I need to get my feelings about Hunter S. Thompson off my chest. My friends who admire him, I hope will forgive me. I understand he has his fans. I am not one. Leaving aside the question of his writing and even leaving aside the fact that he framed out of control drug abuse as heroic, the man shot himself in the head while his wife was on the other end of the phone. Having been that person--on one end of the phone while your spouse and, in my case, a rifle are on the other end, I need to tell everyone: it's not heroic. Okay? It's awful. The guy was an insane addict whose last hurrah was an act of aggression. He could have crawled away somewhere, but no, he needed to make sure he had an audience to the end. Ugh.
Just my two cents. I admit, I'm sure I'm projecting. I have, after all, had to pay an ambulance bill with the line: "Reason for conveyance: head in natural gas oven."
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