And wobble. And wobble some more. And wobble still more. And wobble less, then more, then less, then more, then WHAM they're walloped, so they really wobble, but then wobble less, then less, then...
...either they wobble or maybe -- maybe -- MAYBE if people aren't schmucks to them -- (maybe) -- they stop.
Do they have hopes? Dreams? Fears? Inner lives? Are they allowed to love? Can't even molded plastic be allowed to love? To have aspirations? Goals?
It'd be just a little too convenient if the only thing Weebles think is "Yes! I'm gonna wobble but not fall down LIKE A BOSS. I'll own it. 'Cause I'm the best at what I do, and what I do...is wobble."
Please...acknowledge the skills of the Weebles you've known. And next time you see one, hug it.