In the same week Hunter S. Thompson blows out his brains, my blogging career slides down the chute to emerge bloody and screaming into the blogworld. Bear with me while i mewl and puke and learn to walk on wobbling legs.
I owe the name of this blog to HST:
"Just pretend you're visiting a huge outdoor loony bin," I said. "If the inmates get out of control we'll soak them down with Mace." I showed him the can of "Chemical Billy," resisting the urge to fire it across the room at a rat-faced man typing diligently in the Associated Press section."
Read the whole thing.
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true stories, found objects and scratch fiction
1 comment:
Ah, the legacy of HST is profound.
In the late '80s, I had a writer friend in college whose nom de plume was Seth Pun Northsum.
Only recently did I realize this was an anagram of Hunter S. Thompson!
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