Utopia Gardens.

Speaking of gardens--my mom, in her conspiracy-possessed paranoia put the pressure on the old man to use his ag pedagogy and free time to create a masterpiece. At least I'll have somewhere to go when the police state descends.







Come get me coppers! I'll be the one in a hemp onesy, shooting blowdarts dipped in brown recluse poison your way--all to the tune of Mastodon's new album.

We aren't the hippies of old--pushing daisies down your gun barrels. We grew up on heavy metal and G.I. Joe. My generation is the sleeping dragon and the curtain is being drawn on hibernation season.

We are neo-hippies!