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July 08, 2006

A Filthy Young Pig

Have you ever felt like the whole world was against you?  One of those dreary days when you should just buy a bottle of Scotch and camp under a bridge for a while? 

It’s been cold and raining non-stop since Wednesday and the hygrometer reads 47%, which to a Colorado native like me can be suffocating.  A friend called me from town to read some of the lies that hired thugs are writing about me in the local papers regarding this lawsuit going on. Feeling sad and hungry, I went to the Tavern but there were a million strange faces as it is peak tourist season in Aspen despite the pouring rain.  A plump woman from Dallas was pushing her way through the crowd spilling drinks off trays, adding to the slug and gloom.   Turning away, I walked next door to my office and sat, cold and hungry at my desk.  My wet hair was dripping down my face and in my eyes, blurring my vision and running down my cheeks. Confused, broke and lonely.  It was pitiful.

 Then I saw, as it were, a white horse…And his name was Hunter!!  Well it was actually a white page, with black ink. I had opened my paperback copy of Kingdom of Fear to page 301. And Behold, our friend FX Leach. This is just one of the poems that Hunter wrote under that name.  Most are unpublished, but one day, you will read them all.   So, I read this one titled I Told Him It Was Wrong.  And it worked like a charm!  I am a happy Buddha now:

A filthy young pig
got tired of his gig
and begged for a transfer
To Texas.
Police ran him down
on the outskirts of town
and ripped off his Nuts
with a coat hanger.
Everything after that was like
coming home
in a cage on the
back of a train from
New Orleans on a Saturday Night
with no money and cancer and
a dead girlfriend.
In the end it was no use
He died on his knees in a barnyard
with all the others watching.
Res Ipsa Loquitor
– FX  LEACH Omaha, 1968

Okay! Until next time, your friend in the rain,

Anita Thompson
Woody Creek

July 05, 2006

He Was a Crook

Hello. Yes, I did place myself in Kenneth Lay’s neighborhood in my last blog entry, but I can assure you that I didn’t kill him.  Plus, a man who represents the darkest and ugliest part of ourselves doesn’t die that easily.  It’s possible that he’s not dead at all, but trekking in the high mountains of Argentina right now, where Alex Gibney (who made the documentary Enron: the Smartest Men in the Room) is on location for another film.  It would be interesting to see their accidental encounter. 

For now, we’ll just assume Kenneth Lay is really dead, and use the quote from Revelation that Hunter used for his piece titled He was a Crook  about the death of Richard Nixon:

And he cried mightily with a strong voice, saying, Babylon the great has fallen, and is become the habitation of devils, and the hold of every foul spirit and a cage of every unclean and hateful bird.


-Revelation 18:2


 And for today’s HST wisdom, here is one appropriate graph from that same piece:

Some people will say that words like scum and rotten are wrong for Objective Journalism – which is true, but they miss the point.  It was the built-in blind spot of the Objective rules and dogma that allowed Nixon to slither into the White House in the first place.  He looked so good on paper that you could almost vote for him sight unseen.  He seemed so all-American, so much like Horatio Alger, that he was able to slip through the cracks of Objective Journalism.  You had to get Subjective to see Nixon clearly, and the shock of recognition was often painful…

-Hunter S. Thompson, Better Than Sex

 For those of you who  are following the lawsuit filed against Hunter and his estate by a former employee and the local publicity surrounding it, I’ll keep you posted.

Okay, I’m off to my mountaintop retreat. 

Your friend, Anita Thompson


July 03, 2006

Mountain Top


Hi there.  Sorry it’s taken me so long to post.

I’ve been up at Lynn Goldsmith’s mountain cabin  working on the manuscript, where the phone doesn’t ring.  It’s taking forever even though it’s beautiful up here at the top of Old Snowmass overlooking the entire mountain range that Hunter loved so much.  Below me I can see in the distance the red cliffs of Owl Farm and beyond, the Aspen Valley…Stunning, especially with the lightning and the cracking thunder. Very cool.
       As for this lawsuit that was filed against Hunter and his Estate, and the local publicity, yes, apparently all sorts of “perspectives” and “opinions” are slithering out from under rocks and the woodwork, finding their way into the local papers and even attacking me personally. I don’t have to worry about any of this, as Hunter already did the worrying. This is why he didn’t hire any of these pip-squeak thugs or drunks to run his estate after he was gone.  He hired Hal, George and Doug.  (bio links in my last entry)    

         Sorry if all of this seems cryptic, maybe it is.  I’ll fill you in with more detail soon. It will be fun.  But I gotta run…now.

        But I’ll leave you with some HST wisdom from Song’s of the Doomed.
It is from a letter to Keith Stroup of the NACDL (bio from NORML) after Hunter had been rescued by a team of lawyers at another time that he was frivolously charged (in 1991 with a serious crime.)  At one point, Hunter really worried that he was going to jail.  But: 
…Suddenly I had my own gang. My people, my friends, my warriors…They came from all points of the compass and all points in time, and we stomped on the terra like champions.  It was something to see, folks, and it was a beautiful war to be part of… Haddon stomped through the courtroom like one of the Gallo brothers mashing grapes, and Goldstein gave them nightmares at high noon just by sitting at the Defense table with that fine cheetah’s grin…

…With great respect and affection, I remain, your friend.

Dr. Hunter S. Thompson.   
And also… your friend (on the mountain top)
Anita Thompson

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