VISIT THE HIPPY'S NEW SITE: Spend some time chilling out with the hippy...He used to be "the most shroomtastic stoner on the internet!" until the UK banned fresh magic mushrooms. He's still "the biggest internet celebrity you've never heard of!" He'll make you laugh, he'll make you think...he'll make you wish you were a hippy too!

Tuesday, September 21, 2004

Back again. Wasn't planning on it today, but the fact is I really don't know what to do with myself, here in paradise. I'm not really in a very good mood right now, so who knows, perhaps it will make for a more interesting entry.

Some twat just interrupted me, asking if the internet access was free, asking how much it costs, telling me it was too expensive. Guess what asswipe, I don't care what you fucking think! I don't work here, I don't have to be nice to you, so just fuck right off back to whatever hell-hole you crawled out of. I came in here for some privacy, for some time with my own twisted thoughts. I don't give a shit if you need to check your stock portfolio or whatever it is that's so goddamn important that you are too cheap to spend 6 Euros on an hour of surf-time. Cunt!

Now where was I, oh yes, whinging in paradise. I just had my beach-side lunch ruined by a swarm of wasps, that's really why I'm so pissed off right now. I hate wasps, I might even be allergic. It runs in my family and I've never been stung. I know that if I was, there's a better than average chance I could die from it, quickly, unless someone administered some adrenaline sharpish. What's the likelihood of that happening here in paradise. Nothing moves quickly here. I don't really feel like dying today.

Pity poor Mrs. Hippy, who has to put up with my maniacal mood swings and homicidal tendencies, brought to the fore by my lack of lunch. I get really moody when my blood sugar drops. She's at the beach, probably snorkeling with the fishies by now. I won't go back to the beach today, I made enough of a fool of myself while I was there today to last a lifetime.

Ok, now we're getting to the real point. I'm not good at taking vacations. I hate to fly, I don't sleep well out of my own bed, and I'm missing splif right now wicked-bad as well. I come on these trips for Mrs. Hippy's sake. She loves beach holidays and I would be a complete evil bastard if I denied her these simple pleasures.

God, I could literally kill for a juicy skunky spliff right now. I'm sure if I put some effort and time into it, I could score some, but at this point in the stay, it's just not worth it. Soon, hippy, soon, you will be home and stoned and sleeping the sleep you really need.

The big spender just returned, he's paid for some time on the PC right behind me. Chances are he'll interrupt me again with some inane question on how to use the PC. I might have to take the heal of my hand and drive his nose bone deep into his brain, causing a swift and painless death.

No court in the world would convict me for this justifiable homicide. I'd be doing him a favour, putting him out of his misery anyway.

Enough already!

I saw a good chunk of John Kerry's speech on my hotel tv yesterday, before CNN disappeared from the system. It was a good speech, strong, and highly critical of Bush's messy Iraq policy. It was billed a shift in tone from the Kerry camp, touted as a change in strategy.

Kerry's actually a good speaker and far more intelligent than the incumbent cunt. But that's not going to win him the election. What I didn't hear was one single, short, sharp soundbite that could be clipped from the speech and run ad-nauseum on tv news bulletins.

I know how to choose soundbites and have made my living doing so for a long time.
Chances are, where-ever you may be watching tv news, you've heard soundbites I've chosen just for you. I don't say that to boost the hippy-ego, but to put into proper context my observation. US politics runs on soundbites, no one bothers to listen to an entire speech.

Here's a suggestion to the DNC and Kerry's handlers and speech-writers from someone who knows better. Before you let your boy John deliver any more speeches, read the text. The obvious "button" soundbites should leap out at you from the page in a very blatant way. You're suppose to be smarter than the journalists, if you can't find them, they won't find them! It doesn't matter if it is the best, most truthful, heart-felt speech he's ever given, if it doesn't contain any "button" comments, you've wasted your time and effort.

You probably pay your media advisers thousands of bucks a day, but I'm giving you this advice for free. Take it and run with it, or you'll all be unemployed come November 3rd. Of course, if you want to pay me for it, I'll take the money and run, just right the cheque out to the hippy.

My dad's been on my mind a lot, though that is hardly surprising considering he hasn't been gone that long. It's still a surreal concept to me, that he's dead. Perhaps that's the true purpose of funerals and wakes, to make it real.

Flashes of memories pop into my head, silly little tableau from my childhood and extended adolescence. I don't let them remain there long for fear of feeling to much about his passing.

Intellectually, I understand that he doesn't exist anymore, not today, not tomorrow, not ever. But he does exist in the past, in my memories and of those who love(d) him.

I've been putting off writing a little tribute to him, here in my blog. I have no other forum to really do it anyway. As I've said in the past, he would certainly have hated my blog and the personal truths that I write about and especially the drug references. I've got no place else to do it really, so when I'm ready it will be written here.

I'm thinking that I should peg it to the 1 month anniversary of his passing, which will be on 3rd October.

I'm also thinking I should write my older brother, the one who did put the time into helping my father out in his final year of life. I've never been close to him, though closer than I am to my other two half-siblings. I'm feeling the need to acknowledge what he's gone through and somehow explain my ostrich-like behaviour. I don't feel I need to justify myself to him, but he must be wondering why I've been invisible. The last proper chat I had with my father, some 2 weeks before he slipped into a coma and then into eternity, he made a special point of telling me how good my older brother had been to him. "A doll" is how he described him.

I'm tearing up now, bad juju here in paradise. Time to change the subject.

Euro-cunt has just called some internet-help line on his mobile phone, so I was half right. I guess he thought better of bothering me again as I type intently at my PC. I may be terminally mono-lingual, but enough English has crept into most European languages (with the exception of French, the language fascists) for me to follow that he is having trouble accessing his email account. It's a distraction, but a welcome one at this point, as it is taking me out of myself and the dark place I was drifting. He's just given up and fled the net cafe, peace at last!

After all, I'm still in paradise, the sun is shining, the wasps just a blip on this otherwise happy place. I need to enjoy life more, but if you have read anything of this blog, I don't need to be telling you that.
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