The Unsupervised at Whippersnap Festival “26

Hola festivarians, old and young, sideways and backwards, to the return of the eye of the slurricane and the deliciousness that is the Florida winter festival season. Spinning Wheel Productions presented Whippersnap Music and Arts Festival at Florida Sand Music Ranch February 18-21, 2026 and the unsupervised arrived en masse. Have you ever been punched with a queen conch shell? Irreversible damage. The large woman referred to it as Bahamian brass knuckles. There’s a price for living in the dense fog of moral ambiguity.

For the first time in a great while, the Consigliere and Lucienda Rosalita were unsupervised, left to their own devices. What would they do without a staff of qualified experts to keep things on the straight and narrow? The Weapon to the port and the Gaping Hole to starboard, things were sure to get “sporting”.  All cleared for takeoff. One doesn’t always get to pick neighbors at the festival. Get what you get and don’t throw a fit. Tough titty said the kitty but the milk tastes good. These are the Unsupervised at Whippersnap Festival “26. How do you behave when no one is watching? All unattended, single adults will be sold as slaves.

The Counselor starred coldly across the outdoor rug way and his eyes, hidden behind his dark glasses, said, “No. Please don’t do this. Sell crazy someplace else. We’re all stocked up here.” Lucienda reminded him that new neighbors were often “colorful”, unpredictable and sporting and she also needed someone to park behind her vehicle so the parking fascists would forget about her illegal parking. And to be clear…they were unsupervised. She asked if she could read them one of her poems and they obliged hesitantly. They were both fans of the spoken word but it had been known to derail an open mic. It began harmless enough but as she went on, things began to come frighteningly clear. It was a Shakespearean joke. Hamlet’s opus. Or the poem that it was, but it was going on way too long. Welcome to the endless tangent. The coda to the coda. The veil of sanity had been lifted and the clarity of Lucy’s mistake was chilling. She had welcomed in a madman. They continued to listen as the play drifted on for another fifteen minutes. It wasn’t about poetry at that point, but the lack of some kind of awareness, better conceived as a four-part epic that should have lasted the entire weekend. The Consigliere, the king of the multiple tangent felt the brunt of the comedy vanguard directly to his naked face.

Yes! He preferred seasoned whores because they were better at it. No sir, they said Sooza horns. The Gaping Hole said, “It’s not my fault. Blame the blonde Moroccan hash.” Lucy was at the Karl Denson set when their met eyes. Welcome to my parlour said the spider to the fly. Sometimes we thank God for unanswered prayers.

This is the enthusiastic corruption of the public good. Welcome to the boot and rally. In the midst of your purging, you still must resist the energy vampire. Nothing in this life is free. The Counselor was besieged on all sides by tweakish energies. Carnies getting married in betwixt the tiki torches, underage hoodlums picking the burrs out of the Jew fro? The succubi groweth and is plenty when considered all at once.

Tonight Holiday Inn Surf Side. Come to the Blew Room for a full night of Champagne Room Confessional, featuring Ma Roux and the Pickin’ Chitlins. A lanyard with no laminate? What does that even mean? And while they were trying to enjoy some Stephanie Perez? Yes, that’s gonna be hard to explain. And then, like a phonetician phalanx, straight into the VIPness. Call the doctors, I see Kanika Moore everywhere. Endeavor to persevere.

He came to in the middle of the crowd at Guavatron. How had he gotten here? What was the viscous sheen on his hands and where had the feathers come from. Questions aplenty and some mysteries are best left unsolved. The Consigliere knew something was wrong when he returned to camp. “I smell bitch.” he grumbled, finding Lucy sleeping in the B-2 Spirit. He immediately went back to doing lines on the toilet seat. It had been a long day. And they still had to see Cope. Lucy met JGrievous behind the sound guys, in the sweet spot. You couldn’t see shit but the sound was perfect.

Never trust a fast talker and if the opposition gets on a roll in court, knock a book off the desk. Slow the roll, break the groove. They had at one time been purists, but now they had regressed into the back halls of questionable dope. Afghani weed smoked though Taliban glass. Congratulations infidel, you are funding global terrorism.

Tamiami and Roux met Shane Turner at Sertoma, perhaps now they were listening to Molly Hatchet together in hell. So for that reason and countless OBJs, its sacred grounds remain a Florida favorite.  The week’s perfect weather reminds the average savage why the Florida winter festival season is the alpha and the omega.

What kind of witchery had been at work in the bosom of the hobo kamp? Why was the duck confit and the rest of the cooler of good intentions scattered around the kitchen? Was she taking a bath in the beer cooler? Her hair was so full of burrs the only solution was a good shearin’. Stranger than fiction. Hard question: Can a man be responsible gentleman and a degenerate scumbag at the same time?

The Weapon lurked south from Pennsylvania, all the way to Brooksville. And she brought her banjo. Ye merciful gods, could this be true? Their last banjist had moved up to Indiana for love and nothing says “I love you” like moving to Indiana. Lucy and the Consigliere knew they were in considerable trouble as soon as her right hand contorted into the ancient claw hammer shape. Banjovi’s circle of confusion and sideways jam. Oh, and by the way, she was a trained opera singer who reeled it in enough for bluegrass work. Hmmm. Raise Dale, praise Hail. Colorful fun if yer into that kind of thing.

Lucy rubbed her eyes. What time was it? Sunrise or sunset? Some of it was coming back. Who was Valentina? It was something about glitter. A human glitter bomb and worth finding again. The energy of youth. Hey Maxine, what kind of Boca Raton trash turns the nose up at biscuits and gravy? Sorry Dino, she’s from Alabama, I guess she’s not into Cisco sausage gravy.

Namaste and may you be free of lice and bench warrants. Keep up with Kamp Hapenis as we chuga, chuga, chuga into the eye of the Slurricane and the never-ending festival season.

“The wheel is turning and you can’t slow down
You can’t let go and you can’t hold on
You can’t go back and you can’t stand still
If the thunder don’t get you then the lightning will” -R. Hunter

Eight chuga-chugas before a choo choo? Important answers for important times. Wook Wranglers, because you’re worth it.

Thanks to the folks at Whippersnap for letting the Wranglers join in the silly fun. Keep up with the slurricane as we push forth through the middle of the Florida spring festival season. Work ain’t work when you’re having fun.

Namaste y’all.