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Live Sharp Look Smart

by Bill Galaxia




Hey there you silly little gophers. PQ is still away. Seems that that memorial for Ziggy turned into one of those extended Gilese system star-raves, you know, with the party hopping going-on back and forth between planets "c", "d" and "g", as you Earthlings call them, then turning into space-ship drag races and so on. Anyway, the last sub-space message I got indicated that a theme was being developed for the rest of the rave: "Probably Not for Boring People".

Silly goobers. They can stick it up their pfeifferholes, for all I care. I just want PQ to come home.



Since I am bored waiting for Phoenix to return, I thought I'd write another piece for your enjoyment and edification. I still encourage all of you to encourage him to stay away from this smelly piece-of-pfeiffer game when he does get back, but in the meantime vote up this article and don't forget to leave your droppings comments!




Planet "c"



Remember to please add your comments at the end in the convenient "comments" section at the end. Every comment you leave means another little hippie boy will win a chance to race around Gilese 581 in a souped-up starship some day!





OK. Right. Enough pfeiffering-around, eh? On with the story.... So here's what happened. Check it out...it's actually a true story from a long time back. But I thought maybe it would be helpful to share it with you all today.








I was walking down the street the other day and a sight came before my eyes. It was a little hippie boy. I must have been twice his size. His appearance typified his strange bree😛 gaudy clothes, long stringy hair hanging down.


I'd seen perhaps a thousand in my early trips to town. As he walked beside me on down the block I noticed no unpleasing smell. He might have been on the weed or even LSD, but if he was I couldn't tell, so we walked together that way through this neighborhood.





Finally he turned around to me and he sai😛

"Friend, you know we're a million miles apart but you know something we can enjoy the sunshine and the weather, so why don't we put our differences aside and just talk to each other? You see this box beneath my arm? To you it's plain, it has no charm, but to someone dearest to my heart this box has played a tragic part. This little one can't tell you himself about his life and how he died, but if anyone else could speak for him I guess I'm qualified.

"This boy was in Chicago. He didn't know why he was there. He was with his family and friends and he didn't really care. You might have been one of those who saw the struggle there on your television screen.

"The tragic thing is so much else happened that no one else could have seen. A stranger handed this boy a dollar to do a simple chore, to carry a package to a nearby hotel and when he returned he'd get two more. But when he came back he sort of lost his way walking thru the crowd, one of them things you ask yourself, how Dio allowed. But when he was found he was like he is now, dreaming sweet and still, and in his little hand was a crumpled dollar bill.



"Now you can take that dollar, get four cents on it compounded quarterly at any downtown bank so they can back some hot new tank or atom bomb.

"Well, what I'm going to tell you now, you can stay or you can leave. You kind of listened to my story so far but just one more thing...

"It's the same for any hippie, bum or hillbilly out on the street. Just remember this little boy and never carry more than you can eat.


"Now could you help us sing this song, please:

"'There will be peace in the valley for him now we pray'.



"I will think of the little hippie boy that way."