The world has lost another visionary. A once drug addled "sports" writer for Rolling Stone magazine, whose ramblings tore at the fabric of our culture instead of the sheets of scores and statistics. A poet who wrote and lived (way) outside of the box. Not worried about politically correct wording or what is deemed appropriate for mass consumption by some governmental automaton . Hunter S. Thompson was one of the last in a dying breed. Grown, if not born, out of the sixties counter culture and the beatnik scene before that, Thompson, continued to throw his fists at the establishment. Destroying those that bet against him, like so many gas canisters on his Colorado estate, using the many weapons in his arsenal. He believed and professed freedom. Freedom from those who dampen, curtail, surpress, numb and dumb down a public willing to eat whatever it is fed as long as it's cheaper, more convenient and comes in a new, fresh flavor. We may never know what lead to the bullet that killed him. It's as though we've lost a collosal bet. A wager where the stakes were way to high. The world will miss you Dr. Gonzo. Well, at the very least, i will. So long and Mahalo, Hunter.
"Myths and legends die hard in America. We love them for the extra dimension they provide, the illusion of near-infinite possibility to erase the narrow confines of most men's reality. Weird heroes and mould-breaking champions exist as living proof to those who need it that the tyranny of ''the rat race'' is not yet final."
- Hunter S. Thompson
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