Wednesday, August 24, 2011

Oh, God.  The Sixties are coming back.  Well I've got a 12-gauge double-barreled duck gun chambered for three-inch Magnum shells.  And - speaking strictly for this retired hippie and former pinko beatnik - if the Sixties head my way, they won't get past the porch steps.  They will be history.  Which, for chrissakes, is what they're supposed to be.  ~P.J. O'Rourke


Tapperass said...

I dig P.J., and I know he can be very funny and make look easy. However I saw that banner and thought maybe we are just getting older faster.

skippy said...

The 60s. What a gas.

Cool, hairy, bitchin’ and boss. Lay it on me, brother. Gotta love it or leave it. Dig?

Don’t sweat it or flip your wig. You know, freak out? It’s no biggie, Spence and Kate. Just hang loose, baby. It’s all groovy. Flower children and flower power, a Summer of Love, flashbacks and free love. What wasn’t there to like? Cool threads, acid and afros, day-glo and tie dye and bell bottoms and go-go granny skirts and Lennon glasses. A ‘lil toke and joke: drop a dime, score a lid— Mexican skank, seeds, and the total munchies going on with the roaches.

What a scene: zits, woodies, scoping out some stacked chicks, and a far out mean cherry machine cruising and burning rubber. Far too heavy, man. The Haight, the Heat, Honkies and Hanoi Jane, the head shops, the hair, and the friends bogartin’ hits. Peace, paisley, patchouli, papers, and a crash pad. What more did you need? Stoked and stoned. The 60s were outta sight and way too hip for most. Sock it to me, baby. Can you handle it?

Sgt. Friday was a real hassle, though. A real bummer, a downer, and the total square. He acted like he knew it all. He was really The Man without a clue, a Mr. Cleaver, a total narc bustin’ the People. He really went ape! Especially busting those kids drying their weed in pillowcases at the laundromat after the old lady complained of a strange smell. They should’ve sent his chicken candyass to ‘Nam. Turning on, tuning out, and some shagging on the side would’ve done that Fuzz good. Probably would've busted a wide smile on his mug, too.

It’s been real. Glad we survived, Jack.


Gotta jam, Kate and Spence. Later, alligators.

The Editors said...

Skippy, you crack us up!

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