HUNTER IS DEAD

Hunter Stockton Thompson
1937-2005
The flags on my lawn are at half mask today. For America lost a literary son.
following in the footsteps of Ernest Hemingway, Hunter shot himself on Sunday. We are all asking why, but I am sure “Lono” is asking “Why not?”
I am still saddened. I believe the world is worth far less than 28 grams today.
I am not shocked or surprised. I don’t even find his death cowardly. I am quite surprised he lived this long.
I am a betting man, and my money says he knew his life would play out this way. I bet he picked his favorite pistol, maybe his S&W 44 with a 240 grain wad-cutter.
I think there are some souls in life that are heavier and more tragic than others. His penchant for woman, booze, guns and drugs had nothing to do with it. They are merely a result of it.
His real lust was for Liberty, Privacy and Free Speech, at all costs.
I was fortunate to meet Hunter, briefly, in New Orleans, I also saw him in Chicago and with Johnny Depp and Warren Zevon in Louisiville. His life, no doubt, was far more interesting than any book he could ever write. His real stories are larger than life. Read the tributes on the Net today, Everyone who knew him, had a story that they will remember… for life.
His pen was sharp as his wit, and those who doubted, regretted it I am sure.
As I finish this eulogy to My hero, I am sipping on a Absynth and Red Bull cocktail wishing I could be mourning with those of you who fly the flag, and YOU know who you are. Let Hunter leave us with this appropriate quote:
“Some May Never Live, But the Crazy Never Die”