WELCOME TO THE
This is the webpage where pictures of the "Brotherhood of the Spoon" plaques are displayed.
At this point, a bit of an explanation of the origin of the "Brotherhood of the Spoon" would prolly be efficacious.
As you may or may not know, there was a netizen whose name was Karel L. Beijen, who posted under the name of Lurchc19. Lurch was his nickname in the Marines, and c19 stood for Charlie Company, First Batallion, Ninth Marines. Karel was also known as "The Leggless Buddha Godfather" due to the fact that he lost both his legs in a catastrophic motor vehicle accident in New York in the late 1960s. The following picture is of Karel L. Beijen, aka "The Leggless Buddha Godfather", aka "Blodwin".
Karel was a former Marine who served during the VietNam war. He was one of "The Walking Dead", as those who fought in the battle of KheSanh came to be known. He was one of but a relative handful of survivors of that battle.
Karel passed away quite unexpectedly on April 8, 2001 of a heart attack at his home in Onalaska, Texas.
~~~AllisonWonderland~~~ was Karel's closest friend, his computer guru, and in the process of teaching him how to use his computer, ~~~AW~~~ taught Karel how to make and use "sock-puppets" when posting to the UseNet.
Karel was a music lover and one of his favorite bands was Badfinger, who made the album "No Dice". On that album there was a song called: "Take This Spoon, Blodwin". And so it was that Karel created a sock-puppet whom he called "Blodwin". Blodwin's organization was: "The Brotherhood of the Spoon".
After Karel died, his heirs (a sister and a brother) who live in New York asked ~~~AW~~~ to clean up Karel's belongings, in preparation for the sale of Karel's house. In the process of cleaning the place, ~~~AW~~~ ran across a large collection of "orphan" spoons. 234 spoons, no two alike. Now the question became: "Just what in the hell does one do with 234 spoons?" ~~~AW~~~ didn't want to throw them away, and so......
The idea came that ~~~AW~~~ would gild them. Gilding is a process of applying 24 karat Gold Leaf to an object, which the picture here will server as an example. This particular object is a Doe Skull that ~~~AW~~~ found near his home in the Deep East Texas Pineywood Forest.
And what ~~~AW~~~ decided to do with all these gilded spoons was to mount each one on a Black Velvet background, which in turn would be mounted on a Red enameled panel, on a nicely finished wooden plaque. The purpose of this plaque would be to be presented as an award to the writer of an essay/short story on a subject that would be decided by ~~~AW~~~.
The first plaque was subsequently awarded to Allen Crider for his short story called "The Rape". The requirements of the story was that it had to contain the words: "Fuckwit"; "delusionary", and "asshole" in reference to a pompous and conceited character who has come to be known far and wide as: "The Little, Ugly, Queer, Bald-headed 'P-R-I-C-K'". The following picture is of the first Brotherhood of the Spoon plaque to be awarded.
The story is here posted.
"The Rape" by Allen Crider
"Here you are," the woman cheerily mouthed as she handed Fuckwit two grocery bags filled with, potatoes, celery, carrots, bread, lard, and an eighteen pound tom turkey. Fuckwit mumbled a few thank-yous and kept his eyes on the floor as he turned and limped out of the Boulder First Episcopal Church. He had scored another load of groceries -- groceries given to the needy but also available to lazy, dishonest, dilusionary, and unscrupulous assholes who pretend to be poor or handicapped. Fuckwit was a regular to this church and the woman shook her head and sighed as she watched him, a bag in each arm, limp out the door and down the steps to the street below.
After a brief dumpster dive behind the Circle-K, Fuckwit reached his musty downtown welfare apartment. He had found a plastic bottle of Old Piedmont burbon that was about half full of amber liquid. It smelled like whiskey, and Fuckwit had wedged it inside the grocery bag with the turkey. "Moogie and Judas... they plotted with Winona... the Secret Service..." he thought to himself as he slipped the key into the grime-covered lock of room 103. Even though it was 2:00 in the afternoon on a brilliant Colorado Spring day, the apartment was dark and the air still. All the windows were shut and every brown, heavy curtain was drawn. None had been opened to reveal the world outside since he shut them the previous September. Fuckwit limped into the kitchen and turned to set one bag on the table. As he did this the other, heavier bag containing the turkey and the burbon ripped through its juice-soaked bottom. The turkey slammed onto his swollen, gout-riddled foot and the burbon cartwheeled toward the living room. "Ouch! Goddam Varney," he thought to himself and watched the turkey roll off his aching foot and slide across the kitchen floor. Fuckwit began limping over to the turkey, but a strange glazed look soon appeared in his eyes. "I'm not taking your crap, bitch!" he yelled out loud. He reached over to the counter and grabbed a sharp, serrated knife which was caked with week-old peanut butter. "You're gonna strip for daddy," he said softly. He stooped down and lunged the knife through the plastic turkey wrapper. His head turned toward the sink and he tossed the knife which hit the dark curtain above the sink and stuck fast with the glue of ancient peanut butter mixed with cold turkey blood. Fuckwit then grabbed the plastic turkey wrapper with both hands and struggled to rip it from the carcass. His glazed look deepened as he flinged the freed wrapper carelessly to one side and began stroking the wet skin of the denuded turkey. A drop of drool slid down a corner of Fuckwit's mouth as he stood up and reached into the unbroken bag of groceries. He pulled out the small box of lard. The word "Manteca" on the box soon was ripped through as Fuckwit hurriedly clawed a handful of the white pork grease. With his other hand, Fuckwit unbuttoned his ancient Dockers pants, dropped his BVDs. He then slathered the lard over his tiny, throbbing member. Fuckwit dropped to his knees and whispered, "I'll show you who's the master. Come here, bitch" as he grabbed the turkey and slid it slowly toward him. Out in the empty hallway of the apartment building, amidst the sounds of cars on the street, TVs behind every door, and telephone calls, a muffled sound arose and then quickly dissipated, heard by none... "unnnnh, unnnnnh, oooooooo Winona..."
THE END
The second competition will be starting shortly. For those of you who would like to enter, the rules are quite simple:
There is no entry fee.
You may enter as often as you like.
The subject of the essay/short story/song will be announced at <alt.solipsism>.
This competition is for the lyrics to a theme song for the TV show which will be titled "The Boulder Buddha Billys". The lyrics must be to the music of "The Beverly Hillbillys" and MUST include the spoken tags between verses.
Once the entries are in, they will be judged by a distinguished group of judges, and then the plaque will be awarded.
A picture of the plaque will be posted here to encourage whosoever would like to enter to do so.
Once the winner is determined, the text of the winning entry will be posted on this website under the picture of the plaque.
Well, that's about it. More information will be posted here and at <alt.solipsism> as time goes on. So put on those thinking caps, sharpen your wits, and "git" to writing.
This could be fun, and the Brotherhood of the Spoon plaque will make a handsome addition to the decor of your computer room.
The winner of the Brotherhood of the Spoon award for the
Boulder Buddha Billys theme song lyrics is Myraide O'Conner. Myraide's entry was picked
for its content, style, verve, and general over-all spirit considering the content requirements.
"The Boulder Buddha Billys" by Myraide O'Conner
Come listen to my story, 'bout Baby Buddha cooing "GOO"
He grew into a soft man with a large head full of RUE.
Then one day he was a'munching on some MOO,
And out of his mouth comes a bubblin' POO!
Spoken: (Bullshit that is .... Verbal diarrhea)
He claims to be enlightened with a Capital "E"
Posts on alt.c.4th-grade and his lessons (ha!) are free
"Focus on the second hand" but questions do not pose
He'll just get fuckin' pissed off, for the answer he not knows....
Spoken: (ten second man.....jerkoff)
Now he's gettin' hitched up to a boner named bRay,
And we're all a'lookin' forward to the Best-est Wedding Day!
But - is Stevie-girl a virgin coming to the nuptial bed?
Cos THIS time he won't be "Gittin" - he'll be "Givin" - hubby head!
Spoken: (Ah! Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh, sweet mystery of life at last I found you! ... Oh my God! ...Woof!)