So these two hippies were lying on the floor of their filthy, garbage-strewn hovel, staring at the stained ceiling. They were in the middle of one of their 'acid trips', wherein they 'drop' L.S.D. and 'drop out' for a period of several hours. After lying near-comatose for a while, the first hippie spoke up. "Hey, man. I've got a million-dollar idea!". The second one responded, "That's nice, man." Then he proceeded to dig a pea-sized 'booger' out from his nostril and flick it into a nearby bag of rotting detritus.
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One night during our evening family prayers, my precocious son asked me, "Daddy, should I even bother praying for all the hippies?"
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As he watched the space shuttle roar off the Cape Canaveral launch pad into the sky, the hippie was heard to utter, "Far out, man." Little did his drug addled mind realize the truth of his statement.
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During my tour of duty in the Canadian military, I was sent to Africa on a humanitarian mission by the U.N, delivering food and medicine to a famine stricken village. On our arrival, the village chieftain approached our cargo plane cautiously, then, seeing our blue and white U.N. helmets, smiled warmly and greeted us.
"Oh, thank goodness!", he exclaimed. "For a moment there, I thought you were dirty Peace Corps hippies!"
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As the nude hippie was loaded into the waiting police van, he was heard to remark to the disgruntled officers of the law, "I'm not naked, man! It's your society that's naked, man!"
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Q: What do you call a VW van full of hippies veering off a treacherous stretch of the Coquahalla highway into the jagged rocks of the distant ravine below? (I should add that the driver was 'high' on marijuana...)
A: A good start!
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On a walk through Stanley Park, I was accosted by a long-haired fellow who seemed to be in kind of a haze. "Excuse me, man." he stammered. "Is this Haight-Ashbury street in 'Frisco?"
I tartly replied, "No, foolish hippie, this is Vancouver! We 'hate' Ashbury!"
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Encountering some stoned hippies on his way home from school, the clever young scholar was heard to remark, "Learning is MY heroin!"
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"I can fly! Fly, man, fly!" cried the hippie as he jumped off the roof of the building. Since he was not a bird, but point of fact, a hippie on a drug trip, it turned out he could not.
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Our family dog, Daisy, slinked into the kitchen, smelling of patchouli oil. "Honey!", I sighed, alerting my wife. "Better get out the tomato juice. Daisy's been down to the hippie commune again!"
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"No, as a matter of fact, I do not have any 'spare change' on me!", I snarled to the unkempt young man standing before me with his outstretched hand. "Furthermore, I know full well, young man, that you will only use my hard-earned coin to purchase 'reefer' which you will smoke up, then proceed to sit in the park playing bongos. Also, you will fritter the day away in a non-productive manner, juggling sticks, hassling other upstanding citizens for money, keeping your ferret named 'Frodo' on a leash about your neck, regaling your fellow hippies with tales of drugs that you have ingested, attempting to seduce fifteen year old runaways named Dawn, and finally heading home, which in your case consists of a filthy, bong-water stained bare mattress in a basement suite that you share with five other hippies!"
"My ferret's named, "Gandalf", actually." muttered the dejected hippie as he shuffled off.
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Two hippies in the depths of a drug haze sat crosslegged in front of an ancient air vent generator, mistaking its rhythmic wheezing and coughing for an outdoor music festival. Suddenly, one of them jerked up with a start from his nodding reverie.
"Aw, man.", he exclaimed. "Isn't this the Phish concert?"
"No, man.", said the second one. "I thought it was a Grateful Dead concert."
The first one slowly got up, gathering his satchel and blanket. Shaking his head, and teary-eyed, he sighed, "Jerry Berry's dead, man. He's dead."
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One afternoon, I was enjoying a brunch on the patio of a bistro that I frequent. My repast was suddenly interrupted by the sight of an outstretched hand near the bistro's fence. A shaggy, filthy, ragged beggar was on the other side of the fence. He spoke in a cracked, tremulous voice.
"Listen, guy. I ain't gonna lie to you. I'm a homeless alcoholic. I swear if you give me some change, I'll spend it only on cheap booze, not drugs. I may be a bum, but I ain't no hippie bum!"
Moved by his forthrightness, I responded the only way possible.
"No.", I smiled. "No. Go away." Then I returned to my lobster salad.
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Have you seen the title of that leftist hippie Noam Chomsky's latest book? It's entitled, "Everyone's Looking At Me Funny."
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During the recent WTO demonstration, a hirsute protester was seen attempting to stick a flower down the barrel of the shotgun of one of the dedicated police officers assigned to provide riot control. The protester's poignant gesture, however, was for naught, as the officer's gun 'accidentally' discharged, blowing the naive young man's head open like a ripe casaba melon! His blood, bone, and brain fragments spattered the surprised hippie crowd!
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While passing through the airport, a travelling hippie caught the eye of a tax-paying man with his family. The man chuckled, then said to his wife, "Haw,haw! I can't tell if it's a boy or a girl!" Infuriated, the hippie turned to the man and exclaimed, "Hey, man! Why don't you suck my dick and find out-". Just then, the alert airport security police mistook the hippie for a member of Al-Queda, battered him to unconsciousness, and the hippie was sent to Guantanamo Bay for 'interrogation', where his 'smart-ass' remarks were not considered particularly amusing by the brave U.S. Marines who safeguard our freedoms.
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(postscript: I'm sorry. I cannot keep up this facade. Steve LeCoulliard is a kind, generous-hearted man who had nothing whatsoever to do with this slanderous post. He is in fact, a considerate and compassionate human being who's depth of spirit extends to all mankind, even hippies. I, on the other hand, am a horrible, horrible creature who, if there was any justice in our world, would be stuck in a bamboo cage and exhibited to people, if they wished to pay a token fee of a nickel, who could poke me with a stick. Once again, I am truly sorry...)
(but I hate hippies.)
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