9 Comments

Also, warmer, because summer instead of fucking February.

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You got photos?

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Ah, gee, what a nice reminiscence.

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A branch of my ancestral family tree spent some time in Missoula, back in the day. I've been there, but not since I was a teenager. When is this outbreak of nekkidness scheduled, again?

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How can it help keep the peace if it doesn't have any 20mm cannons on it?

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Seen on a T-shirt: When you see a rainbow, God is having gay sex.

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This is how they treat a group of strangers arriving in town and insisting on the freedom to live their lives by their own rules without a lot of government restrictions? Looks like Missoula ain't making the short list for the 2016 GOP national convention.

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You left out about ten zeros.

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Guys, you can't take this lightly. As someone who has been brought to more than one Grateful Dead concert against their will, I know how horrible these kinds of things can be. Oh sure, hippies seem nice, with all of their peace and love and all, but believe me, there is a dark underbelly. You may be prepared for the drum circles, but no one expects the horror of the Jam Band. We are talking hour upon hour of pointless melodies, scales and endless drum solos that hint of recognizable tunes but are actually designed to destroy both your brain cells and your will to live.

You can try to escape, and if by some miracle, you manage to squeeze through the choking sea of ponytails and denim that threatens to crush you, you will be stopped by the inexplicable crowd of hippies making and selling spaghetti in the parking lot. Soon you will find yourself enveloped once more by the fetid sounds, sights and smells with no end in sight. You then realize you have entered the musical equivalent of an MC Escher painting and there is no exit.

Hopelessness.

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