Anon., “Bugs in Yer Teeth.” Good Times (San Francisco), vol. 2, no. 19, 14 May 1969, p. 6.
Several years ago an intrepid band of freaks leave San
Francisco, bound for New York with a mason jar of LSD crystal in the back of
their car. Somewhere in the great middle they meet a motorcycle cop. Cop digs
on the excess hair and stops freaks for a careful investigation of their
persons and possessions. The mason jar. “Hey, what’s this?” “Oh, it’s just a
jar of sugar, officer.” “Sugar, huh?” says the cop, licking a finger and
sticking it into the jar. Taste. It sure don’t taste like sugar. In fact, no
taste at all. (insidious stuff, that LSD) “All right you freaks, I’m taking yas
in. Follow me.” The cop gets back on his cycle and rides off down the Kansas
road, freaks in apprehensive pursuit. After a short time, freaks notice cop is
behaving in a strange manner, in fact riding with his arms extended flapping birdwise.
Far out. Moments later the cop is off the road, riding up a hillside. Down he
goes, laughing like a maniac. Freaks complete uneventful ride to New York.
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