a hairy peace be with you…

Once upon a time long long long ago there lived a happy hippy with a braided beard and two sandals carved out of willow bark. This hairy human had no home and he dug it that way. He would wander around the forest for days on end staring thoughtfully at the moss and leaves that lined the thick floor. When the sun sank low he gazed deep into an amber medallion and pondered the meaning of in between. In between day and night, in between love and longing, in between peace and war. That last one was his favorite because he so often pined for the day of world peace. That momentous occasion is marked on no calendar but he knew it was coming. He glowed in the mental projection of soldiers throwing down their spears and grasping guitars. Our fair friend patiently waited out the days of world chaos trying to keep himself calm with chamomile thoughts and sweet smoke. He waited and waited waited waited and waited more and some more, calmly waiting.

Finally he knew he couldn’t wait any longer. What if HE was the key to world peace?! Maybe it was time for action. He tossed off his robe, cut his ancient locks, and laid aside his elixirs and pendants. Clean shaven he rubbed silver paint over his entire body and slipped on a mirrored, cyclopian visor. Swiftly Mr. ex-Hippy made his way to a square bustling with tourists. He climbed atop a milk crate and stood rock solid day after day until chubby out-of-towners dropped dimes. Instead of busting out in a display of shiny poplocking as the tourists expected he would simply cup their ears and yell full blast “STOP THE WARS!” They would leap back nearly exploding with pain and revealation. Some would huff and puff, others would slink away, and still others would cry. All would return home to their scattered lands and tell neighbors about the silver peace shouter. Someday after enough splendid shouts all the world’s soldiers will have heard word from second cousins who in between vacationing corndog bites experienced something strange. On that day the war cries will be dry.

– frosty

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