Monday, November 19, 2012
The dirty hippies who did not die from making love like barnyard animals or ingesting really bad Acid man, don't eat the purple microdot, it has strychnine in it, but brother those orange barrels will send you away and you'll never come back, and hey man, know where I can score some doob, wink wink. The Hippies got tired of their barnyard antics and slowly were sucked up and into the culture they claimed they hated. They cut their hair, took a bath, got a job, and before they knew it they were sitting on the couch with their belt unbuckled and that top pants button undone. With a beer in hand and their belly draped over their sacks they tried to watch the ball game in peace. Instead they began yelling at their damn kids to "Quiet down gaddammit and ferchrisakes take it outside". Dad works hard, and all he's got is Sunday watching his game or another race around the track with Dale Earnhardt, a real patriot. And suddenly without much fuss and very little muss the Hippies had lost their battle and their dream. They had become their parents.
But you know it's hard to keep that hope for a brighter future burning when your shoulders are bearing mortgages, a job you hate, kids to trip over, and neighbors that keep you up at night. It's hard to keep flames alive when just finding the matches is about all you can do. You know now sitting there in your mid forties, Life does not change. You are born, you fornicate, and then you die. You realize your parents were right, they had this life pegged. It is better to live angry than to follow a dream.
Afterword of sorts - I started this post with two words - Monday Morning. With nothing else to go on, what I just wrote was the result. I am often surprised with what I manage to dredge up from the cranial cesspool.
Keep it 'tween the ditches....................
The tune that floated through my mind