17 Years is Still Gone Too Soon

The father of Gonzo journalism and my Hero of Writing, Dr. Hunter S. Thompson, killed himself today. It really did shake me and break my heart a little. Michael Moore is the closest person I can think of as an heir apparent but he dwindles to a buffoon and a clown when you stand his corpulent carcass up next to the master.

I think my exposure to Hunter probably tainted my both sense of humor and my sense of outrage. Everything rolls downhill and  all of my children did not fall far from the mother tree. My  kids are all hilariously cynical and terribly bright in that out-on-the-edge-rip-your-lips-off style Hunter had, and I’m glad because America demands both disbelief and cynicism on a daily basis. My unicorn is a red Selectric typewriter just like his, he shot holes in it but it still worked.


I think I own everything he ever wrote, and if hasn't been borrowed away I own it still--although in all fairness the later stuff was losing its saucy edge and turning into burnt out rants with occasional flashes of brilliance.

Hunter would have been seriously thrilled by the news that the moronic piece of landscaping occupying the White house has admitted to smoking dope and being a friend to gays today--although he says he has to hold the party line. Quoi? Where are you when we need you Doctor? If we ever needed your venomous pen and voluminous vocabulary it was today. I find it personally ironic that something that desperately needed Hunter's smoking touch came over the wire just as he left us behind in a trail of dust and blood.

Dr. T, I raise a glass to you, hell I’ll raise a whole bottle and 3 doobies, you deserve it. Here’s to an eternity full of sunshine, big redheads, Caddy convertibles and great drugs, here's to enough politicians in heaven and hell to keep you wound up way too tight until the world’s end. You will be sorely missed, and having you take that last long road feels like the end of the sixties arrived today. Thank you for giving us Gonzo journalism and ranking right up there with Don Quixote in the annals of making runs at windmills.

I rode the Coast highway last summer from the Bay to Big Sur on my motorcycle and thought of the Doctor and his legendary spins on the same stretch of road all those  years ago. Thanks for the gifts man, the accidental ones mean the most and you were the best.

 My favorite bracelet which I wear almost daily is Hunter S Thompson quote,. "When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro."  He was my spirit animal and totem. Rock on Doc!