How can a simple good idea get out of control so quickly? In a word, Twitter. Or Facebook. What started as a small group of meditators wondering if they could ground the Plantation Squad (PS) turned into a flood once Nimbin hookups got hold of it. The Boss ordered erasure as soon as the alert came in but by then over 300 people had said they’d make it their meditation of the week.
And the more it rained the more they must have sat inside, incense burning, visualising and willing the chopper……“to be still.”
Pipe insisted they were, “….doing Gods work, and anyway they’re discovering what power they have.”
“Witchcraft?” I asked.
“If you like,” was all he muttered, puffing away.
I assure you the PS didn’t mind, spending the week playing pool in the Byron clubs and hanging out at the bayside gyms. The Force provides unlimited steroids and gym memberships and it’s “looked upon favourably if members keep up their fitness levels.” Deeper in the Manual has some great reading. “Obesity, once seen as a weapon of power is now frowned upon and ‘throwing your weight around’ is not encouraged anymore as a response tactic in the Force.”
I didn’t last long with the chopper and the PS ‘out in the paddock’, as they call it. I’m usually playing FU (female Unda) so I stay away from any muscle building and that was the excuse they accepted when I threw down the machete after hacking down a score of ten foot bush plants Unda Blue Knob. There were hundreds of them. It looked like paradise on Earth and slicing through their trunks made me sick to the core.
I sulked in the truck while they hacked the patches to the ground like the plants themselves were real enemies. Some of the boys got in quite a frenzy, lathered in sweat.
It’s not really the plants they hate, it’s the thought of dole bludging hippies making money out of it. Incredibly, and I’ve spent plenty of time with the hippies, they never seem to have any money, but they never run out of weed. My mates in uniform never believe me on that.
Then the truck wouldn’t start and someone headed off to get a rental van to ship the crop out and while he was gone we had one of the funniest hours I’ve ever spent in the Force. They had no idea they were stoned to the gills from handling the weed for hours on end and were convinced my depressed mood had flattened the battery. When the hire truck returned with lunch and they attacked the food like savages only then they realised the munchies had got them. More hysterical laughter as they agreed I was right, which infuriated the Boss. Somehow you’re not allowed to enjoy the job, especially if he isn’t!
I did manage to keep them away from the hippy communes you may have noticed, in exchange for the box of about a thousand seedlings ($2 million) that were left out like easy to find Easter eggs. Well done hippies, I never thought you’d get that one together.
Back on the street in the wet Bin I’ve been hanging around the pub because most of my old mates are there. Forced to keep up I’m getting mind numbing hangover headaches every morning and complained to the Boss I needed a new mission. He delighted in telling me to stay where I was and to keep writing daily reports. “Priority One Bethany. The hippy village experiment must never look a success. And if that means you have to show up looking like death every morning that’s your contribution and don’t Unda estimate it either.”
HipiLeaks: Jan 2012. From Head Office Canberra to all Stations. The panic on Australia Day by the PM’s minders who forgot wearing high heels she couldn’t run as fast as them has seen the dismissal of 12 in the Force. Let it be a lesson. Whatever happens, DON’T PANIC.