Feb 20, 2009 14:48
Since Hunter S. Thompson blew his head off in his kitchen.
A lot of people say he did it because he knew he wasn't the writer he used to be--the drugs and alcohol had addled him.
His widow thinks he was completely demoralized by what George W. Bush was doing to the country.
Goddam. I wish he'd hung in there, ripping the shit out of the Bushies for the entire 8 years. I wonder what he'd think of Barack.
In my eternal quest for Mother of the Year, I read this quote about Nixon to my kids last night:
"At the stroke of midnight in Washington, a drooling red-eyed beast with the legs of a man and head of a giant hyena crawls out of its bedroom window in the South Wing of the White House and leaps 50 feet down to the lawn ... pauses briefly to strangle the chow watchdog, then races off into the darkness..."
They loved it.
Tonight I'll drink an iced tea glass full of whiskey in his honor.
writing,
death