Robert, Bob before sewing my oats. | 23-Feb-05 at 12:19 am | Permalink
What? No toaster in a bathtub? No straight adreline cocktail?!? No menage a trois heart attack?!! A gun. A stupid gun.
Robert, Bob before waking up, | 23-Feb-05 at 12:33 am | Permalink
Ironically in a surge of natural ADRENALINE…I spelled it wrong.
I forgot to add a memory. I’m 16, a newly christened driver. I’ve just finished reading Fear and Loathing for the first time. I’m driving down the road and see a cop minding his own business on the side of the road. I
immediately feel an overpowing urge to gun the accelerator, blast into the side of the patrol car, and end it all in a mushroom cloud of glory. I shake it off with the thought, “what the Hell did I just read?” Now that’s what I call influential.
The Edge… there is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over.~~Dr. Hunter S. Thompson
I’ll never forget my first night in Aspen when I took over as editor of the Aspen Daily News. The reporters and I ended up at Hunter’s house and one girl (who I later found out was completely psycho) over indulged on booze, shrooms, dope and who knows what else. At about 3 a.m., Hunter’s assistant, Deborah, shoos us out saying Hunter has to get to work. As we all wander out in a daze, we realize that one of our party is missing. Hunter immediately gets The Fear, produces his infamous laser-sighted 9mm semi-automatic, pulls a round into the chamber and raises the gun over his head as he lurched out the front door proclaiming “Comb the grounds!”
We later found her passed out in the downstairs bathroom, with the door locked, nonetheless. After much jimmying, we got the door open and loaded her into the van we arrived in. She puked all the way back to town.
But I’ve never had such a wide ranging conversation with anyone. The guy was a veritable encyclopoedia of information on everything from peacocks to single malt Scotch and why he prefers a quality blend (Chivas) to the raw stuff.
It’s too bad journalists today don’t have even a smidgen of gonzo in them. We sure wouldn’t be in the shit we are now if they did.
sid world headquarters
Robert, Bob before sewing my oats. | 23-Feb-05 at 12:19 am | Permalink
What? No toaster in a bathtub? No straight adreline cocktail?!? No menage a trois heart attack?!! A gun. A stupid gun.
Robert, Bob before waking up, | 23-Feb-05 at 12:33 am | Permalink
Ironically in a surge of natural ADRENALINE…I spelled it wrong.
I forgot to add a memory. I’m 16, a newly christened driver. I’ve just finished reading Fear and Loathing for the first time. I’m driving down the road and see a cop minding his own business on the side of the road. I
immediately feel an overpowing urge to gun the accelerator, blast into the side of the patrol car, and end it all in a mushroom cloud of glory. I shake it off with the thought, “what the Hell did I just read?” Now that’s what I call influential.
attorney | 23-Feb-05 at 2:26 pm | Permalink
The Bats Are Circling…
Outside Prague | 23-Feb-05 at 2:33 pm | Permalink
Humanity has lost one of its truest voices. Grant
The Edge… there is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over.~~Dr. Hunter S. Thompson
Jimbodacious | 04-Mar-05 at 7:55 am | Permalink
I’ll never forget my first night in Aspen when I took over as editor of the Aspen Daily News. The reporters and I ended up at Hunter’s house and one girl (who I later found out was completely psycho) over indulged on booze, shrooms, dope and who knows what else. At about 3 a.m., Hunter’s assistant, Deborah, shoos us out saying Hunter has to get to work. As we all wander out in a daze, we realize that one of our party is missing. Hunter immediately gets The Fear, produces his infamous laser-sighted 9mm semi-automatic, pulls a round into the chamber and raises the gun over his head as he lurched out the front door proclaiming “Comb the grounds!”
We later found her passed out in the downstairs bathroom, with the door locked, nonetheless. After much jimmying, we got the door open and loaded her into the van we arrived in. She puked all the way back to town.
But I’ve never had such a wide ranging conversation with anyone. The guy was a veritable encyclopoedia of information on everything from peacocks to single malt Scotch and why he prefers a quality blend (Chivas) to the raw stuff.
It’s too bad journalists today don’t have even a smidgen of gonzo in them. We sure wouldn’t be in the shit we are now if they did.