And now, Mass Market Hippie Crap. This sums up 1971 well enough – ugly clichéd graphics, real authentic counterculture name (complete with copyright symbol), Lennonesque face of Mr. Max himself with acid-trip Lennon-style glasses, maaan, and a plea not to bum everyone out with litter which is like killing our Mother the Earth. Or our Muddah da Oit, if you’re from Brooklyn. Best of all, it’s a book that contains no plot, no story, and not too many words.

Perfect for those who spent 1971 in a drug store, stoned, spinning the paperback rack and watching the covers go by. It was like a movie, man, but it's all made up out of these different - out of - it's - uhh, I can't explain it now but at the time I knew exactly what it was all about.