21 February 2005

Hunter S Thompson: Suicide...



"There was no point in fighting -- on our side or theirs," he wrote. "We had all the momentum; we were riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave. So now, less than five years later, you can go up on a steep hill in Las Vegas and look West, and with the right kind of eyes you can almost see the high-water mark -- the place where the wave finally broke and rolled back."


RIP
Hunter S Thompson

1938-2005
Fuck you, Hunter.

______________________________ |

2 Comments:

I will miss him ... BIG HUG for Juan, Jen, Willam and Anita… who will never be able to fill the hole left in there lives by the man in spite of the myth and legend attached to his life..

I am a long time friend of Juan we went to the Aspen Community School together I have been using the blogs to try to send a message of love to him and the family but I know he is totally swamped because of the media attention at Owl farm and we need to let him know that we care for Him, Anita and the whole family in this time of tragedy while respecting his privacy

Let's see if we can get the word out ...
He was first the MAN….
He became the myth and legend
To me he was several people.
He was my best friend’s dad although he always called his dad Hunter
(At Juan’s wedding he said to a friend about me “Look there’s another little bastard I raised that turned out OK”)
He was Hunter S. Thompson retiring shy southerner who loved guns and his freedom
And
He was the Dr. Gonzo who we all know who would be in your face and try to kill you if you attempted to try to take away his guns, drugs, freedom, privacy and the god given right to go into an explosive tirade about it.

To be such a person required him to have a unique emotional support structure. These people now need our support, love and understanding in this time of grief.

Bradley Laboe

By Blogger wangateur, at 2/23/2005 2:47 AM  

Letter to HST

Hunter,
Compadre, my man, you blew it. I don’t mean your brains out, that’s your business. When you’re ready to go, I say go. But what a waste; all those guns and ammo, even your own “fortified compound,” and you didn’t take even one of the mutherfuckers with you. You missed an opportunity to make a very significant statement and set an example. You could have made them lay siege to your estate; all it would have taken was a couple of phone calls, a few well placed threats to those in high places and you could have had the whole nine yards, F.B.I., Secret Service, SWAT, Homeland Security, A.T.F., maybe even your own fucking tank and, at least, national TV coverage al la Waco and Ruby Ridge. If you had told them that the place was booby trapped or put up signs to that effect, they probably would have hesitated long enough for you to get a statement on the air and let the sheeple know why you had chosen the suicide by Gestapo scenario for your final soliloquy. If every Jew or Gypsy or homosexual that they came for had taken one SS man with him instead of going to the ovens meekly, it would have made a difference; they just didn’t have six million SS. I hear you had some impressive ordinance, and I just can’t understand why the fuck you didn’t use it in one final fireworks display that did justice to your eloquent and outrageous rhetoric. It would have been a memorable and inspiring last scene if, after a prolonged firefight, you had stepped out on your porch, cigarette holder in mouth and AK 47 in your hands, muttered one final epithet to become your epitaph, (“I piss down the throats of these Nazis,” would have worked just fine) and unloaded a clip on full auto at the assembled Orks, right before they Bonnie and Clyded you. But you did their wet work for them, and it cost them nothing and left them laughing. You talked the talk real good, but, when the final plot point rolled around, you just didn’t walk the walk. I don’t mean to be hard on you, old man; I’m not trying to bust your chops. I still love you like a brother, but there is a shitstorm coming and as Neo said, “We’re going to need guns, lots of guns,” and we should try to make sure that every fucking shot counts. Have yourself a well earned rest on the astral plane and smoke a couple with John Lennon for me, but re-up for another hitch and get your butt back down here asap. These are “times that try men’s souls,” as the man said, and good men like you are damned hard to find. If humanity is going to have any chance at all of slaying the New World Octopus, we are going to need every hard-living, clear-thinking, straight-shooting son of the beautiful bitch Liberty we can muster.

Blackfeather

By Anonymous Anonymous, at 2/27/2005 1:32 PM  

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