A DRINKING ORGANIZATION WITH A MOTORCYCLE PROBLEM
The Weasels USA was founded in 1993 in Agoura Hills, California. We don't really have "chapters," but over the years groups in other states have contacted us and asked if they could be Weasels as well. Since the Weasels started out as a joke, the Original Weasels told them, what the hell, go forth and be Weasels. Many of these groups have fallen by the wayside, some others have florished, and new groups are being founded all the time.
That said, all Weasels "chapters" are independent from the Original Weasels USA. They don't answer to us, we don't answer for them. If anyone has a problem with any of them, take it up with them individually.
Fuck...I need a beer...
The Grand Fuckin' Weasel
Weasels are not a gang, mob, syndicate, ring, or crew.
Hell, we ain't even a real motorcycle club.
The Weasels are a drinking organization
with a motorcycle problem.
Weasels are a state of mind.
We have been called...
"a collection of amateur drunks and professional partiers who ride motorcycles
because it beats the crap outta walking."
--Oily, Past President of the Rocky Mountain Weasels
We're not good role-models; we're not well-mannered.
We're not organized enough to tie our own shoes... especially on Weasel Wednesdays... which by the way, often fall on Saturdays.
We are a gaggle of large-mouthed, broad-minded,
foul-smelling road rodents, misfits and jokesters
who dwell in the gray area between outlandish behavior
and outright criminality.
Weasels enjoy getting together to party and to ride our scoots with total disregard for life, limb or personal property. We've been known to travel great distances to over-consume most anything brewed, fermented, distilled, or strained through an old sock.
Weasels make loud, obscene noises intended to frighten small children,
old women, and politicians. We are an unsightly orange nuisance and are barred from many reputable drinking establishments in the area.
We are the cream of the crop and the scum of the earth...
on top of the world and the bottom of the barrel -- usually an oak one.
We could have been mere "street people" but took an even lower road.
But, we're proud to be Weasels and are liberated by the lifestyle.
We worked damned hard to get here... wherever the hell we are.
Accept no imitations.
And although we don't get, seek, nor deserve respect from anyone,
we sure do have a hell of a lot of fun.