgar and rude.

New Weasel/Old Weasel

by Easy

There was a feisty, new Weasel from Boulder

Who learned from wise Weasels much older.

That when push came to shove

he could take off his glove

and flip finger from over his shoulder.

Unlike the old Weasel from Greeley
who grew way too touchy-feely.

While in Sturgis last year

showing effects from the beer

he shit in his saddle quite freely.

Tiny Weasel

by Easy

There once was a young Weasel member

whose tool shrank every December.

It got so fuckin’ cold

he grew not so bold

and coudn't piss 'til after September.

This Weasel wintered in Littleton

his dick was long but a brittle one.

As he aged it shrunk small

until it was nothing at all.

So now he’s old with a little one.

Beanie Weasel

by Easy

One Weasel who wore a beanie

would pour gin on his weenie.

We thought him uncouth

until he added vermouth
and slipped his date a martini.

 

THE BIKER'S CREED

by Anonymous

I ride because it is fun.
I ride because I enjoy the freedom I feel from being exposed to the elements, and the vulnerability to the danger that is intrinsic to riding.  I do not ride because it is fashionable to do so.

I ride my machine, not wear it. My machine is not a symbol of status. It exists simply for me, and me alone. My machine is not a toy. It is an extension of my being, and I will treat it accordingly, with the same respect as I have for myself.
I strive to understand the inner-workings of my machine, from the most basic to the most complex. I will learn everything I can about my machine, so that I am reliant upon no one but myself for its health and well being.
I strive to constantly better my skill of control over my machine. I will learn its limits, and use my skill to become one with my machine so that we may keep each other alive. I am the master, it is the servant. Working together in harmony, we will become an invincible team.
 
I do not fear death. I will, however, do all possible to avoid death prematurely. Fear is the enemy, not death. Fear on the highway leads to death, therefore I will not let fear be my master. I will master it.
My machines will outlive me. Therefore, they are my legacy. I will care for them for future bikers to cherish as I have cherished them, whoever they may be.
 
I do not ride to gain attention, respect, or fear from those that do NOT ride, nor do I wish to intimidate or annoy them. For those that do not know me, all I wish from them is to ignore me. For those that desire to know me, I will share with them the truth of myself, so that they might understand me and not fear others like me.
I will never be the aggressor on the highway. However, should others mess with me, their aggression will be dealt with in as severe manner as I can cast upon them.
 

I will show respect to other bikers more experienced or knowledgeable than I am. I will learn from them all I can. However, if my respect is not acknowledged or appreciated, it will end.
I will not show disrespect to other bikers less experienced or knowledgeable than I am. I will teach them what I can. However, if they show me disrespect, they will be slapped.
It will be my task to mentor new riders, that so desire, into the lifestyle of the biker, so that the breed shall continue. I shall instruct them, as I have been instructed by those before me. I shall preserve and honor traditions of bikers before me, and I will pass them on unaltered.
 
I will not judge other bikers on their choice of machine, their appearance, or their profession. I will judge them only on their conduct as bikers. I am proud of my accomplishments as a biker, though I will not flaunt them to others. If they ask, I will share them.
I will stand ready to help any other biker that truly needs my help. I will never ask another biker to do for me what I can do for myself.
 
I am not a part-time biker. I am a biker when, and where ever I go. I am proud to be a biker, and hide my chosen lifestyle from no one. I ride because I love freedom, independence, and the movement of the ground beneath me. But most of all, I ride to better understand myself, my machine, the lands in which I ride, and to seek out and know other bikers like myself.

 

THE BIKER

(unknown)

I saw you hug your purse closer in the grocery store line.
But, you didn't see me put an extra $10.00 in the collection plate last Sunday.
I saw you pull your child closer when we passed each other on the sidewalk.
But, you didn't see me playing Santa at the local mall.
I saw you change your mind about going into the restaurant.
But, you didn't see me attending a meeting to raise money for hurricane relief.
I saw you roll up your window and shake your head when I rode by.
But, you didn't see me riding behind you when you flicked your cigarette butt out the car window.
I saw you frown at me when I smiled at your children.
But, you didn't see me when I took time off to run toys to the homeless.
I saw you stare at my long hair.
But, you didn't see me and my friends cut ten inches off for Locks of Love.
I saw you roll your eyes at our leather jackets and gloves.
But, you didn't see me donate my old ones to those that had none.
I saw you look in fright at my tattoos.
But, you didn't see me cry when my children were born or read their names written on my skin and in my heart.
I saw you change lanes while rushing off to go somewhere.
But, you didn't see me going home to be with my family.
I saw you complain about how loud and noisy our bikes can be.
But, you didn't see me when you changed the CD and drifted into my lane.
I saw you yelling at your kids in the car.
But, you didn't see me pat my child's hands, knowing he was safe behind me.
I saw you, reading the newspaper or map as you drove down the road.
But, you didn't see me squeeze my wife's leg as she said to take the next turn.
I saw you race down the road in the rain.
But, you didn't see me get soaked to the skin so my son could have the car

to go on his date.
I saw you run the yellow light just to save a few minutes of time.
But, you didn't see me trying to turn right.
I saw you cut me off because you needed to be in my lane.
But, you didn't see me leave the road.
I saw you waiting impatiently for my friends to pass.
But, you didn't see me. I wasn't there.
I saw you go home to your family.
But, you didn't see me.

Because, I died that day you cut me off.
I was just a biker… a person with friends and a family.
But, you didn't see me.

 

SUBMIT, DAMN YOU!!!
Calm down you bondage freaks... we just want your poetry.

Hmmm, on the other hand , leave your phone number and a brief (not too brief) list

of your peculiar fetishes on our Guest Book.

Just in case... y'know?

If you have a poem, sonnet, limerick or other useless piece of crap

send it to us.

Who knows, we might use it....  or you.     

Depends.