I discovered two of Pipes bush fairies in the Emporium stocking up on brown rice. Tinkerbell clung to me sobbing. “Pipe might die they said and he doesn’t care.”
More sobbing. Apparently they found him halfway back from the patch, black with leeches. He’d taken his shirt off to scratch some off his back on the bark of a gnarly tree then got leeches in both eyes and headed back leaving his shirt behind. It was a tragic mistake. “Leeches were marching towards me bleeding back like an army,” he told me.
He couldn’t reach them to pull them off so made a run for home but ran out of puff. The fairies got a bad feeling and went looking for him. “The leeches had sucked every last ounce out of him,” Tinker told me.
She also said he’s completely depressed, not about the leeches, but the rotting crop. I visited him in the Nimbin hospital where he was refusing all their food and insisted on the girls cooking for him and bringing meals in. “The crop’s almost gone with mould marching up the trunks faster then the leeches,” he told me. I told him how leeches were Australia’s first export back to the mother country. Somehow that cheered him up.
Who would have thought Canberra eyes were watching the Goodtimes get ready for print? Except lawyers rule, with insurance companies. The story I wrote last month was altered, hacked. Just a small but extremely significant alteration. Pipe didn’t have an average of “about 50” leeches each day, it was “about 500”.
Some nerd in the Feds, forever watching all things Nimbin, alerted the lawyers regarding Pipes litigation against the PM and believe it or not they considered it a real concern and ordered the numbers altered. It was embarrassingly easy to mangle the MardiGrass organisers once I found their meeting place.
With special Unda access to confiscations I ordered a pound from Kempsey Station of Mullaways recently captured primo. Picked perfectly ripe and barely dry it was. No one noticed when I slipped several pre-rolled fatties into the meeting circle of about forty lunatic hippies all wanting their weed laws changed yesterday.
It’s harder to pretend to believe in the drug war than it is to pretend to be a hippy, but I got a job to do. Within minutes the Mullaway joints had everyone ten to the dozen with so many ideas rattling round it’s no wonder Council’s swimming in utter confusion.
The bald and stoned one and a couple of others tried to get some sanity at the meeting but were soon shouted down and someone even offered him a ticket to Cambodia for a trip down the Mekong during the month of May. He wouldn’t go so I picked it up. No one seemed to notice. It’s a wonder they can organise themselves to get dressed in the morning. Something I have to be very mindful about!
I didn’t tell the Boss it was my idea I whispered to one of the old hippies that a protest doesn’t need a DA. “The cops should look after the crowd and traffic in a protest, shouldn’t they?” was all I said. Anyway the hippies lit a joint off his idea and the rest is history. The Boss had to threaten them with an injunction before they got their paperwork together.
HipiLeaks; March 2012: Julian Assange has unexpectedly found a way to run for the Senate and he’s been approached by several registered parties, including HEMP. There are concerns they could gain enough votes with him at the helm. He wanted to attend their annual May protest but bail conditions prevent him. However, we expect he’ll choose the Sex Party instead given his history.