Tag: Gonzo

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PJ Whelihans is Decadent and Depraved

I was immediately repulsed by the smell of cheap perfume, chicken wings, and desperation pushing towards me.

The bar exuded schizophrenic chaos. Part pub, catering hall, concert venue, and brothel. The female patrons looked defeated and warn down. There was no joy in this establishment, just grim acceptance.

I scanned the room to assess the other characters haunting this place. Hipsters, slackers, sportsters, families, and the chronically hopeless congregated here. This truly was thee Walmart of bars – accommodating all demographics, but none of them well and certainly without character.

The masses sat there gazing blankly into the abyss. Mixed in with the hopeless, there were individuals that were overjoyed to be in such a location. As we pushed our way towards the back, we found the group we were looking for.

A bearded slacker approached me and offered a fist-bump. I was taken aback my this outdated greeting. My fist extended in sympathy and then I promptly applied sanitizer to the back of my hand.

Our tables were located in the back, directly next to the bathrooms. I assume we were not deemed attractive enough to be near entrances or windows. As I scanned my surroundings I noticed a make-shift stage being assembled. I felt the sudden urge to flee.

The fist-bumper took a seat behind me. I decided it was preferable than making eye contact, but I could feel his beady eyes burrowing holes in my head. The pressure was getting intense when the waitress arrived and asked our group if we need a drink.

God Yes.

The alcohol took an unacceptable amount of time to arrive and our waitress looked different yet the same. Then I noticed her on the other side of the bar while she was still at my table, and there she was again at the table next to us.

Did this woman have the ability to clone herself or did someone slip something in my drink? Walmart mass production at its finest, I didn’t know they were in the business of making people, but it was inevitable. I decided to call her Tripli-kate.

Someone was setting up a drum kit and I turned to find the fist-bumper staring at me. Where did I put my mace? The drummer had a greasy look that was all-too-common for Southern New Jersey cover bands. The rest of the group remained hidden from my view but I could hear them plucking away…preparing for an evening of audio torture via Bon Jovi covers.

At the first struck note, a herd of wild-haired, fake-breasted, buffalo woman stampeded towards the stage. Their bovine glares focused at the half-empty stage of has-beens preparing to play their brand of bleached, white-bread South Jersey soul music. Men soon followed the women, quietly coming close to their ample posteriors in order to make contact with their Wrangler sheathed crotches.

It was entirely plausible that the rapture of bad food, bad music, and unfulfilled dreams could instigate a flash-orgy. We needed to leave. Immediately.

The crowd converged. Through a fetid human cavity made of small gaps between legs and armpits, I found freedom. Once outside, we barricaded ourselves in the car. Hearing the music reach a crescendo, the odor of the masses reached its peak, infecting my nostrils and lungs even outdoors.

I scrubbed myself raw when I got home to ensure I was not contaminated by any form of contact. I wrapped a blanked over myself and watched TV for several days until the thought of that horrible place left my mind and I was able to venture out into the world again.

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Hunter S. Thompson Job Reference

( #HunterSThompson, #Gonzo, #JobReferences )

This is a letter Thompson wrote to the editor of the Vancouver Sun…

By the time you get this letter, I’ll have gotten hold of some of the recent issues of The Sun. Unless it looks totally worthless, I’ll let my offer stand. And don’t think that my arrogance is unintentional: it’s just that I’d rather offend you now than after I started working for you.

I didn’t make myself clear to the last man I worked for until after I took the job. It was as if the Marquis de Sade had suddenly found himself working for Billy Graham. The man despised me, of course, and I had nothing but contempt for him and everything he stood for. If you asked him, he’d tell you that I’m “not very likable, (that I) hate people, (that I) just want to be left alone, and (that I) feel too superior to mingle with the average person.” (That’s a direct quote from a memo he sent to the publisher.)

Nothing beats having good references.

UPDATE: Boing Boing found the whole damn letter:

Vancouver Sun
TO JACK SCOTT, VANCOUVER SUN

October 1, 1958 57 Perry Street New York City

Sir,

I got a hell of a kick reading the piece Time magazine did this week on The Sun. In addition to wishing you the best of luck, I’d also like to offer my services.

Since I haven’t seen a copy of the “new” Sun yet, I’ll have to make this a tentative offer. I stepped into a dung-hole the last time I took a job with a paper I didn’t know anything about (see enclosed clippings) and I’m not quite ready to go charging up another blind alley.

By the time you get this letter, I’ll have gotten hold of some of the recent issues of The Sun. Unless it looks totally worthless, I’ll let my offer stand. And don’t think that my arrogance is unintentional: it’s just that I’d rather offend you now than after I started working for you.

I didn’t make myself clear to the last man I worked for until after I took the job. It was as if the Marquis de Sade had suddenly found himself working for Billy Graham. The man despised me, of course, and I had nothing but contempt for him and everything he stood for. If you asked him, he’d tell you that I’m “not very likable, (that I) hate people, (that I) just want to be left alone, and (that I) feel too superior to mingle with the average person.” (That’s a direct quote from a memo he sent to the publisher.)

Nothing beats having good references.

Of course if you asked some of the other people I’ve worked for, you’d get a different set of answers.
If you’re interested enough to answer this letter, I’ll be glad to furnish you with a list of references — including the lad I work for now.

The enclosed clippings should give you a rough idea of who I am. It’s a year old, however, and I’ve changed a bit since it was written. I’ve taken some writing courses from Columbia in my spare time, learned a hell of a lot about the newspaper business, and developed a healthy contempt for journalism as a profession.

As far as I’m concerned, it’s a damned shame that a field as potentially dynamic and vital as journalism should be overrun with dullards, bums, and hacks, hag-ridden with myopia, apathy, and complacence, and generally stuck in a bog of stagnant mediocrity. If this is what you’re trying to get The Sun away from, then I think I’d like to work for you.

Most of my experience has been in sports writing, but I can write everything from warmongering propaganda to learned book reviews.

I can work 25 hours a day if necessary, live on any reasonable salary, and don’t give a black damn for job security, office politics, or adverse public relations.

I would rather be on the dole than work for a paper I was ashamed of.

It’s a long way from here to British Columbia, but I think I’d enjoy the trip.

If you think you can use me, drop me a line.

If not, good luck anyway.

Sincerely, Hunter S. Thompson

This letter and many more like it were published in The Proud Highway (links to Amazon in case you are interested in purchasing – I think I am going to buy it).