Take Turns Writing: "The Hippie and his Shotgun"
POSTED BY: Succatash
UPDATED: Friday, April 30, 2004 05:24
VIEWED: 17529
PAGE 1 of 11
Hi Browncoats. Take turns writing "The Hippie and his Shotgun" !!! It's so fun!
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The Hippie and his Shotgun
Once upon a time, there was an old hippie who lived alone in a trailer on the outskirts of town. He drove his beat up VW bus into the village every week to buy food and supplies, but otherwise he kept to himself.
One day, the old hippie went to the General Store. He walked in and was greeted by the shopkeeper.
"Hi there!" said the shopkeeper. But the hippie just mumbled and didn't make eye contact.
The shopkeeper coughed nervously. "May I help you?" he asked.
"I need a shotgun. I want to buy a shotgun." said the old hippie.
The shopkeeper smiled knowingly. "May I suggest the Wahlmert 45 Special? That will be 80 dollars please."
The old hippie nodded, and then raised two fingers to his lips and whistled loudly. Instantly, several large Pit Bulls ran into the store. Each dog carried a large bag of coins in its mighty jaws.
The hippie fondly petted his beloved creatures. He gently collected the bags of copper, then stood and spilled the pennies onto the counter.
The shopkeeper gasped at all the pennies. "Will that be paper or plastic?" he asked in admiration.
The hippie's smile vanished and he grunted in reply. He grabbed the shotgun and walked away. The dogs followed.
"Wait!" cried the shopkeeper. "We need to do a background check!"
The old hippie paused and slowly turned. One of the dogs began to growl. The shopkeeper gulped in fear.
VERY IMPORTANT! YOU MUST LISTEN TO THIS SONG AND READ AT THE SAME TIME!
http://www.strangefinger.com/song.mp3
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The Hippi scratched his beard, rolled his eyes and pulled a massive joint out from under his poncho.
As he sparked it he looked his prized pit bull square in the eyes and grumbled something deep and throaty.
The pit bull seemed to nod in understanding before he moved over to the shop keeper, lifted his leg and urinated all over the shop keeper's shiny new shoes.
"I don't keep any bitchs - so, I'm sure you can imagine that my boys here are plenty restless..... dude", the Hippi choked out under rings of smoke.
"Now I'm walking out this door with this gun and your staying right up against that wall", the Hippi stopped to take another drag and admire how big his hands are - "and if you don't like that, well, my boys can take there frustrations out on you."
The shopkeeper suddenly became aware that all the pitbulls were panting in unison.
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They were interrupted by two men wearing long trenchcoats, who suddenly entered the store. The strange men pulled out guns and shot all of the dogs. One of them ordered, "Nobody move! This is a stick up!"
The old hippie made no move. His right eye twitched slightly.
The shopkeeper whimpered and shook. "Take my money, but please don't kill me!" he begged.
"Shut up!" yelled one of the robbers. His skin was very pale, and dark veins bulged beneath his eyelids.
A door suddenly opened behind the shopkeeper. A beautiful young woman entered, singing a happy song. She wore a butcher's smock, and it was stained with fresh blood.
"La la la," she sang, then she gazed in shock at the scene before her. "Father!" she cried, "What is happening!"
She ran towards the shopkeeper, but the pale-faced robber grabbed her roughly and shoved her down onto her knees.
"No!" cried the shopkeeper. He lunged wildy towards his daughter.
"BANG!"
Suddenly, blood spouted from the shopkeeper's chest. He crumpled to the floor with a surprised look on his face. The pale-faced robber blew on his smoking gun, and smiled.
"Daddy!" screamed the woman. She crawled frantically towards her dying father and clutched him to her chest crying hysterically. The color of her smock turned a deeper red.
The pale-faced robber smiled at his partner. Then his expression turned to shock as his partner's head suddenly exploded.
"Get away from the girl," the old hippie grunted. He cocked his shotgun. "Or I'll be forced to shoot again."
"You killed my partner!" sobbed the pale-faced robber. He suddenly grabbed the woman, and shoved her across the room. Spying an open window, the pale-faced robber jumped through it and escaped.
The hippie knelt and put his arms around the young woman. He said nothing, and she sobbed for hours.
Finally, she stopped crying and spoke, "You saved my life, but my father is dead, and now I have nothing. You must take me with you."
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The Hippi nodded and threw the girl over his shoulder. He scooped up his dead dogs and left the store.
"So," the girl asked as she got into the bug, "What's you name?"
He grunted.
"Oh um, well. Nice car."
He grunted again.
"My names Ebonezer."
He raised an eyebrow.
"I was recently freed from the mind of a head in a jar."
He sratched his nose.
The rode in silence for the rest of the ride to the trailer. But there was no trailer. Instead there was a chared smudge on the ground.
"What are we going to do?" Ebonezer asked.
The Hippi gathered some climbing rope and an old weastern saddle, his only world possesions that he cared about. Well, besides his dogs, but they were dead. And the shotgun, that was cool, but it hadn't quite gotten any sentimental value yet.
They got back in the car and started driving north.
"Where are we going?" Ebo asked.
He spoke for the first time, "Into the sunset."
Ebo looked around, "But that sunset is that way, West."
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HA! i made me a charchter, and it's not stuck in someones head. HA!
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Ebo looked around,"But the sunset is that way west."
The hippi scratched his chin, took the pre-rolled cigrarette out from behind his ear lit it and took a deep drag looked thoughtfull for a moment and said.
"Not the way were going."
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Ebo nodded silently, somewhat wide-eyed and confused.
The terrain passed by the quickly, the old bus making small clouds of dust as it sped down the dusty highway. Evening painted the landscape a deep amber before Ebo spoke again.
"Just how far are we traveling today?" She indicated the darkening landscape with a thrust of her slight chin. "Getting dark out."
The Hippie glanced at her, taking her in for the first time. Short-cropped black hair, with a single thin pig-tail dangling from the base of her skull, called attention to her pale face. Her deep-set, fatigue shadowed eyes were a pale, ice blue color. Her nose, smeared as it was with the blood of animals and her father, was small and what could be described as "cute". The part that caught his attention the most, and firmly placed her in the beautiful category in his opinion, was her mouth. It wasn't pouty, big lipped, or full like the Hollywood people seemed to love. It was actually small and thin, possessing the interesting quality of pressing in on themselves when she bit into them in thought, like now, but not disappearing nor losing their ephemeral appeal. He couldn't place exactly what it was that made her mouth that attractive, but the Hippie didn't exactly care either. He accepted her beauty. And the fact that her eyes, still holding the remnants of burning tears, didn't lose their focus on the world. She wasn't lost in the surroundings, like many who drive in a car for long journeys, she was absorbing it and studying it.
His only response, since he still wasn't quite ready to speak with another person on their terms, was a simple grunt followed by the pulling of the switch for the headlamps.
The fading sun washed the interior of the bus the same hue as the outside world, hiding the rust, dirt, and the bloodstains that were now the defining qualities of the vehicles passenger compartment.
The sun set, as it was wont to do, and the road whisked underneath the headlamps, blurring as it approached and passed. The woman, with the odd sobriquet of Ebonezer, finally slipped into a fitful sleep, leaving the Hippie alone for a time.
The bus sped on into the clear, star-filled desert night.
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Ebonezer snapped awake as cold metal pressed agsint her arm. She realized that they were sitting in a parking lot outside a large bank. Then she realized that the cold metal pressing against her arm was the buisness end of the Hippi's shotgun.
"Are you going to kill me?" she asked wide eyed. The hippi shook his head and gestured with the shotgun at the bank.
"You going to kill the bank?"
He shook his head, "Gonna rob it."
Ebo's jaw dropped, "Rob it? Why?"
"Gun needs sentimental value."
"Couldn't it get sentimental value from shooting some cans or something?"
He shook his head "Nope. Besides, I'm hungry. This bank has a grocery store in side."
"Why would a bank have a grocery store?"
"Why would a grocery store have a bank?"
Ebo looked at him with confusion. He paid no attention.
"Your driving the getaway car," he said then saunterd into the bank.
Ebo started to protest but he was already inside.
She clammored over into the drivers seat and realized that indead of a key there was a knife stuck into the ignition. She turned it and the old VW roared to life. A few munutes later the Hippi came running out carrying a sack of money and a paper bag with some french bread sticking out the top. He jumped in and yelled, "Drive!"
Ebo reached to put the bus into drive and suddenly realized that it was a maunual transmission...This was not good.
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"How do you use manual transmission?"
"Why don't you know?"
"Cars are automatic now."
"Jeez. Okay, just do what I say..." The Hippie coached her on how to use it until they were far enough away to switch seats. They kept driving. On the side of the road was a young woman, sitting on a suitcase. She was in fairly loose (But not revealing) clam-diggers (capris) and a loose shirt (Again, not revealing).
"Should we stop?" Ebo asked.
"Why?"
"Cause I said so."
"Fine." The car stopped. "Need a ride?" asked the Hippie.
"Oh. Thanks for stopping."
"Thank her." Ebo waved.
"Okay. Well, I'm Teela Brown, but you can call me Teela B."
"Welcome!" Ebonezer said. The Hippie grunted.
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"Freedom is the Freedom to say that 2+2 makes 4. If that is granted, all else follws"-Winston, 1984
Teela Brown, keeper of bad typing.
"No one reads these things any way."- Bart on Blackboard
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Teela threw the suitcase in the back and arranged herself on top of the old weastern saddle.
Ebo offered her hand, "Ebonezer, but that takes a while to type, er, say. So Ebo works, or Ebony, or M (don't ask)...or hey stupid! i get that a lot." Eb-m-stu grinned.
Teela shook her hand then asked, "Whats your name?" of the old hippie.
He grunted.
Ebony leaned in and whispered, "He's not big on talking. I've been with him a good 24 hours and he still hasn't told me his name."
"Oh, I see...so, what have you done so far today?" Teela asked trying to make conversation.
"I learned how to drive a stick shift!" Ebo thought a moment then added, "And crime. We did that too."
"Crime?"
Ebony nodded eagearly, "Yeah! We robbed a bank and a grocery store, all in one step."
"How, er, conveineant?" Teela wasn't sure how to react to this in polite conversation.
Ebo started digging around in the brown paper bag, "Want some food? We got, um," she scartched her head, "Thirty varities of cheeze? Didn't you get anything else?"
"Bread" the hippie said, gesturing at the stick of bread hanging out the bag, "and smoked anchovies in a light lemon sauce."
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"Fondue, anyone?" Teela asked.
"Is there a stove?" Eb-m-stu asked.
"It's under the saddle."
"So, you can cook?"
"A little."
Teela cooked and cooked. "Fondue's on!"
Ebo tried the fondue. "This must be the best meal I've had!"
"Why thank you."
The car kept driving.
_____________
"Freedom is the Freedom to say that 2+2 makes 4. If that is granted, all else follws"-Winston, 1984
Teela Brown, keeper of bad typing.
"No one reads these things any way."- Bart on Blackboard
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