RIP Hunter S. Thompson

Goddamnit, another fallen hero brought down by his own hand.

Hunter S. Thompson, legendary author, political commentator and "gonzo" journalist, shot himself to death tonight at his home in Woody Creek, sources within the Pitkin County Sheriff's office have confirmed.

For this tragic news, I poured a Wild Turkey neat and gave a toast to a friend I know only through books. Sunday nights are depressing enough, but this?



I'm going to venture a guess that he was staring down the barrel of some disease or sickness that would have hindered his life considerably. I just read a news story that said,

Another friend told The Post, "He's been sick and down more than usual for the last year."

This is a tragic, horrible loss, but in the face of some life-threatening (and for Hunter, I would say this means anything that would stand in his way of living life to the fullest) disease or malaise, he would rather die by his own hand than at the mercy of nature.

I spent all weekend in the desert, right off of US Interstate 15 where HST made his famous trip to Las Vegas and there were sure echos of Fear and Loathing running through my mind. The desert does that to you. Being pent up in city life can actually make the desert a pretty desirable place to spend a weekend. When I went to Vegas for my first time over the Christmas holidays, I wondered how could anyone live through the depravity of which he described?

You will be missed, you crazy bastard. Give 'em hell, wherever you are.