Sunday, January 24, 2010

Where's Doc When We Need Him?

As I've been reading an assortment of opinions on the latest SCOTUS outrage, I find myself wishing to hear the missing voice of Hunter S. Thompson. Doc was the absolute master of writing the angered observance of political criminals in action, his pen was a rapier thrust into the heart of an issue. Sadly, the disaster of the shrub administration saw the last of Thompson's evisceration:

The cure for White House Disease is not so simple. It is like a combination of Blueballs & malaria, an interminable Fever that is always Incurable & often Fatal. The symptoms are blindness, freezing, sweating, weeping & delusions of suffering beyond Death.

Let's face it: The only true Blood-Sport in this country is high-end Politics. You can dabble in Sports or the Stock Markets, but when you start lusting after the White House, The Joke is Over. These are the real Gamblers, & there is nothing they won't do to win.

The Presidency of the United States is the richest & most powerful prize in the history of the World. The difference between winning the Super Bowl & winning the White House is the difference between a Goldfish & a vault full of Gold bars.

The Bush family has already Corrupted the Presidency & the U.S. Supreme Court. Millions of Americans will never again be Confident that their vote will be counted in any election

The man had a keen eye for spotting corrupt, evil bastards, and he was fearless in exposing them. How I wish his voice were still howling today.

Added: This piece by Mark Kleiman is well worth reading; not that it's at all like what Doc would write, but he makes a great point. See, also, The Editors.


Camperrunamok said...

I had the good fortune of meeting the " Doc " and I started reading him the late '60's. What a character. He spoke at the U of I and then spent 3 days drinking and expounding on all sorts of things at my friend's house. We poured him into a plane after a little problem at the Cedar Rapids Airport. He got to Aspen somehow. Thanks.

pygalgia said...

I, too, knew Doc, and over-drank and other thing with him during the 90's, and I share your sentiments. He was one of a kind.

BadTux said...

I never ran into Doc, since he woulda come to Redneck Hickville about the same time rain fell upwards. Still, I think the outrage killed him in the end. He was just so fucking sick of all the bullshit, he saw that the USA was on one long train ride to some evil fucking shit and that nothing he said or did would make a damned bit of difference, and he decided to get out while the going was good in the only way that'd keep him from seeing the sick shit going down.

Me, I grew up after the American Dream, so I never got to see it die like Doc did. The only dream in America now is Orwell's dream -- a foot coming down upon a screaming face, forever. So I'm going to hang around because I ain't never known anything different. Doc, though... he lived through a time when it seemed we could have a better nation instead of a nation of petty sadistic bastards. Gotta be heart-breaking to see that happen. Not that I'd know personally, since I've lived in a nation of petty sadistic bastards ever since I was born.1

Word verification: "ingoc". Much like "ingsoc", Orwell's ghost must be working overtime...

- Badtux the Watching-Orwell-come-true Penguin

Camperrunamok said...

I just saw this. It is now Tuesday and I'm working my phone list for get out the vote. I was a journalism student at the U of I, home of the Writer's Workshop. Hunter was the star of the day in the early 70's. He had as much cred as Woodward& Bernstein. I only made a living writing for 36 months or so in the 80's. But in the heydays I met Vonnegut, Cheever, Irving, Burgess and many more. Great filmmakers and screenwriters, too. I worked, after graduation, in construction just to be around these guys. It was truly the best time of my life. We all live in strange times, everyday. Don't put your pen down. I really your websites.