Patchouli-Stank

To second SB’s post, the Green Fest totally sucked. Sure, you get lots of eco-swag, but putting up with self-righteous green hippie bullshit is not worth the complimentary forest-scented, paraben-, pthalate- and paba-free SPF 60 trial size body lotions in biodegradable containers.

Need proof? Here’s a conversation I overheard while getting a hot cuppa yerba mate from the Guayakí booth, which featured blaring drum beats or reggae jams and two white alterna-dudes and a dudette who simultaneously grooved to the sweet tunes while serving up some heady juice of the gods. I present to you: one hippie’s story of his first taste of yerba mate:

So I was over at my friends house for a jam session, you know, a little jazz. And he is always really into like expanding consciousness, and he hands me this green drink, and I’ll try anything so I tasted it and I was like WHOAAAA! I mean, I had never tasted anything like that–and I am from the Pacific Northwest. My palette was amazed. Like, never even in my past lives had I tasted something like that. It was truly Revolutionary.

In honor of this awfulness (and to survive the day without lacing someone’s patchouli with hydrochloric acid) SB and I composed a few haikus:

Men with ponys and

braids love indie magazines

what is up with that?

Extra PC peeps

Rather wait in huge line than

Use handicapped stall

Maybe I’ll submit them to Teas Tea haiku contest.