Fear and Loathing in America

by Hunter S. Thompson

  And when I say “this one,” George, I refer to your letter of April 28, in which you threatened me with “legal proceedings” unless I quickly send you a personal cheque for a $1,075.00 bill at Brown’s Hotel in London—which, as you specifically noted, “was arranged through Rolling Stone of London, England.”

  I also want to thank you for the xerox copy of Rolling Stone (of San Francisco) editor Jann Wenner’s letter to you, which very specifically states in paragraf #2 that “Mr. Thompson’s expenses incurred in London during November, 1974 do not come under our jurisdiction.” (sic) I was particularly happy to get this copy of Mr. Wenner’s letter, since I was unable myself to elicit any explanation at all from him, vis-à-vis Rolling Stone (of London)’s failure to honor whatever agreement they may or may not have made with Brown’s Hotel with regard to the occupancy of any (or perhaps all) of their rooms by one (or perhaps many) Rolling Stone writer(s). I just came back from Hong Kong, Bangkok and Singapore, George—so I think you’ll know what I mean when I say there is ample evidence in this world to suggest that your typical British hotel-keeper is capable of almost anything, in the context of “making arrangements.”

  But that is hardly the point, eh? We were talking about an unpaid hotel bill, “arranged through Rolling Stone of London, England.” Well … at this point, George, and unless things change pretty drastically with regard to this matter, I frankly have no intention of ever sending you a fucking dime, for any reason at all. I have not had extensive experience in the debt-collection business—or at least not on your end of it—but I’ve had enough to know that only a goddamn waterhead would try to enforce a money demand on the basis of a nonexistent agreement. Even the Hell’s Angels, George, had a valid piece of paper in their hands when they went out on the streets of Oakland to mash the teeth and stomp the fingers of those unfortunates who had fallen behind in their payments for autos and TV sets.

  Which is neither here nor there, of course, because I am far more interested in securing any knowledge you might have with regard to the connection (if any) between this London hotel bill and a series of extremely savage & defamatory criminal charges that were made against me by a British newspaper reporter, writing for a New York weekly paper called “The Village Voice.” These charges appeared in the VV of May 19 ’75 (Vol. XX No. 20) and involved allegations of attempted and/or forcible rape; actual or threatened assault with a deadly weapon; wanton use and dissemination of cocaine on the streets of London, by means of a “switchblade knife” (the same weapon allegedly used in my numerous rapes & assaults); and a variety of other felony charges that, for our purposes of the moment, might just as well be grouped under the heading of Gross Public & Private Insult: These include Threatened and/or Attempted Murder, Rape, Dismemberment, Trespassing, Obscenity, Depravity, Brutality and attempting to force an elderly Italian woman to gratify my lusts in exchange for a bowl of spaghetti … and all this, George, was allegedly done at the point of a “switchblade knife.”

  So… now we come to it, eh?

  But we lack a few crucial details … and I think you can help me on this, George; if only to establish a tangible connexion (if any) between your blatantly misdirected money-demand on me, and this malevolent spate of felony allegations made against me in The Village Voice. Unfortunately, neither you nor that star-crossed fop who sold all those charges to the Voice made any reference to dates, names, places or other specifics that could irrevocably link these two problems in any kind of time-context. I must assume, however, that—since I have only visited London once in my life and hope never to do so again—both your money-demand and these ugly rape, drug & assault charges are somehow connected to that visit Mr. Wenner refers to as “during November, 1974,” when “Mr. Thompson’s expenses (did) not come under (his) jurisdiction.”

  Indeed … and before I get into this next shot, George, let me assure you that there is absolutely nothing personal with regard to my feelings about you or your law practice … and I also think you should know, if only for your own peace of mind, that this same Mr. Wenner who suggested that you try to put the squeeze on me and gave you my address so you could track me down (or up) to my lair out here in the mountains of Colorado, is the same treacherous asshole who (in his role as both editor and majority stockholder in Rolling Stone of San Francisco and London, George) not only sent me on assignment to London last November & now refuses to pay a hotel bill that I had no part in arranging & certainly no intention of paying … but Mr. Wenner is also the same owner/editor of Rolling Stone who recently sent me to cover “the last days of Saigon” while at the same time removing me from the Rolling Stone payroll and officially canceling my health & medical insurance without ever mentioning it to me—not even while I was working in Saigon under conditions that most of the world press called a terminal “siege” and what every insurance company in the world called an extremely dangerous “war zone.”

  My own (personal) life insurance policy became invalid the moment my Air Vietnam jet touched down at Ton San Nhut airport in Saigon, but I naturally assumed I was still covered under Rolling Stone’s group policy (No. G16780) with “the Lincoln National Life Ins. Co.” of Fort Wayne, Indiana. But I was wrong, George. By his decision to remove me from the Rolling Stone payroll—without either written or verbal notice, or even mentioning his decision to anybody except the company comptroller, who quietly effected it—Mr. Wenner was also removing me and my family from any benefits under “hospital expense policy #G16780.” And I might still be ignorant of my loss, George, if I hadn’t decided to call Mr. Wenner on the occasion of my recent return from a six-week tour of every goddamn war zone in what the British used to call Indochina….

  And I hope with all my heart, George—because I feel no hatred for you—that you are not the U.S. collection agent for any British-owned hotels in the Orient: the Repulse Bay in Hong Kong, for instance, or the Hotel Erawan in Bangkok. Because those are only two of many Asian creditors who will soon find themselves bogged down in nickel & dime court battles with your friend, Mr. Wenner.

  Are you beginning to get the picture, George?

  I sure as hell hope so, because I’m getting goddamn tired of writing these letters to people like you, who seem to think I travel around the world at my own expense and write long articles for Rolling Stone, just for the fun of it. …Yes, and now that we’ve hit on this vein, I wonder if you might know anything about the recent rash of rumors (published in The Village Voice, New Times and other U.S. outlets) that I somehow wasted anywhere from $10,000 to $28,000 of Rolling Stone (of San Francisco)’s money in connexion with a heavyweight (boxing) scam that occurred last fall in Zaire.

  I seriously doubt that you had any part in that kind of vicious and defamatory libel, George—but since you’re teetering right on the brink of it with this lame bullshit about “my” bill at Brown’s Hotel in London, let me use these last few lines to discharge what I regard as the last of my ethical obligations in this cheap, familiar and always-degrading kind of quarrel by reminding you that not everybody in this world feels the same kind of bilious contempt and repugnance that throbs in my body like nine gallons of rancid blood when I stare once again at your letter and know that politicians are not alone in their belief that “there is no such thing as bad publicity.” Some people actually like it, George—especially if it sells their newspapers.

  But we live in bad times, old sport, and I don’t own any newspapers. I don’t own much of anything, in fact, and with any warning at all—maybe five or six hours—I can slip across the border and pick up my passport from the fast-growing nation of Joad, where every citizen is judgement-proof, and every creditor is fresh meat.

  Ah, George, what have we done to be plagued by these hellish fantasies? These menacing sinkholes in our lives? These devious swine and greedheads who keep people like you in business? …

  Which is probably not a fair assumption to make, because I know nothing about you, George. Mr. Wenner neglected to introduce us when he sicced (siked? sick
ed? how is that goddamn word spelled?) you on me … and for all I know you’re a fine ambitious & idealistic young man, fresh out of law school and just trying to make a decent living by leaning on anybody stupid enough to think they have to protect their Personal Credit by paying off every geek and shyster who writes them a money-demand letter.

  But if all that is true, George, it means we think very differently … and it also means I don’t want to hear any more of this bullshit about rape, brutality, assault, hotel bills in London or some editor’s libelous fantasies about me running up massive expense bills.

  I’m an extremely old person, George; and I’m also far past the point of even half-worrying about what suckfish like you can do to me. My credit is rotten, and it has been for 20 years. But I’ve learned to like it that way, and I’ve also learned the real meaning of “Poisson’s Formula of Discontinuous Disturbances.”20 There is not enough space to reproduce it for you here, with only a simple typewriter, but if you’re interested let me refer you to page 193 (Volume Five) of The Scientific Papers, by Lord Rayleigh, aka John William Strutt (1842–1919).

  Lord Rayleigh was not into violence, and as far as I know he never advocated the radical application of Poisson’s Formula that has enabled me to travel constantly around the world, from one brutal rape-orgy to the next, while maintaining the lavish style so often attributed to me by editors, fops and comptrollers.

  But Rayleigh never dealt with these swine, and certainly never with bogus creditors, so he never saw any need to expand Poisson’s Formula to the point where I found myself forced to expand it almost 20 years ago.

  Let me give it to you in a nut, George. My life, for the past two decades, is a scarred but healthy monument to the concept of Terminal Extremes as regards the application of Poisson’s Formula—which means that Discontinuous Disturbances need not be tolerated, and that nowhere in the language of physics is there any provision for an equal/opposite reaction when a Discontinuous Disturbance is whipped, crushed or terminated, by any means at all.

  Ah … but the rest should be left up to you, because it may in fact change your life. But in the meantime, a sort of free and functional translation—in the terms of this malignant little relationship that fate has set up for us—would boil up to a friendly suggestion that you take another look at this scumbag of global treachery you’re about to step into by getting yourself involved in an extremely complex & heavy argument over expense-payments between me and Mr. Wenner.

  But the choice is clearly yours, George, and I don’t give a flying fuck which way you decide to go—just as long as you don’t bother me. You can write all the letters you want; hell, I know how it is with your type of client … but if you want to mail anything else to me, please address it to my attorney, John Clancy, at Suite 2130, Crocker Plaza in San Francisco, 94104.

  I don’t particularly want to get to know you any better than I already do. You should feel free to write me, of course, but don’t expect me to answer … and if you want to pursue this matter to the point where I can get a nice handle on your head, you’ll wish to hell you’d never heard of me, London, Rolling Stone, switchblades, expense accounts or anything else connected with this degrading bag of pus.

  Unless you can tell me something about that connexion I mentioned (above) … and in that case I think you and Mr. Clancy can make a deal. I’ll call him tonight and give him all the details.

  Or you can keep after me, George, if you’re into that kind of action.

  Hunter S. Thompson

  TO JANN WENNER, ROLLING STONE:

  With his status at Rolling Stone still in question, Thompson demanded a written explanation from Wenner.

  June 18, 1975

  Woody Creek, CO

  Jann …

  I certainly appreciate your sending me that copy of [Ralph J.] Gleason’s ugly letter to you in 1968 … and although I’m sure you must have had some shrewd & devious motives in doing so, I’m damned if I can figure out what they are (or were). It struck me as an almost meaninglessly demented act—sort of like Nixon sending an autographed transcript of one of his most damaging tapes to John Dean.21

  I was impressed, however, with the integrity of Ralph’s instincts & also his economy of expression—since he managed to put down on one page the same feelings it took me six pages to line out in my letter to you [of May 30, 1975] in which I expressed the same repugnance vis-à-vis “the assumptions on which you operate.”

  But what the hell? I’m getting extremely tired of this cheap, neo-public bull-shit—and also extremely tired of being drastically misquoted by all these “straight journalists” who keep calling me. That asshole [Tom] Zito—the man who wrote your puff-piece for the Post—ran off a classic example of what I mean when he substituted “unwillingness” for willingness … and I choose that example deliberately, because of its flagrance & despite the fact that what I actually said gave you more of a break than what Zito wrote … and I leave you to figure out where it all fits.

  Meanwhile, I need a written explanation from you at once, with regard to my payroll status at Rolling Stone—which, as you know, affects not only my medical insurance, but also my tax status and my eligibility for unemployment insurance. You might think it’s funny to “unilaterally suspend my retainer” with a word to [Straight Arrow vice president Tom] Baker on the inter-office phone, but the federal bureaucracies of this world we have to live in like to have things in writing.

  And so do I—because until I get some kind of written notice from you, I consider myself still on the RS payroll (according to the masthead) and if I have any tax, medical or unemployment problems resulting from your capricious failure to clarify my situation, you can be goddamn sure they’ll bounce back on you—in court, in person, and every other way that seems appropriate.

  In the meantime, I’m sitting here with about 100 pages and 200 pounds of Indochina stuff—awaiting some word from you (thru Lynn) with regard to its ultimate destination.

  Okay …

  Hunter S. Thompson

  TO U.S. REPRESENTATIVE JOHN BURTON:

  On May 12, 1975, the U.S. merchant ship Mayaguez was seized by Cambodian forces in international waters in the Gulf of Siam. Over the next sixty-five hours, U.S. Marines attacked Kho Tang Island while American planes bombed the transgressors’ air base until the Cambodians surrendered the ship and its thirty-nine crewmen on May 14. Although forty-one American servicemen were killed during the rescue operation, the public deemed it such a success that President Gerald R. Ford’s approval rating jumped eleven percentage points.

  June 22, 1975

  Woody Creek, CO

  John …

  Thanks for the material you sent inre: the Mayaguez incident. But before I do any writing about it I want to check this one very powerful impression with you—an impression I’ve picked up from the gross input I have from you, your staff and the combined news agencies of both the eastern & western worlds…to wit:

  That nobody in the U.S. Congress, the U.S. press or any other professional grouping in this country outside whatever office Ford & Kissinger22 do their business in has any hard facts or real information at all with regard to what actually happened in, over or around those islands off Cambodia on whatever date those events occurred (no dates were fixed in either H. Res. 536 or in the official press release inre: the “Joint Statement” (Resolution of Inquiry on Mayaguez) dated June 11, 1975).

  I was impressed by the breadth, scope & thrust, etc. of the 14 questions you & your 28 cohorts posed to the president on 6/11, and my initial impression from news reports as well as the resolution itself was that you people had at least a bluffing semblance of an information base with regard to the questions you asked—but I have since been given to understand that neither you, your staff nor your 28 cohorts have any more hard information on the “Mayaguez incident” than I do … and, jesus christ, John, I was somewhere between Bangkok and Bali when it happened, reading papers like the Bangkok World and the South China Morning News, which c
arried nothing but a hash of UPI bulletins and a few shots of local copy … and if you & 28 other congressmen don’t know any more than I do about this goddamn wretched thing, there is something seriously wrong with the machinery … because I was on vacation at the time & not even trying to pull it all together.

  If I’m wrong on this, please correct me at once, because I get a very distinct feeling—reinforced by the clips [Eli] Segal sent me from [Congressional Quarterly] 4/26—that the U.S. Congress is a totally useless & fearfully expensive backwater that might just as well be abolished as soon as possible.

  I don’t know about you, John, but if I’d gone to law school I’d probably remember that gibberish that almost everybody picks up in their first course on trial law—which says, “never ask a question you can’t answer yourself.” Or something like that, but any way you say it the point is still there—especially when it comes to asking fourteen (14) major questions of “the President.” Mother of babbling god! I just got beaten like a fucking gong by the tax-man and I know that at least some of that money goes to pay “my congressman’s” salary—and although we both know you are not my congressman, I think we both understand why I called you, instead of the puffball who allegedly represents me, when I wanted some hard information vis-à-vis Mayaguez.

  I know you probably agree with most of what I’m saying or at least implying here & I’m honestly not trying to hassle you on this thing … but, jesus, the larger implications are root-ugly: Here we have a disastrously stupid (in the eyes of almost everybody I talked to until I got back to the U.S.) and potentially terminal “military operation” set in motion by Nixon’s appointed President and Nixon’s appointed Secy of State, endorsed in spades by a mean & immensely wealthy thug appointed by Ford to the vice presidency23 and also clearly endorsed and planned by whoever in hell the “Joint Chiefs” happen to be at this moment … and the best information either one of us can get on the goddamn thing (you as a U.S. Congressman & me as a journalist) is no more than a mixture of newspaper wisdom that appeared shortly after the fact … and yet we both know beyond any doubt and even from “the record,” as it were, that the whole Mayaguez gig is hagridden from start to finish with lies, conflicts, at least 41 senseless deaths and god only knows what else—and that it also stands, along with the American evacuation of Saigon, as a stinking monument to what appears to be a serious loophole in Public Law 93-148 (the “War Powers Resolution” of Nov 7, 1973).24