THE OLD HIPSTER by Michael Dority

One fine summer afternoon, an old hipster was hiking through the Old Country. A diehard nature lover and tree hugger, he took the wooded path least travelled and soon found himself deep inside the dark forest.

A pond presented itself around a sharp corner, so the old doper stripped off his headband, tie-dyed T-shirt and bellbottom jeans and took a long, luxurious bath in the crystal-clear water. Exiting the pool, he took advantage of the seclusion and lit a joint, inhaling deeply of the fragrant fumes.

Shortly, the bath and intoxication took their toll. The old duffer curled up under a tree and fell fast asleep.

Night fell and a hungry vampire happened upon the scene. Spying an easy meal, he eagerly partook of the hipster’s blood. Disoriented by the ganja, the vampire lost his balance, fell to the ground, and hit his head against a rock. He had just enough time to wonder if he’d made a fatal misstep before passing out. 

Just before dawn (the caped fiend was lucky) he regained consciousness. The blood sucker sprang up and eyed the hipster sitting in the lotus position, rubbing his neck and puffing languidly on another number.

“Awfully sorry, old chap, about drinking your blood,” said the vampire. “Not my proudest moment; afraid I really couldn’t help myself.”

“Don’t mention it, mate,” chortled the old pothead with a gleam in his eye. “Once bitten, twice high!”

 

 

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