Hunter S Thompson

There was a tribute to Hunter S Thompson on 2oceansvibe on Tuesday. I was reminded of him by this tribute, and by the fact that someone who was at college with me last year wanted to be exactly like Hunter. He wrote while smoking pot, drinking beer and doing coke.

One day we decided to visit him because he had not been to college for a few days, and knowing his self destructive life style, we arrived at his flat. I did not know what to expect really. Anyway a friend of mine started shouting his name, because his door bell did not work. So he comes out, and I was standing quite far away from him. Being someone who does not get outdoors much he was always a little pale.

But this day was the worst. I said to my mate that maybe we should leave him alone because he was looking quite bad, all pale and shit. Turns out he had shaving cream on his face, and this combined with the bright sun and the white painted balcony, made him look like he had come out of some sort of twilight zone. Anyway we went inside to check up on him, when suddenly his nose started bleeding. He had been to a trance party and had been coking it up solid for a day or two.

Anyway, that's a little background into how I came to know more about Hunter, because of my college mates obsession with him.

Anyway I was paging through a Mens Health(May 2006) and came across an article on addiction. It is written by a man who was an editor at Playboy during the seventies(Can you imagine? It must have been reckless) He says the following, and it's classic of Hunter S Thompson:

I first met Hunter Thompson at the Sunset Marquis, in Hollywood. My first wife, Carolyn, and I spent some time in his room and she got to watch as Hunter and I consumed large quantities of alcohol and drugs. Then we went driving in his huge red rental car. Hunter drove with a bottle of Wild Turkey between his knees and took bubbling gulps from it now and then. I recognised a kindred spirit when I saw one, though Hunter was way out of my league.

The next time I saw him was at a party in Chicago. Someone had brought 200 grams of cocaine. It sat in a huge pile on the coffee table and people came and went, sucking it up. I was standing nearby when Hunter made his entrance. He did this by filling his mouth with lighter fluid, then spewing it out while striking a match in it's path. A sheet of flame preceded him into the room. Unfortunately, he was so stoned his aim was off. By the time a few friends put me out, the hair had been burnt off my arms, neck and part of my head.

I sat Hunter down and said, as calmly as I could, “If you ever do something like that to me again, I will kill you.”
He nodded, urgently chewing his cigarette holder, his eyes revolving madly in their sockets. “And you'd have every right to. It'd be a matter of honour. I expect you to do that.”

Now just imagine being at that party, seeing Hunter S Thompson, the creator of gonzo journalism, walking in, with flames around him and some guy from Playboy on fire, it must have been totally off the hook. I wish I could tell stories like that! That is legend. And it's Hunter, because only he could do something like that, and be so calm about the whole thing. You have to love it. Shit, the 70's must have been crazy times.