One of the things about hippies is they don't wash. But sometimes they get near water and even in it, like a crew of motorcycle hippies chancing it out of Austin who ended up in my friend's stock tank. His Mossberg pump told them to leave, along with the snakes, and they did.
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Speaking of which, the last trailer full of stuff left my friend's (RIP) place today. I tell you, he sure collected and where is all that going now? Hey, you get the sermon. Moral aside or perhaps reinforced, we found his old '60s service dress uniform. Neatly pressed. Respect.
My friend was a member of an experimental US/AUS chopper unit which saw action in Laos and Cambodia. Their motto? Get The Bloody Job Done. And they did. Utter respect. Anyway, we got the job done today and all was good.
A friend, RIP, landed at LAX during the conflict and a hippy punched him in the taxi rank, shrieking "baby killer." He hit that hippy right in the face and a cop came up, "Do you want me to book her for assault?"
Your Best Pal,
LSP
