Monday, February 21, 2005

The Gonzo is Dead...

Self-inflicted gunshot wound.

I thought he would simply ride off into a psychadelic sunset, or at least crash his car under a peyote haze.

But Hunter S. Thompson, in his life, dared to be different.

Unfortunately, I could only acknowledge his existence through his reputation and not his works.

Maybe I should buy some of his tomes in his honour: it's the least that I could do.

As per usual - all my condolences go out to his friends, family - Hell, even his enemies, too.

Because what use is an adversary if he's dead?


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