If you youngsters can stand one more tale from an old dried up hippy about his adventures in the sixties, I'll tell you one of mine. I guess technically you couldn't call me a hippy cause I had a job and I owned some property. Now some people wouldn't call growing marijuana a job but I did.
When my grandpa died I was the only one left in our family, you know me being an orphan and all. Anyway, that's how I inherited the farm. I didn't want it cause I lived in the city and all I wanted to do was party. I went to see it mainly just to see if I could sell it and being just south of Monterey I thought I might be able to sell it to one of those artsy fartsy types who live out that way. The first thing I noticed was the farm was real secluded and off the highway. Then, I was thinking about what a great party place it would make so I decided to keep it. Well it was a farm and farms grow things and the only thing I was interested in growing was pot, and that is how I got into the marijuana farming business. Turns out, I was real good at; I kept looking for good product and every time I had some kickass weed I'd save the seeds then plant them. The pot I grew was the kind you took one or two hits off it and then you were looking for a place to sit down and relax for a while. My problem was not production but sales, it seemed out of every crop I gave away more than I sold. You see, money just didn't matter to me and since somehow we always managed to get everything we needed life was good. Although my name is George, somehow I got started being called Farmer Fred, and it stuck, in fact, I'm still called that by my friends today and I haven't farmed in years.
One morning I'm heading into town early and I pass a Porsche that had run off the road and into a tree. As I drive by, I see someone slumped over the wheel so I slam on the breaks, jump out, and run back to see if they're OK. To my surprise, it's Janice Joplin, thinking she's hurt I lean in to check her. There's no blood and as she starts to wake, I realize she's not hurt but passed out. With the thought of her maybe getting onto trouble with the law, I decided to get her out of her car and back to my place. She slept all the way back to the farm and when we got there; I had my ol' lady help me get her inside and into one of our spare bedrooms. Sometime in the afternoon Janice comes wandering out asking where the hell she was. I introduced my ol' lady, Bobbi, and me and explained to her what happened. I told her I called a friend of mine and he went and got her car and was fixing it as we spoke. Janice said she had to get back to Monterey as they were setting up for a festival this coming weekend. I explained to her that my friend would call as soon as he fixed her car. Since she was here, I asked her if she would like to sit in on a sampling of my new crop.
Let me tell you this turned out to be some of my best 'sit down shit' and before we knew it, we were all wrecked. Needless to say, Janice didn't get back to Monterey that night, man that girl liked to party. Another thing I learned that night Janice liked girls as well as boys. She sure was taken with my Bobbi and Bobbi was enthralled with her. If you want to know, what Bobbi looked like just look at any pictures of hippy girls from the sixties she looked just like one of them. She had long blond hair and the only way she ever combed it was just to put some flowers in it. She always wore a short dress with nothing under it, I don't think she even owned a pair of panties and I know she didn't have a bra to her name. That Bobbi, she'd take that dress off at the drop of a hat, she just loved to be naked. She didn't have big tittys but they sure were firm and she liked the way they stuck out so proud of themselves. She also had the softest blond fur under her arms and on her snatch and it just seemed to add to her hippy aura. The very first thing JJ (this is what Janice said her friends called her) said to my ol lady was,
