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skot AT izzlepfaff DOT com

Wednesday, 23 April
Battlefield: Mother Earth

Last night the fiancee and I were out at a bar eating a nice sedate dinner; the lights were low, the mood was mellow, the drinks pleasant when . . .


Jesus, we didn't know what hit us; suddenly the place was fucking overrun by like fifty youthful hippie beings. The table next to us rapidly filled up with unfortunate dreadlocks that clamored for beer; the bar was suddenly three deep with people clutching guitars; flannel was fucking everywhere. It was like a very relaxed storming of Normandy. The bar staff reacted as if they were blood cells suddenly facing some dire histological attack, and the fiancee and I sat rigidly, paralyzed by the sudden awfulness of the scene. One guy twirled over to my table and leered down at me and my steak. "Wow, hardcore carnivore!" His eyes pinwheeled. "Let me sanctify your meat," he whispered mystically, and rubbed his beard into my steak, as if performing a sacrament. I was galvanized. "Get the fuck away from me!" I screamed, and shanked him with my butter knife. He buckled, clutching his pancreas and moaning.

The others took notice. "Eric's down!" one of them yelled, "Get his stash!" They advanced, teeth bared, and I brandished my bloody knife menacingly. "Back, you jackals!" I howled, and thinking quickly, I grabbed a nearby Buffalo Tom CD and threw it into their midst; they fell upon it like hungry weasels on a lame chicken. While they were distracted, I stuffed Eric under our chairs and covered him with his battered duffelbag.

I sat down again, pretending nothing had happened, figuring that the others' impaired short-term memory would allow me my gambit. I stared at my ruined steak, covered in matted clots of hair and faintly smelling of Eugene, Oregon. I shoved it aside and reached for my beer; there was a marijuana seed in it, which I defiantly ignored and slugged it down. I felt very alive.

"You were brave, darling," said the fiancee, "I was frightened of these strange folk. They look like trolls."

"They are," I said grimly. "I had forgotten it was Earth Day."

Note: Comments are closed on old entries.


A narrow escape and a harrowing tale. I'm both surprised and pleased that you lived to tell about it. Although, I am surpised that you didn't eat the steak...I find B.O. and Petiole Oil make an excellent marinade. Your loss, Skot.

Comment number: 002877   Posted by: KOTWF on April 24, 2003 06:18 AM from IP:

You should be a real hit in Belgium. The Europeans love the daring Man of Action type.

Given your heroism I am uncomfortable with offering some criticism here... but ...

Why didn't you also try to get the pelt off the hippie? You could have waved it in the face of any fur protesters you might encounter.

Comment number: 002878   Posted by: pops on April 24, 2003 08:42 AM from IP:

You better watch your back, boy. Us Hippies are a lot more organized than you'd think. Unfortunately, we're not the most motivated crowd in the universe, so you may be safe for a while.

Comment number: 002879   Posted by: Flipsycab on April 25, 2003 11:06 AM from IP:

Is it bad that my birthday is April 23rd, AND my name is Eric?
I'm not a hippy, I swear!

Comment number: 002880   Posted by: Eric on April 25, 2003 03:43 PM from IP:

"It was like a very relaxed storming of Normandy."

You ought to win the Pulitzer for that line...

Comment number: 002881   Posted by: Alex Steffen on April 29, 2003 12:26 PM from IP:

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