gippy and the hizzies

Guest Blogger: Gippy the Hippy

Last year I invited Mr. Florien Stain (aka Dirty Floor) to write a post about Hannah Giles.(Hannah The Angel)

Now I welcome Gippy the Hippy to tell you a little story.

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Gippy and the Hizzies 

by Gippy the Desert Hippy

I don’t label things. I didn’t even name my dog. I asked him what he calls himself and he said Barack. So that’s his name.

I live out in the desert with Barack. Up until last week I looked after land that some rich dude owns.

One day this Land Rover pulled up to my trailer. Two real friendly guys with beards like mine asked me if I owned the land. I told them I could give them the number of Goldberg the owner.

I could tell they were Arabs. They probably didn’t want to hassle with Jews. I told them that I respect them. They warmed up to me even more and broke out some real fine Lebanese hash. We sat watching the sun set over the desert, smoking that rightous kief and drinking tea.

They were looking for a nice secluded spot where they could pray and perhaps shoot off some rifles once in a while…to celebrate the victories of their favorite soccer teams and for religious holidays.

I agreed to let them use a spot by the canyon. They would give me an ounce of hash every two weeks.

More and more of them started rolling in there. They had a real nice Camp. It was some sort of club. They called themselves Hizzbowler or something like that. I just called them Hizzies.

The Hizzies and I got along fine. They didn’t bother me and I did likewise. Old man Goldberg never visited his property. And no one was building anything so there was hardly anybody else around.

Pedro and Juan, who were my closes neighbors, told me they liked the Hizzies too. Most of them spoke real good Spanish.

My neighbors crossed over the border but never made it to L.A. where they were both heading. They found each other and fell in love. It turns out many of the Hizzies are also gay. They had parties at the Mexican boy’s trailer almost every night.

Things got a little weird when I asked if I could join their club. They call me Gippy the Hippy but I do like guns.

They told me first I must become a Muslim. I told them I was of all faiths and was already part Muslim. This was impossible according to them.

Gippy ain’t down with the Neo-Cons, so I wouldn’t label them Terrorists. Not until one of them finally told me:

“We are more than a club. I have been teaching Spanish and training mujahideen down in South America for the last few years. Now all operations have moved into the next phase: consolidating our forces for operation in North America.”

“There is great opportunity for Americans who work with us. But any who stand in our way won’t last long. We have power at the top and forces on the ground almost ready to strike. “

Barack!, my dog barked. I almost pissed my pants, I was so scared by this dude.

The next day I moved out and called Goldberg to tell him I quit.

“What happened?” he asked me. “Did you screw up?”

“I wouldn’t label it that.” I told him.

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