Disturbing Letter from Mr. Bush

I've taken it upon myself to raid the mailbox of a certain... well, fuck his name, the bastard is a toad- and he knows who he is. At any rate, I'm not a huge fan of posting pictures on this thing, and quite honestly I'm thoroughly sick of the whole rot... so, I've changed the name on the letter (to avoid any legal pursuits that aren't in my favor) and have posted it here for all to see. (See Larger: Click on the Photograph)

As some may remember, in June, we had a small incident where some two-bit flea monger decided he'd throw his two cents in on my writing: see- You've Arrived a You've arrived at Judgment Day: Gutless Scum Aren't Welcome -and, for a while, I shrugged the whole thing off. OH BOY! was I wrong... in light of recent events I've decided to take action, starting with this letter from Mr. Bush.

Let the madness ensue.

New York Calling: Glenda sends word from 7th...Junk Politics: Courtesy of the Ringling Brothers...Scalpers near the Big House hog-tied and Gang Raped

The dust has settled and I was able to dig deep into my inbox last night, giving my email the attention it deserves, and to my surprise, a shout from Glenda Luft of 5W Public Relations, brought to my attention a key point that might have been overlooked by those weaseling their way around the Campaign Trail...

In 2003, British novelist A.L. Kennedy named Hunter S. Thompson's 1972 campaign book one of the 10 most offensive books in history -- on a list that also included Lolita, Wuthering Heights, and Don Quixote. This week on the Barnes & Noble Review, Cameron Martin considers Fear and Loathing: On the Campaign Trail ’72, in light of the current presidential campaign.

“Next week's Democratic Convention is in Denver, Colorado, just 220 miles from Thompson's former home in Aspen. The creator of Gonzo Journalism won't be there in person, but his addictive spirit will certainly make an appearance,” writes Martin.

Martin explores the impact that covering the 1972 elections had on Thompson’s life, including fanning the flames of his lifelong fascination with politics and solidifying his place as a venomous opponent to both “liberal elitists” and “conservative stalwarts.”

Martin chooses a quote from the book’s introduction to summarize Thompson’s unique position: “Unlike most other correspondents, I could afford to burn all my bridges behind me -- because I was only there for a year, and the last thing I cared about was establishing long-term connections on Capitol Hill. I went there for two reasons: (1) to learn as much as possible about the mechanics and realities of a presidential campaign, and (2) to write about it in the same way I'd write about anything else -- as close to the bone as I could get, and to hell with the consequences.”

Who would Thompson have voted for this year? Cameron Martin ventures a guess and more in his full review of Fear and Loathing: On the Campaign Trail ’72, on the Barnes & Noble Review here.

Thanks Glenda!

OK sports fans,

The Wolverines tried to come off on the high point of last weeks victory over Wisconsin, yet, as proven to be the trend of this season, Ann Arbians were let down by the largest dwelling member of the weasel family, losing 45 to 20 against Illinois. However, the real blood-show came before the Game when two Illini youths, camouflaged in maze and blue, were caught, naked, scalping tickets near a local bar on the outskirts of campus. Kenny Crothers, 21 and Bill Swindel, 43 were both selling phony tickets to unruly Illinois fans who had put their kids tuition, money-line, on Michigan winning by 7. Cheap bastards.

Good riddance.

Once a year, around mid-summer, when the air gets wet and moist and the trees bend in an atavistic plight with the sun, the big Fun Machine rolls into town. Bells, whistles, cannons, clowns, three-legged dogs with blood-red eyes, dying lions limping with bile ridden anus, bloated Ring Masters gangrene bellies ... these are the victims of the Circus. Yet, with all this grotesque imagery, it has come no where near the portrait that's been painted by the candidates in the upcoming presidential election. The economy has gone to hell, Bush is masturbating faster than ever, Ron Paul committed sodomy, Palin's nipples are growing fur, Barack has tried milking a horse...twice, and John McCain just became Mormon, which, at this opportune moment, may have been his best bet. Where is Kennedy when you need him? HAIL HAIL THE ALMIGHTY! OH, JESUS, SAVE US! Stock up on lawyers, guns, and money, folks--the more the merrier. This joints gonna blow and when the time comes you'll either be on the IN or the OUT. November 4th is looming, faster than a speeding bullet, faster than Bush's uncircumcised cock rub, faster than Michael Phelps (who, may I be the first to say, has most Americans by the BALLS and won't let go... the boy won 12 ribbons with painted metal on the end, have you forgotten whose really saving the country? I'll tell you one thing bucko, I've never seen a gun in Phelps' hand) against an Asian torpedo. Enough is enough... throw the fat in the fire and good luck to you all.

On November 4th I'm going to wake up, jack off, drink a cup of coffee, then vote... then get back in bed, jack off one last time before falling asleep with white goo on my belly, a limp dick in hand, and an "I Voted" sticker planted directly on my forehead... just in case some inglorious bastard thinks I didn't do so.

that's all for now
mike

Thank God for Hill-Dawg

For those watching the Democratic National Convention tonight, I hope you were moved as much as I was by Hillary's speech. I felt myself actually get up from the couch and run toward the T.V. as if it were the future. Let's do it Barack! 4 more months! 4 more months!

NO WAY! NO HOW! NO McCAIN!

taking the gloves off in the Political ring and shedding the blood,
Michael Anthony Adams

Post Script,
Here's just a taste, my favorite taste, of Hillary's speech last night that I thought should be spelled out...

This is the story of America. Of women and men who defy the odds and never give up.

How do we give this country back to them?

By following the example of a brave New Yorker, a woman who risked her life to shepherd slaves along the Underground Railroad.

And on that path to freedom, Harriet Tubman had one piece of advice.

If you hear the dogs, keep going.

If you see the torches in the woods, keep going.

If they're shouting after you, keep going.

Don't ever stop. Keep going.

If you want a taste of freedom, keep going.

Even in the darkest of moments, ordinary Americans have found the faith to keep going.

I've seen it in you. I've seen it in our teachers and firefighters, nurses and police officers, small business owners and union workers, the men and women of our military -- you always keep going.

We are Americans. We're not big on quitting.

- Hillary Rodham Clinton

Heart Attack Jack's comments on Closing Up Shop

oh please, please, let us escape
for we know not what to give or take
it's satan's breath that fills our nose
the lonely traveler who comes and goes
- poem written by michael adams in Aspen

my hearts been on the fritz for a few days making it impossible for me to attempt any sort of ongoing physical & mental activity... even this short note is sucking the energy straight from the tips of my fingers. don't mind the punctuation, there's none to be seen here... I have to get this message across as simply as possible to avoid any tremors! the point; the affairs desk of gonzo from 330 is being relocated due to some frantic decisions made by low paid attorneys, mine, who selfishly took it upon themselves to decide on a cooler climate and when they came to me, as they do in times of peril, i suggested ann arbor... a small college town hidden in the suburbs of michigan. a few gargled and hissed saying,

"michigan, man, i'm not sure. will it be weird enough boss?"

"oh, yeah sure McMellroy, of course it will be weird enough and, to top it all off, they've got some slam-bang tits to boot!"

the whole rot of the business in los angeles has taken a heaping toll on the boys in the copy room and frankly this 11x11 isn't providing sufficient welfare for my bowels, has infected my cyst with a pussing green-goo, and my blood vessels are squeezing the joy right out of my heart! hard to breathe, nostrils flaming, exploding sensations in the brain (keeping any and all thoughts & basic motor skills juvenile) and a wicked cough that keeps the neighbors bitching from 3 a.m. to 5:30.

travel dates have been set and are being processed as we speak down at triple A. i spoke with a woman named deloris who assured me that all necessary arrangements will be made by august 20th, by which time a colleague of mine will fly to LAX and make the trip back at high speed to the pleasant peninsula. as for now, you can still reach me at my los angeles office of 11929 Venice Blvd, however, if your quarrels are urgent i suggest you bring them to my attention posthaste!

OK for now, no calls please... need to hibernate before the haul

Love & friendship

Heart Attack Jack

Ps.
enemies, ye be warned

Happy Birthday Hunter Thompson

Well Hunter, it's another year with you absent for the festivities that will take place on your birthday... wild orgies, hard liquor, easy women, massive rifles, cannons, pistols, and rockets, psychotic episodes of naked teeny-boppers, werewolf-like spats of blood and ooze, beautiful scenes of sex in every direction, careless mistakes made at priceless moments, and one big ugly salute to the man who brought a whole generation (including generations to come) into one long fine flash of fun! Happy Birthday Hunter!

Indeed. Hunter made people laugh when he was alive and is still making us laugh after his death. I believe that's why he resonates with so many young, and young-at-heart, people, such as his intellectual-property lawyer and late-night phone friend George Tobia of Boston. Most of their business dealing took place between the hours of midnight and 5 A.M. But it wasn't all serious business. During my first few years with Hunter, I knew George only from these phone calls. Now I think it is appropriate, in the pages of this book, in this chapter, for me to reveal a secret. This respectable Boston attorney was also a main supplier for one of Hunter's addictions. George indeed supplied Hunter, often via unmarked overnight FedEx boxes, with "things." What were these things? Let me list a few that came in a package dates August 14, 2002:

Full-Speed Crazy Roach, Rat-on-a-Leash, Exploding Lighter, Exploding Pack of Gum, Shocking Lighter, Shocking Beer Can, Shocking Calculator, Magic Hammer, Horror Axe, Severed Feet, Dagger with Retractable Blade, Jelly Beans (with projectile snake), Mixed Nuts (with projectile snake).

The list goes on, and the packages came at regular intervals. Hunter explained that this type of "equipment" was needed to ratchet up the element of fear in his "experiments" on people. He wanted every box of supplies to be bigger, weirder, and meaner, so as to facilitate his efforts to "scare the shit out of many cool people." He was indeed a game master connoisseur of fine toys. Some of my fondest memories with Hunter are from those, when the lipstick was applied to the accompaniment of good music and he got some weird toys, or, as he called them, props.

Anita Thompson
The Gonzo Way

And, as a special toast to Hunter's prose, here's an excerpt from his book Happy Birthday Jack Nicholson...

Going to Hollywood is a dangerous high-pressure gig for most people, under any circumstances. It is like pumping hot steam into thousands of different-size boilers. The laws of physics mandate that some will explode before others - although all of them will explode sooner or later unless somebody cuts off the steam.

I love steam myself, and I have learned to survive under savage and unnatural pressures. I am a steam freak. Hollywood is chicken feed to me, I can take it or leave it. I have been here before, many times. On some days it seems like I have lived at the Château Marmont for half my life. There is blood on the walls, and some of it is mine. Last night I sliced off the tips off two fingers and bled so profusely in the elevator that they had to take it out of service.

But nobody complained. I am not just liked at the Château, I am well liked. I have important people thrown out or blacklisted on a whim. Nobody from the Schwarzenegger organization, for instance, can even get a drink at the Château. They are verboten. There is a ghastly political factor in doing any business with Hollywood. You can't get by without five or six personal staff people - and at least one personal astrologer.

I have always hated astrologers, and I like to have sport with them. They are harmless quacks in the main, but some of them get ambitious and turn predatory, especially in Hollywood. In Venice Beach I ran into a man who claimed to be Johny Depp's astrologer. "I consult with him constantly," he told me. "We are never far away. I have many famous clients." He produced a yellow business card and gave it to me. "I can do things for you," he said. "I am a player."

I took his card and examined it carefully for a moment, as if I couldn't quite read the small print. But I knew he was lying, so I leaned toward him and slapped him sharply in the nuts. Not hard, but very quickly, using the back of my hand and my fingers like a bullwhip, yet very discreetly.

He let out a hiss and went limp, unable to speak or breathe. I smiled casually and kept on talking as if nothing had happened. "You filthy little creep," I said to him. "I am Johnny Depp!"

Hunter S. Thompson

Gonzo film opening dates, opens July 4th

Opening dates for Gonzo: The Life and Work of Hunter S. Thompson.

7/4/2008
Berkeley, CA: Shattuck Cinemas
Irvine, CA: University Town Center 6 Cinemas
Los Angeles, CA: The Landmark
Palo Alto, CA: Aquarius 2
Pasadena, CA: Playhouse 7 Cinemas
San Diego, CA: Hillcrest Cinemas
San Francisco, CA: Embarcadero Center Cinema
San Rafael, CA: Smith Rafael Film Center
West Hollywood, CA: Sunset 5
Denver, CO: Esquire Theatre
Washington, DC: E Street Cinema
Atlanta, GA: Midtown Art Cinemas 8
Chicago, IL: Landmark's Century Centre Cinema
Cambridge, MA: Kendall Square Cinema
Baltimore, MD: Landmark Harbor East 7
Minneapolis, MN: Lagoon Cinema
New York, NY: Lincoln Plaza
New York, NY: Angelika Film Center (6)
Portland, OR: Cinema 21 Theatre
Philadelphia, PA: Ritz at the Bourse
Austin, TX: Arbor Cinemas at Great Hills
Dallas, TX: Magnolia Theatre - Dallas
Houston, TX: River Oaks Theatre
Arlington, VA: Shirlington 7
Seattle, WA: Harvard Exit Theatre

For updated theater dates visit the official site.

The Young, Canadian, Buddhist-Novelist, Poet.

Will Rutledge, a young Canuck from the north, was gracious enough to send me a bit of his novel to post for my readers to see. He was hesitant at first and rightfully so... but, as our correspondence progressed, I was able to swindle his mind into the fetal position, forcing any and all material to be sent directly to me.
Thanks Willy...

Excerpt from untitled novel...

I disappeared into the mountains without a word. The only thing driving me now was the determination to fill my cup. Booze wouldn't cut it anymore. So with the Pacific Ocean in the grip of my sight, I descended the mountains and slipped into the waves. But not even the ocean could wash away the mark she'd left behind.

I let the salt sink in and kissed the sea Goddess goodnight. Lying on my back, I drifted into her arms.

I found my way to a dock crowded with the lonely faces of port-workers. They were packing crates full of goods as they emptied their souls. I found a man with his own boat asked if he wanted to get out of Dodge and he said sure. We followed the Sea Goddess all the down the coast and to Hawaii. The captain's name was Roy and he had a delirious excitement for life. He'd stand on the bow and scream at the open horizon. He screamed horrible things, kind things and sometimes even poetic things. At night he'd sit in the cabin and drink gin while writing in his journal about the weather. I'd never seen a more excited and life-loving human in my entire travels.

When we arrived I offered to spend the next few days with him. He wiped away some sweat with his cap and smiled a toothless grin. The first night was spent on bottles of booze, girls in grass skirts and the soft sounds of a local's ukulele. We crashed on the beach and slept till noon when the sun came out.

I told Roy all about my Jazzy Girl and with a smile he just remarked c'est la vie. That was his answer to everything. He put life so high on a pedestal that it could never do any wrong and it was what it was to him. He told me how we are all just crabs in the sea. His sea captain wisdom was a gift and not one I'd ever receive. Roy told me to hang on and shook my hand tight before disappearing into a loud street parade to find a girl to lay.

I spent the next day looking for a job to buy a plane ticket. Instead I find an old woman sitting by the sea on a patio in front of a lobster trap restaurant. She told me if I loved her for just one night she'd pay my way home. I exploited her loneliness and the next morning I was on a plane to New Mexico.

by William Rutledge

OK for now,
Your friend, bearing marijuana and flowers,

M