HuffPo has blocked my further input, or otherwise put my account under some sort of "Double Secret Probation". Though I remain in good standing as a "Super User" (goodie!) apparently so many people have objected to my "truisms" they just immediately shunt my comments off the rage freeway and let them go nowhere: the way the cops pull you over as part of a group of speeders, then mill around, waiting for you to act like an ass, so they can feel extra good about the citation.
But because my brain droppings to HuffPo are my words, I will just use the snipping tool and lay them out for your review: and then you can tell me which one did the trick.
That's enough for now. There are more of course, sadly. I make no excuses for my behavior. I accept that HuffPo is now wilting toward cowardice as do all of them as they grow from the "blog" stage to media giant. It seems the media is the only arena in the modern age in which the players grow less bold the more powerful they become.
When it comes to good screed, I have no rivals. I accept my own lack of humility in this regard and will try to do...better? (And that's a lie.)
Do I have an inflated idea of my place in this world? Obviously.
When I was a college student of lukewarm academic promise struggling with my math and science classes at university, I read an old article in the Rolling Stone where Hunter Thompson suggested that former U.S. Attorney General Ed Meese needed desperately to be raped by an Elk. And they printed it!
I thought "what balls this guy has!" Many dilettante writers, and I accept that handle, do you worst!, fancy themselves as taking up Hunter's power-fist into the sky.
Since he blew his brains out, there's been no one to take up the cause. I admired his comment of rage toward Ed Meese, because it challenged the status quo. I admire, as I did then, his turn of phrase that no no! he didn't just need it, Ed Meese "desperately" needed Elk rape. Or was it "was in desperate need of being raped by an Elk" or some such turn of phrase. Looking back I don't even remember the context! I just can't get the image out of my head of sweaty, naked Ed Meese, a simply awful character in history working for villains, and a confused, horny Elk on his back. I also envisioned reactionary fascist, certainly overmatched Ed Meese, with his eyes bugged in astonishment. I was floored by it, literally rolling around my dorm room, nearly peeing myself.
The idea Ed Meese would actually be raped by an Elk is ludicrous. Of course not.
But the beautiful rage sang to me like sweet wine.
Desperate need, had he as though a rough moment of copulation with an elk would give a rampant fascist the needed humility to become human once again.
And the image of Hunter typing those words; the anger, the bold righteous anger of that moment when Hunter spoke to me about power, about those in control who used us like sheep, all of it.
There is no one, his equal, as much a testament to his gifts as an indictment on our times. The corporate dark ages, which strangle rage, tame it, put it into a cage, filter it like statistical noise.
No matter, the battle continues.
And here's to you Hunter. I know I am unworthy, but in your honor, and your stead, I raise my fist into the sky and vow death before dishonor.