1. Sunday, February 20, 2005

    “And he cried mightily with a strong voice 

    saying Babylon the great is fallen, is fallen, and is becoming the habitation of devils, and the hold of every foul spirit and a cage of every unclean and hateful bird.”–REVELATIONS 18:2

    Richard Nixon is gone now and I am poorer for it. He was the real thing–a political monster straight out of Grendel and a very dangerous enemy. He could shake your hand and stab you in the back at the same time. He lied to his friends and betrayed the trust of his family. Not even Gerald Ford, the unhappy ex-president who pardoned Nixon and kept him out of prison, was immune to the evil fallout. Ford, who believes strongly in Heaven and Hell, has told more than one of his celebrity golf partners that I know I will go to hell, because I pardoned Richard Nixon.”

    I have had my own bloody relationship with Nixon for many years, but I am not worried about it landing me in hell with him. I have already been there with that bastard, and I am a better person for it. Nixon had the unique ability to make his enemies seem honorable, and we developed a keen sense of fraternity. Some of my best friends have hated Nixon all their lives. My mother hates Nixon, my son hates Nixon, I hate Nixon, and this hatred has brought us together.

    Nixon laughed when I told him this. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I, too, am a family man, and we feel the same way about you.”

    – Hunter S. Thompson, Rolling Stone, 1994

    today was supposed to be kurt cobain’s birthday, not hunter s. thompson’s deathday.

    but life isnt fair

    and sometimes the craziest things happen to the craziest people.

    if youve never read fear and loathing in las vegas i guess this would be a good time to pick it up, not because of the outrageous drug abuse, which i seriously doubt

    but because its simply one of the funniest books you’ll ever read.

    i dont know if my buddy w. patrick whalen is out there but if he is and was interested in writing a proper hunter s. thompson obituary for the busblog readers, and therefore civilization, he should email it to me at busblog at gmail dot com

    in the meantime i will tell you that no way would i have been able to write the best part of how to blog which were the stories of kurt cobain taking me to hell than if it werent for two huge influences in my life

    kurt cobain
    hunter s thompson

    punk rockers who at some point said thats it thats enough

    this is a hell story that didnt make the cut into how to blog, my editors found it too dark.

    todays a dark day, so it’s chosen

    one of the strangest surprises of being in hell is the fact that you can have sex.

    of course you cant always get it up.

    and your schween isn’t very big.

    and most of the only girls who will do it with you have hair in the wrong places.

    and bad breath.

    and oozing sores.

    and sometimes spare testicles

    that ooze.

    but it is sex.

    only place you get to have sex, however, is in the sex palaces.

    people pay big money to watch people have sex in the sex palaces, because it is the the strangest show in the universe.

    everyone in the stands are given flame throwers.

    if the fans don’t like the “performers”, they get to flame throw them.

    the winners get flame thrown too, but the couple get to kiss first.

    ive had sex twice at the sex palace.

    the first time i got flamethrown right away cuz i couldn’t get it up.

    if you had seen this “woman” you would understand.

    she tried to pretty-up her donkey tail with a pink ribbon but her ability to swat away the horseflies was not only disconcerting but distracting.

    first they laughed while pointing at me

    then i was fired upon with a bukkake of flame.

    i was allowed to beat off on the stage of one of the sideshow tents, and yes i consider that sex.

    terms change here.

    there are 41 different words for agony.

    theres a bunch of guys who run around telling you that they believed in God their whole lives, why would He send them to this pit?

    and i tell them that i don’t know.

    and these men cry right in front of me.

    and i tell myself, it’s probably an illusion. your mind is playing tricks on you. it could all be a big fakeout. don’t trust don’t trust.

    how do these people buy cotton candy here on the midway?

    i don’t even have pockets.

    or pants.

    everythings on fire. i walk on hot coals and it hurts and my feet blister, but i just let the tears flow. it’s almost like photosynthesis.

    the fire creates pain, the pain creates energy that gets released in locomotion and cooled with tears, which keeps the body moving.

    its pretty fucked up.

    the music is good though.

    layne will write a great obit + as will welch + metafilter is already all over it