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Hunter S. Thompson

perdita said:
No biggie, Burl. I've been accused of being CV and Amicus! (though not simultaneously).

Perdita :cool:
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I'm a little slow on the uptake- I've just began suspecting that CV must have another 'face'-- who all else has been 'accused' or 'suspect'? What is the evidence? and all that. Could we all be CV although we are all separate people (a sort of 'collective uncouncious) and not even know it? Oh the possiblities.

I'm closing in on you CV!!!

PS- If Dita and Amicus are one and the same- I think that would just make my fuckin' day!

Hugs Dita, Chilly and all you other fellow schizoids out there!
 
carsonshepherd said:
Oh, baby. If you only knew what a poof I really am.

:p
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There are things on heaven and earth, Horatio, Man was not meant to know.

Shanglan
 
perdita said:
No biggie, Burl. I've been accused of being CV and Amicus! (though not simultaneously).

Perdita :cool:
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What a combination! You are all things to all people, aren't you, MexiBabe?
 
cantdog said:
What a combination! You are all things to all people, aren't you, MexiBabe?
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Ha! I'm hardly a few things to some, and very little to many.

MexChiquita :kiss:
 
ChilledVodka said:
Ah, time to come over to me. I lick you so good you'll be having multiples till you pass out.

Then, I'll cook breakfast for you, and wash the dishes, massage you all over, suck your toes, bathe you, take you to shopping, and movie in Rome, then well dine in Paris Hilton. :)
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Forget toe sucking. I've got that. But...

If you cook breakfast and wash dishes come over to my fucking house.
 
Seattle Zack said:
So, where's your Rolling Stone article?

Yeah, I thought so.
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:D:D:D:D:D

I was once an author of modest success who wrote children's books for living. I'd written, with much joy, about a world of magic, wizardry and, heros and heroines. My wonderous tails of funtasia trillogy had been being apploaded widely, but moderatly. By then, I'd published 3 other children's books previously, and my publisher had had just commissioned three more book deal. My books hardly mirrored Harry Potter success, but I've enjoyed wrting and creating my version of alternate worlds. Sometimes, my writing just flew as if I'd been possessed by some sort of a muse or a demon. Those had been the times I enjoyed writing the most. When those forces took over me, I wrote and wrote, non-stop, for hours on end.

But sometimes, not always, my writing got stuck. The mental fetigue would come to overwhelm me. So, I wrote erotica to relax: excercised a different part of my mind. From somewhere deep inside of my mind, the pent up frustration and dissaticefaction of being oneself would come out like geyser. These stories, I published on-line, on my own erotic literature website.

My website was like the Literotica, but much smaller and managable, with no more than just over a thousand stories, all my creation through my youth up to that particular point in time. I had my own discussion forums that I moderated - where the visitors could read discussions about anythig from politics, religion, economy, friendship and so on and so forth.

But it's all a big lie.

No one hardly ever made posts on my discussion forums. All the posters you could see on the discussion boards were my creations. They were characters that I'd created and kept adding up: out of utter loneliness and boredum. Oh sure, people came and go, surfing through the Net, to my website, read my stories, read my discussion boards. It's strange, but nobody seemed to have enough time to post a comment or join the discussions. And one wondered what's real and what's fake. One wondered, when I did create this alternate version of a community, who else was making things up? One wondered, was the Literotica real?

We lived in a disturbing time. We could no longer decypher what was real and what was not.

Then we'd always had had information and disinformation. It's just that, with the Internet, it's much more easier to fool the fools.

So, one would take things with a pinch of salt; and gave one's gulibility a reality check now and again.

But with all this loneliness in solitude, how could one had coped with? How could one have connected with the strangers from all over the world and communicated one's ideas and thoughts, peacefully? These had been the thoughts I was musing when He came to me.

From the start, from the word 'get go', He knew there was only one person hiding behind the virtual wall of my website. Somehow, He'd learnt that behind the firewalls, there was nobody but a middle aged, lonely woman spendeing her hobby-time on the Internet. From the first moment of our encounter, He saw-through all the facede I put it up to protect me. And engaged with me head on. He showed me he knew the world I knew. He showed me the world I've never seen, and knew that they ever existed. He tought me I knew nothing. He showed me what real passion was like. That I was worth His passion.

And I was afraid. Very afraid. I was too afraid to let Him into my life.

But, He took it anyway. He opened up my website, through the binary chaos, into my computer and my written words. He'd gone through every words I'd ever written, every records of my activity on the Net, all the saved messages on my e-mail folders. He'd taken my address, phone numbers, creditcard numbers, and my national security numbers.

I was invaded, violated, and fully exposed as a faker. All the lies I've made up and written, all the creations that I created was revealed as fakes. I felt terribly small and vulnerable. My mental stability degraded as, more and more, I'd read His words. More and more, His words became that of God to me. I couldn't stop Him what he did. I didn't know how. When I was off-line, I felt being watched all the time. I felt like everytime my phone rang, I thought it would be Him on the other the other end. All the time I dislobed, took a shower, or masturbated, I felt He was watching me. Listening me moaning in frustration and angst. I felt that He's sniffing my sent and sensing my heat, jsut biting His time.

Until I was ready for Him.

My writing became less magical than my usual style, and much more darker. My heros and heroines did not tryumph in the end, but defeated in glorious sexual perversion, of blood, of gore. Guts split and decayed. Throats were slit and decapitated. Monsterous phalises are invading body cabities, and all orgasmed in manic orgy of devils and wingless angels. There was no love or goodliness, but just pure, unadultrated passion. His passion. It was devouling me and consuming me as if His hunger never sated. As if He was consuming me alive, to be a part of His being.

My mind gave into madness more and more, yet, I didn't feel like depression was taking over me. In truth, it was completely the opposit. As I gave into insanity, I felt free and liberated, and I feared less of Him. This sense of freedom let me explore the maddening deprevity and perversity I'd been burying within me for all my life.

There was nothing wrong in making oneself orgasm again and again as one adventure through the deepest crevice of one's mind. I'd let myself go to slaughter thousand virgin princes and princesses. I've let myself have adultaries with countress kings and queens. I've let myself fuck the lowest of the lows. I've let myself suck and drink the cum of demons and fallen angels. And I let myself cum again, and again, and again. Until my sex was all deep red and sore, until I could go on any longer, I made me orgasm screaming onto a pillow case, biting my lower lip, tasting my own blood. I was spent. I could hardly move my arms. I was bound in exaustion, not being able to breathes evenly as my lungs battled to regain any sort of normalcy.

And He came to me then. Wordless, but His presence fully recognised by my senses. He entered me, then. Into my bound, helpless body from behind, consuming me to weightless nothingness.
 
The Day After "Kerry Will Come Through"

Much better. This is the Hunter S. Thompson I know; the one I trust to shape my ideology in case I get tired of doing it myself. In optimist mode on Election Day, he scared me a little. I'll bet Aspen CO ducked down and stayed low until my man got this out of his system.



"We have become a Nazi monster in the eyes of the whole world--a nation of bullies and bastards who would rather kill than live peacefully. We are not just Whores for power and oil, but killer whores with hate and fear in our hearts. We are human scum, and that is how history will judge us...No redeeming social value. Just whores. Get out of our way, or we'll kill you.

"Who *does* vote for these dishonest shitheads? Who among us can be happy and proud of having this innocent blood on our hands? Who are these swine? These flag-sucking half-wits who get fleeced and fooled by stupid rich kids like George Bush?

"They are the same ones who wanted to have Muhammad Ali locked up for refusing to kill gooks. They speak for all that is cruel and stupid and vicious in the American character. They are the racists and hate mongers among us -- they are the Ku Klux Klan.

"I piss down the throats of these Nazis. And I am too old to worry about whether they like it or not. Fuck them."

---Hunter S. Thompson---
 
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Originally posted by CV


heros and heroines... The mental fetigue would come to .... frustration and dissaticefaction of being oneself ... We could no longer decypher what was real and what was not.....

and gave one's gulibility a reality check now and again.

But with all this loneliness in solitude, how could one had coped with?

He saw-through all the facede I put it up to protect me..... He tought me I knew nothing. He showed me what real passion was like. That I was worth His passion.

..... Monsterous phalises are invading body cabities.... ... I've let myself have adultaries with countress kings and queens.
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Sweet fucking Christ, dude, I try and decipher your shit, and I really want to, on some level, but you really need to make it readable, you know? Not pose such a challenge for the reader. Like some illiterate eighth grader's journal. Christ Almighty. Don't post when you're drunk, perhaps.
 
Seattle Zack said:
Sweet fucking Christ, dude, I try and decipher your shit, and I really want to, on some level, but you really need to make it readable, you know? Not pose such a challenge for the reader. Like some illiterate eighth grader's journal. Christ Almighty. Don't post when you're drunk, perhaps.
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Don't try to decipher. Just absorb.

Maybe you should post when you're drunk and you'd be more on the illiterate 8th grade level, yeah?

:)
 
It's been a week. I wonder if the people of Aspen have found the courage to emerge from their hiding places...He's probably out of ammunition by now.
 
Seattle Zack said:
Sweet fucking Christ, dude, I try and decipher your shit, and I really want to, on some level, but you really need to make it readable, you know? Not pose such a challenge for the reader. Like some illiterate eighth grader's journal. Christ Almighty. Don't post when you're drunk, perhaps.
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What are you, Fuckleberry Fenn?
:D:D:D:D
 
To tell you the truth, I'm always drunk when I post at Lit anymore. In fact, it's rare I sign on the internet when I'm sober. On a break now in my online poker tourney, and I certainly don't play good poker without a half dozen beers in me.
 
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