[The cover image is from the legendary Al Satterwhite, during his Mexico hangout w/ the good Doctor. Al Satterwhite was IN OUR STORE once, and we had a short chat.]
Today is Hunter S Thompson’s birthday.
He’s dead, of course, but that’s not a problem for us or Hunter. Thanks to one of The Last Bookstore’s secret time/space portals (can’t tell you any more than that, for your own safety), and with a little help from the reality-altering properties of these “special vitamins” we scored from the Sheriff, we’re headed right back to Owl Creek… might be the mid-80s, hard to tell – to show the Doctor a good time on his special day.
We arrive mid-morning, and he’s still sleeping. Apparently he sleeps during most of the day. And man – these vitamins are heavy. We look for a place to shut our eyes for… just a few minutes… and, ah the sofa… hey…
… * * * * * *****
Wake up – It’s 5pm! Let’s get this Birth-Day started, you lazy sons of bitches! Hot damn!
[holy shit, it’s HIM]
According to our own dear United States Department of Health, Nutrition and Uncontrolled Substances, no day can legally begin without a hearty breakfast. So, here’s the official Hunter S Thompson Signature Breakfast Platter: it comes with 6 grapefruit halves plus 5 more items of your choosing: 2 pots coffee, 1 pack cigarettes, 4 Bloody Marys, 2 shots of tequila, 6 beers, Chivas (rocks, a little water), orange juice, 3 mystery pills. Again, select 5 items.
That hit the spot; I feel like a million goddam dollars! Now for some sport – how about a round or two of Shotgun Golf? Don’s car is already loaded up; off to the driving range we go. Whoever is not hitting, uses the 12 gauge to shoot the balls. 2 Points for a safe landing on the “green”, same for a vaporized Topflight. New rules: do a shot for every hit and for every miss. Use ear protection. Safety first.
That was invigorating. On the way back – what the hell – let’s stop by the racetrack and watch the giant, stinking animals work up a lather. They also have horses. That’s the freaky thing about the track: they keep the horses in stalls, but let the humans have the unbridled run of the place. What a world. You’ve never been to the races?! It’s a zoologist’s wet dream, especially if they specialize in criminal profiling, but if we stick to the bar, we should be alright. I brought the mace.
WAIT – I’ve got another great idea. Apparently there’s a Hell’s Angels party going on not too far from here. If anything gets those goons in a party-time mood, it’s the name Hunter S Thompson. Let’s get in there, win their trust somehow, then collect money for a beer run. Then we take all the money, and donate it at the Fireman’s Ball that’s happening right now on 5th Street. They’ll come after us, of course, but it’s for a good cause. We’ll just leave town; Bolivia is nice.
Well, that was much easier than I thought it would be; those guys were really drunk. I mean, so are we, but we can handle it. We’ll get our tickets to Bolivia later; it’s still my goddam birthday, and no one is gonna chase me out of my own damn country on my own damn birthday. Besides, they won’t know we ain’t coming back for at least an hour.
Alright – back at Owl Creek. It’s 3am: time to call up Johnny or Bill and let’em know how much fun we’re having.
Hm, Bill sounded tired; I hope he’s getting enough rest these days. Busy guy.
The night is young! Let’s blow up the Pontiac! There are 3 sticks of dynamite over there in that bookcase and 2 gallons of gasoline on the veranda. Let’s go. Bring that bottle of Jack. – no that’s for you, I’ve got mine here –
– Oh wow – you hear that? It’s the 4 Horsemen of the Apocalypse, but there’s 18 of them and they’re on Harley 74s. We could make a stand – God knows we’ve got enough firepower – or we could make a run for it. I know a Seminole Indian down the road that would let us hide in his basement until our flight tomorrow.
Fuck it- We’re Americans – maybe the last true Americans, and I say we fight!
— WAIT- the Pontiac! We could rolled it down the hill as they come up the drive – Prop the explosives right there in the back window, I’ll nail it with the .44 –
GLORIOUS. Up the graveled way came the Hessian cavalry on steeds of chrome when we loosed our fireship the USS Bonneville upon them and blew them all to hell! Oh – they’ll be back alright – or what’s left of them, anyway – but we live to fight another day.
Want any of this hashish? I need to get the ol’ adrenaline down a notch or two.
You’re going to bed? It’s only 5am. Suit yourself; I’m going to the kitchen to do some writing.
Listen: I’m not one to tell anyone else what to do, but I’ll say this, and you can take it or leave it: whatever you do, go in with both goddam feet and in over your head and stay there as long as you can or until you hear security coming. You’ll know where the edge is once you’ve crossed it. There’s no other way to live, as far as I know.
Good night, you beautiful bastard. Thanks for the birthday fun. Come on back tomorrow, and we’ll do it again, because why the hell not?
[The cover image is from the legendary Al Satterwhite, during his Mexico hangout w/ the good Doctor. Here is our short interview.]