Like most creative geniuses, Hunter Thompson was a brilliant yet troubled soul, whose insights into the heart of America will be greatly missed. I posted a tribute to him at:
http://www.faulkingtruth.com/Articles/FaulkingAround/1022.html
Here is an excerpt from that article:
Hunter Thompson resided in a world of his own making, an alternate universe inhabited by real lounge lizards, imaginary swarms of flying bats, and every color and shape of illicit drug known to mankind, and those of us who "discovered" him through his writing were just happy to be invited along for the ride. Like every young writer who happened upon Hunter Thompson in our quixotic journey for literary guidance and direction, I was irreversibly transformed from the first lines of "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas":
"We were somewhere around Barstow on the edge of the desert when the drugs began to take hold."
"We had two bags of grass, seventy-five pellets of mescaline, five sheets of high-powered blotter acid, a saltshaker half-full of cocaine, and a whole galaxy of uppers, downers, screamers, laughers... Also, a quart of tequila, a quart of rum, a case of beer, a pint of raw ether, and two dozen amyls. Not that we needed all that for the trip, but once you get into a serious drug collection, the tendency is to push it as far as you can. The only thing that really worried me was the ether. There is nothing in the world more helpless and irresponsible and depraved than a man in the depths of an ether binge, and I knew we'd get into that rotten stuff pretty soon."
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