The writings of Hunter Thompson in the early 70's were a tonic to my eyes. His over-the-top rage against the machine echoed mine, made me laugh and made me feel that I wasn't alone. FOUR MORE YEARS! Of course he was greatly aided by Ralph Steadman.
Well, it turns out that Hunter was a complete jerk...a drunken, mean-spirited, self-absorbed guy with a misplaced sense of the value of celebrity. He was rotten to his wife and his kids, lapped up all the attention he got from assorted hangers-on and finally, shot himself in the head.
Sad to say, he should have done it thirty years sooner. He boxed himself into a persona that devoured him. But those two books still sing.
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