and while we're bemoaning things...
Tomorrow is the anniversary of Hunter S. Thompson's death.
If you have no clue who that is, kindly remove yourself from my friend's list.
I know. I'm a snobby bitch. Blame the creative writer in me if you must - I know I'm an elitist at times. I'm OK with it too.
But seriously, remove yourself from my friend's list and read more books. Step away from the computer and find a library or an independent book store pronto. Hell, I'd almost let you get away with the video store at this point, since there are so many bloody movies about him these days too. Just go.
For those of you still here in bat country, one of my favorites to celebrate :
"Maybe there is no Heaven. Or maybe this is all pure gibberish - a product of the demented imagination of a lazy drunken hillbilly with a heart full of hate who has found a way to live out where the real winds blow - to sleep late, have fun, get wild, drink whisky, and drive fast on empty streets with nothing in mind except falling in love and not getting arrested...
Res ipsa loquitur. Let the good times roll. "
More common are the others that I tend to spout -
"Buy the Ticket, Take the ride"
or
"Fuck the Bozos".
Both are equally wise and true in their beautiful simplicity.
Still better is the 3AM fax from the man himself way beyond the deadline hour that simply said "I shit on yr.chest"
Here's to you, Doctor.
If you have no clue who that is, kindly remove yourself from my friend's list.
I know. I'm a snobby bitch. Blame the creative writer in me if you must - I know I'm an elitist at times. I'm OK with it too.
But seriously, remove yourself from my friend's list and read more books. Step away from the computer and find a library or an independent book store pronto. Hell, I'd almost let you get away with the video store at this point, since there are so many bloody movies about him these days too. Just go.
For those of you still here in bat country, one of my favorites to celebrate :
"Maybe there is no Heaven. Or maybe this is all pure gibberish - a product of the demented imagination of a lazy drunken hillbilly with a heart full of hate who has found a way to live out where the real winds blow - to sleep late, have fun, get wild, drink whisky, and drive fast on empty streets with nothing in mind except falling in love and not getting arrested...
Res ipsa loquitur. Let the good times roll. "
More common are the others that I tend to spout -
"Buy the Ticket, Take the ride"
or
"Fuck the Bozos".
Both are equally wise and true in their beautiful simplicity.
Still better is the 3AM fax from the man himself way beyond the deadline hour that simply said "I shit on yr.chest"
Here's to you, Doctor.