Gism Butter

Mon, 21 Feb 2005

Hunter S. Thompson

I first read it on Boing Boing, coming out of the mountains and listing out the page on my Sidekick. I pulled off my headphones and stared at the simple posting. I blinked and tried to contemplate what it meant. I told V and she went blank, staring red eyed at the road ahead, just outside of Livermore.

we had to ride BART because it was much faster. After the 1.5 feet of snow we got on the slopes between Saturday night and Sunday morning, we assumed it would be dry all the way home. Rather, it was pouring, and we walked from the furthest BART station within our choice. The thunder clapped overhead, and a small patch of clear blue sky shown through. Hunter banged on the heavens and screamed for entry.

when we finally arrived home, we shed our clothes and warmed ourselves in front of the heater. After much cleaning, warming, and unpacking, we have finally settled in, in front of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. V is a wreck. I'm drinking rum, heavily. We've lit up a joint, and we plan of becoming innebriated enough to understand the VHS tape V has of HST interviewing Keith Richards. Obviously, that will likely requite most of the bottle. If all goes well, perhaps we'll go on this.