Mungo the old whack-out artist--still ""living on love, chicanery, and gall""--takes us on a grinning tour of the world of funky business folk, from the hot tubs of California to the herbalist macrobiotics of Maine. In their need for some creature comforts, how did the Sixties hippies learn to stop hating hassle and start loving a vocation? Earth shoes, eye exercises, all-natural-ingredient deodorants, book-writing, book-publishing, or, book-selling may provide the wherewithal to shoot, sniff, snort, imbibe, ingest, or wallow in whatever suits. A sales-counter-culture, as it were, seems a natural evolution (though most such businesses naturally wither in time). But there's a danger for those who become adept at psychedelic commerce--the business process builds on itself. Making money somehow becomes the same thing as doing time, as it does for most of us. That's not Mungo's line; he's talking up ""the rarest kind of profit, the gift of life, energy runaround, cosmic profit--the sense of being restored and excited and energized, rather than drained, by a day's work."" And he's discovered that working for a living, in the larger sense, is a force that drives us all, hip or straight. Some miscellaneous musings and some pointed insights by the articulate author of Famous Long Ago and Total Loss Farm.