Inventing Shotgun golf was the last project of brilliant Gonzo journalist Hunter S. Thompson.
Sunday night he used a gun to end his own life.
It may take awhile for the distractions to evaporate, and for the good doctor’s constructive contributions to achieve the recognition they deserve. So here’s a head start:
He opened journalism to the rest of us:
I have a theory that the truth is ever told during the nine-to-five hours.
If I’d written all the truth I knew for the past ten years, about 600 people – including me – would be rotting in prison cells from Rio to Seattle today. Absolute truth is a very rare and dangerous commodity in the context of professional journalism.
A word to the wise is infuriating.
The TV business is uglier than most things. It is normally perceived as some kind of cruel and shallow money trench through the heart of the journalism industry, a long plastic hallway where thieves and pimps run free and good men die like dogs, for no good reason.
This is a real loss. Hunter S. Thompson has done more for creative writing than most other authors I know of.