Football season is over

Nota de Suicidio de Hunter S. Thompson (1937-2005), con 65 años. Fue el creador del gonzo journalism y autor del libro autobiográfico “Pánico y Locura en Las Vegas

Título de la nota: Football season is over
“No More Games. No More Bombs. No More Walking. No More Fun. No More Swimming. 67. That is 17 years past 50. 17 more than I needed or wanted. Boring. I am always bitchy. No Fun — for anybody. 67. You are getting Greedy. Act your old age. Relax — This won’t hurt”

Cuatro días más tarde se disparó en la cabeza. Su amigo Ralph Steadman dijo sobre él: “He told me 25 years ago that he would feel real trapped if he didn’t know that he could commit suicide at any moment. I don’t know if that is brave or stupid or what, but it was inevitable. (…) He could never stand being bored“.

En leer más, 10 de sus mejores frases.

10 Hunter Thompson’s Frases:

  • “Fear? I know not fear. There are only moments of confusion”
  • “I wouldn’t recommend sex, drugs, or insanity for everyone, but they’ve always worked for me”
  • (sobre el viaje a Las Vegas)
    “Well, at least, I’ll know I was there, neck deep in the madness, before the deal went down, and I got so high and wild that I felt like a two-ton Manta ray jumping all the way across the Bay of Bengal. (…) So maybe there’s hope. Or maybe I’m going mad”
  • “Total control now. Tooling along the main drag on a Saturday night in Vegas. Two good old boys in a fire-apple red convertible. Stoned. Ripped. Twisted. Good people.”
  • “My heart was filled with joy. I felt like a monster reincarnation of Horatio Algier, a man on the move, and just sick enough to be totally confident.”
  • “As a drug user, you get used to things like seeing your dead grandmother crawling up your leg with a knife in her teeth, but nobody should be asked to handle this trip.”
  • “What? No! We can’t stop here! This is bat country!!” (supuestamente lo dijo al no querer detenerse para recoger a un autoestopista, yendo de camino a Las Vegas, porque creía que había murciélagos por el camino)
  • “How long could we maintain? I wondered. How long until one of us starts raving and jabbering at this boy? What will he think then? This same lonely desert was the last known home of the Manson family; will he make that grim connection when my attorney starts screaming about bats and huge manta rays coming down on the car? If so, well, we’ll just have to cut his head off and bury him somewhere, ’cause it goes without saying that we can’t turn him loose. He’d report us at once to some kind of outback Nazi law enforcement agency and they’ll run us down like dogs. Jesus, did I say that? Or just think it? Was I talking? Did they hear me?”
  • (comentando a un hombre que le ha visto colocado de LSD)
    “With a bit of luck, his life was ruined forever. Always thinking that just behind some narrow door in all of his favorite bars, men in red woolen shirts are getting incredible kicks from things he’ll never know.”
  • “Maybe there is no Heaven. Or maybe this is all pure gibberish — a product of the demented imagination of a lazy drunken hillbilly with a heart full of hate who has found a way to live out where the real winds blow — to sleep late, have fun, get wild, drink whisky, and drive fast on empty streets with nothing in mind except falling in love and not getting arrested… Res ipsa loquitur. Let the good times roll.”

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