Hippies come in all shapes and sizes. The have long greasy hair and they smell like patchouli oil. They wear old tie-dye T-shirts and corduroy pants from resale shops. Sometimes they wear funny hats. You can find hippies at the park playing hackey sack, or down town trying to score some weed. When they eat, hippies are not very neat. Sometimes hippies will tell you that they are an artist or a poet or a musician. It has been my experience that they are probably not very good at it. This is likely an excuse to not have to get a real job. Hippies can be divided into several sub-cultures. There are skater hippies, redneck hippies, deadhead hippies, lesbian hippies, new-age hippies, nature hippies, and finally there are old hippies still hanging on to the sixties. This is not important, because all hippies are communists.
Sometimes hippies will give up and get a real job, but they usually aren’t hippies for long after that. Sometimes hippies have been known to stay in college for up to a decade or even longer. They rarely graduate. They major in English or Women’s studies or Sociology, but they are really majoring in catching a buzz. You can always find them underneath trees or overhangs or sitting on top of picnic tables: a whole herd of hippies sitting there smoking and talking about the capitalist pigs. Maybe one of them will have a guitar and play a little bit of Knocking on Heaven’s Door. Every hippie knows the chords to Knocking on Heaven’s Door; few of them know anything else. None of them believe in private property except when it comes to their bag. Try to get a hippie to sponsor a joint.
Sometimes musical groups will attract hippies - The Grateful Dead and the Allman Brothers and then Phish and then Widespread Panic. These musical groups are usually very talented and composed of former hippies who were so afraid they might have to get a job that they learned how to play a musical instrument. Now they are all capitalist pigs, but their hippie followers don’t know it. The hippie followers usually only know a catchy lyric or so. They don’t go to the shows to hear the music; they go because there are other hippies there, and they think they might get to get high.
Perhaps you have a hippie in your family. Check the couch. Is someone lying there? Perhaps someone thin with long greasy hair that looks and smells like they need a bath? Now look in the driveway. Do you see a Volkswagen Microbus? How about an AMC Pacer? Perhaps an old Chevy Love pickup with a mountain bike in the back that is worth more than the truck? My dear friend, you have a hippie infestation. Act now, before all of your kid’s cereal goes missing. Grab that damn hippie by his sideburns and put his nose right next to yours. I know that the smell of his breath will be putrid, but it is necessary for effect. Yell out to him, “Hey you lazy stinking hippie. Get off of my couch, stop watching my VH1 Classic, stop drinking my booze, and go get yourself a job!”
This will accomplish nothing of course. He will be back in two hours with some playstation games he borrowed from a friend and he will have red slits where his eyes used to be. He will say, “hey man, I tried to find a job, but the man, you know . . . (cough-cough) they are always trying to change me . . . holding me back . . . know my potential . . . oh, hey man, I stole you a new six pack of beer from my friend Jeff. You want one?”