F.Z. The Adventures of Greggery Peccary.



G.P Oh here comes Greggery, little Greggery Peccary,

The nocturnal gregarious wild swine.



F.Z. A Peccary is a little pig with a white collar that usually

hangs around between Texas and Paraguay.

Sometimes ranging as far west as Catalina,



G.P. Catalina, Catalina, Catalina.



F.Z. This particular Peccary, is part of that bold,



G.P. Bold



F.Z. New



G.P. New,



F.Z. Bread,



G.P. Breading



F.Z. That extinguishes itself by a wide tie directly below the

white collar.



G.P. If it's wide enough, everyone will know, that the tie I'm

wearing is a symbol of how nimble my mind will go.



F.Z. Swank Swavay

Look out here he comes again.



G.P Whoa, here comes Greggery Peccary

Yes it's great he came.....???



F.Z. Every morning Greggery drives his little red Volkswagen,

to the ugly part of town, where they keep the government

buildings.



G.P. voodn, voodn.

Boy, it's so hard to find a place to park around here.



F.Z. Greggery Peccary takes the elevator up to the 83rd floor of a

grim, grey, evil-looking building with a sign on the front

reading "BIG SWIFTY AND ASSOCIATES...TREND MONGERS".

And what might you ask is a TREND MONGER?

Well a TREND MONGER is a person, who dreams up a trend, like

"THE TWIST", or "FLOWER POWER".

And spreads it throughout the land using all the frightening

little skills that scientists made available.

And so it was one fateful morning Greggery Peccary made his

way through the steno pool.

G.P. Hi Mildred, Hello Gladys. Wanda!



F.Z. Yes, from the moment they laid eyes on him all the girls in

the Big Swifty steno pool knew here is a nocturnal gregarious wild

swine on his way up. A Peccary of destiny adventure and

romance.



G.P. Is there any mail for me?



Stenographers: Swifty's, this is big swifty's.

At Big Swifty's we all know. You'll go for any gimmick or

gizmo.

G.P. Wouldn't you rather be involved in a

wasting trends.



F.Z. Air hockey.



Stenographers: La La La La La La La La Yo Yo Yo Yo



G.P. Is you're wife snoring by the sink?



Stenographers: La La La La La La La La Yo Yo Yo Yo



G.P. Ain't your life boring, don't you think?



Stenographers: Yo Yo Yo Yo Yo Yo Yo Yo Yo Yo Yo Yo



G.P. Life is so much better when there's some little something to

do.



F.Z. Does it matter that this waste of time is what makes a

life for you.



G.P. I must plummet boldly forward to my ultra-avant laminated

simulated replica mahogany desk with the strategically placed,

imported very hip water pipe, and the latest edition of the

"Whole Earth catalog", and rack my agile mind for a

spectacular new trend, thereby rejuvenating our limping

economy and providing for bored miserable people everywhere,

some great new thing to identify with.



Stenographers: We have got all the little answers to the things

that might be bothering you.



G.P. We have got your little toys.

(We're busy makin' 'em)



Stenographers: Busy makin' 'em.

Where is he making them.



G.P. Busy making them, just for you.

Highly efficient Mrs Snodgrass.



F.Z. And with that, Greggery turned & strode nonchalantly into his

dinky little office, with the desk, and the catalog, and the

very hip water pipe, and proceeded with a vigor and

determination know only to piglets of a similarly diminutive

proportion to single-handedly invent the calendar. With his

eyes rolled heavenward, and his little shiny pig hoofs on the

desk, Greggery ponders the question of eternity, and

fractional divisions thereof, as mysterious angelic voices,

sing to him from a great distance, providing the necessary

clues for the construction of his new thrilling new trend.



G.P. Sunday, Sunday, whow.

Sunday, Saturday, Tuesday through Monday, Monday.

Sunday, Saturday.



F.Z. And thus the calendar, in all of its colorful disguises, was

presented to the board and miserable people everywhere.

Gr

the steno pool identified with it strenuously, and worshipped

it as a way of life, and tool their little pills by it, and

went back and forth from work by it, and paid their rent by

it, and before long they were even having birthday parties in

the office by it. Because now at last, Greggery Peccary's

exciting new invention had made it possible for everyone to

find out how old they were.



G.P. What hath GOD wrought?



F.Z. Unfortunately, there were some people who simiply did not wish

to know, and that's why on his way home from the office one

night, Greggery was attacked by a rage of hunchmen. Making

his way through the evening traffic, Greggery notices that the

other vehicles which crowd and bump his little red car, are

all inhabited by slowly aging very hip young people. They

appear to be casting sinister glances toward him, through

their glinting, acid burnout eyeballs, trying to run him off

the road, or make him bump into something, giving strong

evidence of hostile aggression. To elude them, Greggery takes

the "Shot Forest" exit off the expressway. They zoom after

him in all manner of cars, trucks, garishly painted busses,

and motorcycles.

Greggery takes a bumpy trail off the main short forest road,

which leads him up the side of a famous and conveniently

placed mountain. And into a strange cave, on the edge of a

cliff, not far from a little twisted tree with eyes on it.

Meanwhile the enraged hunchmen, and hunchwomen, rumble through

the short forest until realizing that the little swine has

escaped.

They decide to park their steaming vehicles in a circular

pseudo-wagon train formation and have a Love-In. Under the

influence of a fantastic amount of trendy chemical amusement

aid, they proceed to perform lewd acts. Rip each other off of

small personal possessions and dance with depraved abandon in

the vicinity of a six foot pile of transistor radi

tuned to a different station.



G.P. What!



F.Z. The hunchman finally expire from exhaustion, and Greggery who

has viewed the proceedings from a safe distance, breathes a

sigh of relief.



G.P. Phew!.



F.Z. Only to be terrified once again by a roar of immense laughter.

Which seems to be rumbling up from the very depths of the cave

in which he has hidden his car.



G.P. Good Lord, what was that?



F.Z. Greggery doesn't realize he is concealed himself inside the

very mouth of Billy The Mountain. And as you all know,

whenever Billy laughs, rocks and boulders hack up

and the air for miles around is filled with tons of dust

forming a series of huge brown clouds.



G.P. Who is making those new brown clouds?

Who is making those clouds these days,

Who is making those new brown clouds,

Better ask the philostopher and see what he says



F.Z. Greggery stops at a gas station and makes a mysterious phone

call.



G.P. Is this the old loft with the paint pealing off it, by the

chinese police, where the dogs roll by? Is this the where

they keep the philostophers now with the rugs and the dust,

where the books go to die? How many yez got, says yez got

quite a few just sitting around there with nothing to do.

Well I just called yez up cause i wanted to see can the

philostopher be some assistant to me?



F.Z. Greggery receives information that the greatest living

philostofer known to man kind is currently in possession of

the very information in question. And furthermore this

information could be his if only Greggery would attend a

special therapeutic group assembly. Classes now forming and

available at a special low low introductory fee and now here

he is the greatest living philostofer known to man kind

Quenton Robert DeNameland. Take it away.



Quenton: Folks, as you can see for yourself, the way this clock

over here is behaving, time is of affliction. Now this

might be cause for alarm among

certain experience, I tend to proclaim. The eons are closing.



F.Z. Make your checks payable to Quenton Robert deNameland greatest

living philostofer known to man kind.



G.P. Who is making those new brown clouds?

Who is making those clouds these days,

Who is making those new brown clouds,

If you ask a pholostopher he'll see that you pays