Godspeed, Hunter.

J!m

Veteran and General Yakker
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February 20, 2005: In mid phone conversation with his wife, Hunter S. Thompson blows his brains all over the kitchen ceiling of his home.
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Looking back, a geriatric H. S. Thompson just doesn’t seem right.

It would seem he felt the same way.

I don’t know who his wife was.
 
What a thoughtful, considerate thing to do to your spouse.
I always thought his writings were full of shit and never really got why he was considered as either influential, talented, skilled or even remotely interesting.
Sorry for the counter-narrative. Maybe it's incentivised by being stuck in another fkg hospital bed today and realising the value of life, living and being otherwise relatively healthy.
 

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