I Have a Pull Chain in my Head

I originally wrote this post on February 22nd, 2005 under the title "When the Going Gets Weird", but some jack-ass comment spammer got to it and tacked their advertizing into my comment section. So I'm killing the old one and reposting it here. And because I liked my sister's response so well, I reposted that too!

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Hunter Stockton Thompson is dead.

In typical Thompson fashion he wrote the very last chapter with his own hand, only this time his super-charged Smith Corona sat, untouched, on his desk. There just wasn't enough power in that old warhorse for the task ahead. No sir. This last, huge act needed something thunderous. A chrome-plated .44 mag or jet black 12 gauge were the only things that could tackle a job this important.

In the past the old type-writer had churned out some important work. Things like:

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"The towers are gone now, reduced to bloody rubble, along with all hopes for Peace in Our Time, in the United States or any other country. Make no mistake about it: We are At War now -- with somebody -- and we will stay At War with that mysterious Enemy for the rest of our lives."

"It will be guerilla warfare on a global scale, with no front lines and no identifiable enemy.... We are going to punish somebody for this attack, but just who or what will be blown to smithereens for it is hard to say. Maybe Afghanistan, maybe Pakistan or Iraq, or possibly all three at once. Who knows?"

"This is going to be a very expensive war, and Victory is not guaranteed -- for anyone, and certainly not for anyone as baffled as George W. Bush. All he knows is that his father started the war a long time ago, and that he, the goofy child-President, has been chosen by Fate and the global Oil industry to finish it Now."

Hunter Thompson, Fear & Loathing in America, Sept.12, 2001

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No one else could sum up exactly how I feel the way H.S.T. did in the following:

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"We have become a Nazi monster in the eyes of the
whole world--a nation of bullies and bastards who
would rather kill than live peacefully. We are not
just Whores for power and oil, but killer whores with
hate and fear in our hearts. We are human scum and
that is how history will judge us...No redeeming
social value. Just whores. Get out of our way or
we'll kill you.

Who does vote for these dishonest shitheads? Who
among us can be happy and proud of having this
innocent blood on our hands? Who are these swine?
These flag-sucking half-wits who get fleeced and
fooled by stupid rich kids like George Bush?

They are the same ones who wanted to have Muhammad Ali
locked up for refusing to kill gooks. They speak for
all that is cruel and stupid and vicious in the
American character. They are the racists and hate
mongers among us--they are the Ku Klux Klan. I piss
down the throats of these Nazis.

And I am too old to worry about whether they like it
or not. Fuck them."

-Hunter S. Thompson

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But, finally, the time had come to pour more than just ink and vitriol onto the page. The going had just gotten too weird and the situation was desperate. Only blood was thick enough to carry a message this brutally honest. The time had come to really open the throttle. One last blast of flame from the fiery anus - flat out and full-fucking bore into that curve - knowing that no matter how far you lay that bitch over you're leaving the road on this one and you're crossing that edge.

Mahalo, H.S.T.
Only you know if it ever got fast enough for you.

My heart weeps for Anita (his wife) and Juan (his son).
And it weeps for me, because one of my heroes is dead.