Are you freaking serious?!?!?

SUICIDE FUELS CONSPIRACY BUZZ
By Richard Johnson with Paula Froelich and Chris Wilson
(The New York Post-- 03/04/05)

Was Hunter S. Thompson's mysterious death really a suicide?

There are some serious irregularities surrounding the demise of the gonzo author, who was found shot to death in the kitchen of his Woody Creek, Colo., ranch on Feb. 20, and local cops seemed to have done a lackluster job of investigating.

Police reports obtained by the Rocky Mountain News note that cops arriving on the scene heard shots being fired, that Thompson's son, Juan, was allowed to be alone with the body, and that there was something odd about the gun Thompson supposedly used to kill himself.
Before his death, Thompson seemed in good spirits and was not known to be depressed. And considering his long-winded style, the absence of a note seems strange — he'd typed only the single word "counselor."

There were no eyewitnesses to the shooting, only an "earwitness" — Thompson's wife, Anita, who was on the phone with him at the time and who later drank scotch with the corpse. Her account of the incident is inconsistent: She alternately has said that she heard a loud, muffled noise and that she heard nothing but clicking.

The behavior of Juan, who was in the house at the time of the shooting, also was unusual. Pitkin County Deputy Sheriff John Armstrong said that when investigators arrived on the scene they heard shots, but Juan assured them he had merely been firing off a salute to his dead dad. Investigator Joseph DiSalvo also let Juan enter the kitchen alone and drape a scarf over the body.

And in his report, Deputy Ron Ryan noted the semi-automatic Smith & Wesson 645 found next to Thompson's body was in an unusual condition. There was a spent shell casing, but although there were six bullets left in the gun's clip, there was no bullet in the firing chamber, as there should have been under normal circumstances.

DiSalvo said he did not check the gun, adding, "I think a bullet from the magazine should have cycled into the chamber" unless there was a "malfunction." A spent slug was found in the stove hood behind the body.

Conspiracy theorists make much of the fact that Thompson had been working on a far-fetched story about the World Trade Center attack at the time of his death.

As Canada's Globe and Mail reported, Thompson had "stumbled across what he felt was hard evidence showing the towers had been brought down not by the airplanes that flew into them but by explosive charges set off in their foundations."

Don't let your 15 minutes of fame upset you

Poor guy :-(

What is that? A White Russion?
Quicktime movie found on Hi-Fi New York

But who will write the bookjacket review blurbs?

Brilliant, funny...file under "Damn. Now, why didn't I think of posting that?"

From TMFTML and Lindsay.

TMFTML: MAYBE THE MOST INSIDE BASEBALL JOKE WE'VE EVER MADE



"Mac-- you rawk!" Sincerely, Blindlonelyilliterate[at]nostandards.com

Mixing it up

I'm drinking a Skyy martini with two garlic stuffed olives (which I can't wait to bite into), listening to Trojan Dub Box Set 1 (Limited Edition), watching Lilly zip around the living room after a Catnip Mouse, and considering playing as Ireland on Fifa Soccer 2004. (but, alas, I suck even stone-cold sober with a coffee on top)

A rocking Wednesday (?) night, y'all! Woot-woot!

Hope I get up in time to tell my Primary all about it tomorrow morning.

P.S. whew--I just chased Lilly from the living room into the bedroom and back again. That game sure was easier in a one room studio apartment.

A bit like my old self tonight

I worked tonight from 6- close.

Beforehand, around 5 p.m., I started to feel a little "sick." A touch of that old Anxiety Attack feeling, I could feel it starting in my gut and edging up into my heart and down into my very bowels. Just a touch, mind you, just enough that I knew on was coming on. My stress level has increased the past couple of weeks because my hours are so low, my checks are crazy small and I am seeing a future becoming bleaker and bleaker by the week.

So, on the way to work, somewhere around Dodge and Emerson in Evanston, I dropped half a Clonzepam. It kicked in about the same time I hung up my coat in the stockroom. And it turned out to be a great night.

One of my favorite co-workers/night managers, S.R., closed with us tonight, with Croatian M and B.B.; a fun group. Though slow customer-wise, the ones who did come in were pretty cool, nice and easy-going. Most of the night, I ended up trying to flirt with and make laugh Croatian M. She's fun, cute (looks like a shorter Cameron Diaz with longer, straight dirty blonde hair), mischievous laugh, and compatible sense of humor. Unfortunately, she's like 19 and has a boyfriend, Stoolboy. Whatever, she's cute and fun; she makes the work time go by and boosts my floundering ego a little.

Anyway, the drug had a calming effect on me. My thoughts were controlled, plus the fact I really liked all my co-workers on that night (and the Frantic Boss was absent) and I felt at ease, I felt and acted like the old self I used to somewhat like being around. I laughed whole-heartedly, I made them laugh [while stocking the gadget bins, the office manager P said "gadgets are a pain in the ass," to which I replied in a exaggerated husky, seductive voice, "only if used properly." and the gang cracked up.], I did my job and helped others do there job. I actually liked being at work.

It felt good.

I miss the old me.

I don't know what I expected,

but, so far, March ain't much better than February.

Life is what you make it, and I've made a mess.