Hippies

Christ… Nothing will save us from the hippies.

We all thought hippies had an expiry date. We all thought that eventually they’d be so broke they’d have to get a fucking job and have a wash. We were wrong.

The hippy, as a species, has evolved. Like hepatitis they have mutated into a far more rugged and virulent strain.

(Author’s note: I was originally going to use another disease instead of hepatitis. However, after wracking my brain, I realised that a lot of the diseases simply aren’t as funny as they could be. Sure, the tide’s turning on some of the big ones, but there’s still a section of bitches out there that would complain.

I would have used cancer but I’m not sure how much that mutates. I think that’s just a spreader. I’ve never heard of cancer B, cancer C, or cancer D. Tumour is a fucking funny word.)

The hippes got jobs. The hippies then decided to keep claiming they were hippies despite the fact they’re earning more than me. Going to work with their shirt untucked doesn’t exactly equal sprawling in your own shit wearing a kaftan.

Yet they maintain that they’re free-fucking-spirits… Here’s a list of reasons and evidence that the filthy fucks will cite if you try and pin them down… or ask them what the time is.

Traits or descriptions they’ll use to identify themselves or others and the translation:

“Even though we’re not related I feel they’re my sister/brother/long lost mother/Danny Glover.”

They have got really drunk/ shagged/ or spent some time sitting next to someone who was equally drunk or self-absorbed and they talked about feelings and painfully vapid adventures. There’ll be at least one shared reminiscence regarding a “spiritual experience” on holiday.

“Such a bright soul.”

Someone they’ve got drunk with/ fucked/ talked bollocks with.

“Such a deep person/ different person/ wise old woman.”

A common way to patronise a local they met during one of their holidays. The local either made them a salad or fleeced them for rent or shitty souvenirs. Either that or the local saw a way of getting some booze or a shag. Most of the “spiritual experience” holidays involved fucking some local who usually preys on tourists and gives them chlamydia.

“Such an artistic…”

Any statement beginning with the above will mean the person they’re talking about is one of the most insufferable people on Earth. They’ll play the fucking spoons or paint sticks or shit in a bucket on stage. The hippy will show you an example of the person’s work if possible. It will be a piece of crap. This crap will blend in well with all the other crap the hippy owns.

Hippy accoutrements and other evidence/shit that accumulates (poetry remix).

Bowls of wood, bowls of clay,

Crappy china, dogs of hay,

Wooden idols slightly racist,

Semen of a drunken bassist.

No cups or plates that match,

Pubic hair made of thatch,

Piles of incense and burning

Herbs of stomach turning.

Lots of photos and mementos,

Dirt between all their toes,

Candles that stink all of shit,

A local painting made of grit.

All of it is heaped around,

Ugly rugs upon the ground,

Knee-deep in the shallows,

Safer walking to the gallows.

The dying words of Admiral Nelson.

It’s not all free-love: The dark side of the sandal wearers.

Didn’t seem too bad so far did it? Sure, fucking annoying, but bearable in small doses. I’d almost agree… if it weren’t for one thing… All the above is face-value annoying…

I’ve yet to meet a hippy that’s not a passive-aggressive psychopath.

Let’s get scientific:

If you convince yourself you’re nice… If you convince yourself you’re easy going… If you convince yourself that everyone likes you… If you convince yourself that people are far deeper than they appear and all are wonderful… You’re a insufferable wanker.

Nobody’s just nice… We all get pissed off… We, unlike the filthy hippy, have the decency to show it like we have some fucking balls. We don’t say everything with a flood of apologies and a lot of shuffling and fucking hand-waving…

The POINT of being pushed to breaking point is to express that fact. It’s a pressure valve… It’s designed to make us turn around and go “Just… shut… the fuck… up”. You could take a dump in the mouth of a hippy’s grandmother at her open-casket funeral and they’d still just get passive-aggressive in your face.

Scene:

Hippy follows me outside as I go to leave. I’m feeling sated and lighter.

Hippy: Someone… shit in my grandmother’s mouth.

Me: Weren’t me.

Hippy: I do hate to bring this up… usually I wouldn’t… but… you know…

Me: Are you trying to accuse me of something?

Hippy: No… of course not… I’m just saying… Someone… shit in my grandmother’s mouth.

Me: As I said: Are you accusing me?

Hippy: I really hate people who shit in my grandmother’s mouth… You know what I mean?

Me: Oh really? So what would you say to them if you cornered me.

Hippy: Well… and this is just an example… I’d say: Why did you shit in my grandmother’s mouth… Not that I’m accusing you of shitting in my grandmother’s mouth.

Me: That’s okay then, for a moment there I thought you were accusing me of shitting in your grandmother’s mouth.

Hippy: Did you see someone shit in my grandmother’s mouth? If I was that person I’d feel so bad.

Me: I could shit in your mouth right now and you wouldn’t have the fucking balls to just COME OUT AND SAY TO ME THAT YOU’RE PISSED OFF ABOUT IT…

Hippy: I’m just saying someone shit in my grandmother’s mouth.

I drop my trousers and place my buttocks either side of the hippy’s face.

Hippy: I find people who shit in my face so annoying… Don’t you find them annoying? I’m not making a big deal of it or anything… but it’s so annoying… Don’t you just hate it when it happens? Not that I’m saying you know anything about it.

This is because, as the hippy would say, “I’m a nice person”.

Bullshit.

What they are is an cranky fuck like the rest of us. They just repress that shit because it would disagree with the fucking Dali Lama’s teachings. They don’t have a fuck about what the Dali Lama teaches. They just match it up with themselves and rely on you not knowing. Insufferable pretentious, faux-spiritual, empty-headed, empty-brained, delusional, childish, masturbatory little cuntrags.

A poem to the hippy:

Spiritual as a day-old abortion,

Smugness: Supersize Portion,

Always has a dreamy smile,

Internally bitching all the while.

Whininess is an art,

Yet they call it whimsy,

Insipid, vapid, so full of shit,

Only briefly to reality they’ll flit.

Terminal bores with “spiritual” tales,

Always out to save the whales,

Yet all they do is say that phrase,

And then demand constant praise.

You ain’t saved the fucking mammals,

All you do is poach my Camels.

Just admit you fucking smoke too,

Don’t cough and pretend I choke you.

A smile and a fucking skip,

Droning on like a fucking drip,

You’re not some kind of inspiration,

You’re just a constant irritation.

If I want to talk to you,

I’d not fake a constant flu.

If you quit going on about your self,

I’d not dream of your head on my shelf.

One track record, constant drone,

Vacant bleating down the phone,

Telling me not to be so negative,

As if it’s a terrible way to live,

As if life will be so fucking grand,

If I live with you in fairyland?

Fucking Hippy, Oh Such a Charmer,

Get my knife and a good embalmer.

Look, I could go on for a while… But I’ll cut it short… I’ll sum up with a bit of advice to any hippy reading this:

Grow up and act like a fucking adult. Rain Man had a fucking excuse. You do not. You’re no nicer than anyone else. You just think you are. And that makes you utterly intolerable to anyone who isn’t as deluded as you.

Grow…

The…

Fuck…

Up…

Or…

Shut…

The…

Fuck…

Up.

Easy to remember: GTFUOSTFU