Hunter S. Thompson, legendary gonzo journalist and author, was "buried" this past weekend. He wasn't actually buried so much as his ashes were put into fireworks and then shot into the air.
What .. the ... hell ... !?
If you broached the subject of "final arrangments" with me anytime since 1999, you'd know that my wishes are simple and original: I want to be shot out of a potato cannon. In the past year I ammended these wishes to allow the possibility for me to be cremated first and then put into some Tupperware before being shot out of the aforementioned potato cannon. Strange? Yup. Original? I thought so. Still possible? No.
My whole potato cannon idea was like a backup plan for fame. If I'm not world-renowned by the time I cash in, then at least I could have been "that crazy guy who had his remains shot out of a potato cannon." But now people would write me off as "that crazy guy who tried to something like legendary gonzo journalist and author Hunter S. Thompson did at his 'burial'". The optimist in me might think that people would see a potato cannon and fireworks as sufficiently far-enough removed. However, the realist in me thinks, "Great, I need a new burial plan."
I think
Well, Thompson, you've won this one. Enjoy it, you admirably-crazy loon.
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 (1937 - 2005)
THWUMP!
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Legendary he was, but keep in mind that most scumbags don’t know the man’s name, let alone his legacy or burial plans. Only one poor sucker recognized me as “the guy from Fear and Loathing” last Halloween, despite my level of intoxication and briefcase full of illicit drugs and grapefruits. Perhaps I was smoking the wrong brand through my cigarette filters. I do not know; I do not smoke. I do know this: I was drinking the wrong whiskey. Wild Turkey was not available at the bar I was at; it was out of season and I couldn’t get pas the cop at the door with my briefcase so I had to drink what I could. No wonder the poor fuckers thought I was a Hawaiian tourist or the guy from Weekend at Bernie’s; those people drink Jim Beam. Those people do not get shot out of cannons.
You my friend, you will be shot out of a cannon. Even now, why wait? I’ll order one for your party, a blue one, and a helmet. I have an extra mattress with a urine stain we can use as a bullseye.
Seriously now, in case I wasn’t already: Hunter Thompson had been planning this funeral since before we were born; check out a documentary called Fear and Loathing in Gonzovision from 1978. So don’t feel bad; you never had the chance to be original. Probably your life will be easier, and mine too, if you smoke a joint.
By Carman on Aug 22, 2005
1978!? I really never did have a chance.
Since you’re ordering the cannon and helmet, I think I can spring for a urine-free mattress. Don’t forget: I spared no expense.
By oZ on Aug 22, 2005
I pissed on a mattress for no good reason, I have no new Nonsense to comment on today, and I didn’t even get the potato salad reference until just now. Damn I’m stupid these days. My week had better get better…
By Carman on Aug 24, 2005
This message is for Carman, I was about to say the exact same thing about the GonzoVision movie, seems I’m not the only one with the Fear and Loathing special edition dvd. I like your last sentence, and by me saying that, you will know what I mean when I say it’s time to roll some ice in the grass, because it will absorb the chlorophyll that will replenish my body while I am drinking my Chivas Regal. Cheers. And by the way, he smoked Dunhills.
By David on Feb 15, 2006