Figurski at Findhorn on Acid


— Go oon, get in. Throw that duffel in th' back. Ta the Village are ya?

— Uh, the Park, Findhorn Park.

— Oh one o' them are ya? Ah well.

— One of them?

— The Park people. Y'know, hippies an' the lot. Useta be a lot o' the drugs and new-dee-tay there.

— Nudity? I'm just staying there a while. Only took a quarter tab of Zen today. Look into my eyes old timer.

— Whoa, a scary one aren't we? Tab o' Zen ya say. I thank my son took that in school, somethin' like Hindoos and Boodists. From the States are ya?

— Umm-hmm.... Hey was that a jet?

— Aye, the RAF. NATO an' all that. Was in the Royal Navy m'self, an' small thanks I got f'r't. Shopping is't today?

— You mean the bag? Spam.

— Spam you say?

— It's for my pet.

— My wife likes it.

— What?

— Spam! My wife likes it, fried wi' fritters. Comes from 'er family, they always had it on a Sunday night. She tried the same wi' us, but we told her ta kiss it off, so she fries it up far lunch when I'm workin' in town or feeds it ta her lady friends far cards. One day... ah neveryamind. What kind d'ya say?

— Kind?

— O' pet?

— Pig.

— Porker! Porker ya say! In't that the queen's ass. Well hare ya go then at the Park wi' ya and your Zen!

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