I have to offer a remembrance for this strange monster of a man. This picture is such a father-son moment that when I first saw it I was flooded with a wonder and almost jealousy at how interesting that moment in time must have been. Hunter Stockton Thompson lived life on his own terms and although I did not know him personally, I feel that I have known him through his writings. I own all of his books and have regularly checked ESPN.com for his "Hey Rube" articles. I supported his crusade for Lisl Auman and have followed the case as I can, thanks to him. I truly believe he was one of the last actual American real men left in this country, a cowboy, the zeitgeist of the generation who long for something more than vast commercialism and corruption. As my world moves on my eyes shall see it colored in a different shade for what I have learned from this man, and I shall always remember him for the special risk methodology that flavored his and our world. I don't know where you are, man, but I have a feeling Jesus better duck before he gets hit with a typewriter. Heaven isn't ready for you, and hell wouldn't be hell if you were in it. Mahalo.
Posted by Chrissy 

¶ 3:30 PM