In another dream I had, I went to a dentist's office for an appointment, and they had all this Hunter Thompson artwork on the wall. The next thing I knew, I was apparently employed there. This kid who was an awful lot like the jury clerk at my trial was bossing me around. Then a policeman came in and made everyone in the building (surprisingly, about 50 people) look him in the eye and tell him their names. Everyone except me, that is. Soon enough, the policeman had left, we'd locked the doors of the dentist's office for closing, and I was washing kitchen equipment.
I didn't say it made sense.
I'm sort of distracted and unfocused today. So I guess everything is back to normal!
If all goes according to plans, I'll be defending my position as Boggle champion of the department today. Bring it on, punks.
Looks like snow snow snow for the next few days. *joy*
This article gives some new perspective to Hunter Thompson's death and jibes with what docbrite has written. He'd lived practically his whole life completely on his terms, and he was getting to the point where he couldn't do so anymore. So I guess he ended it on his terms. As I said to my mother last night, I can't totally relate, but I can sort of comprehend. Selah.
On a related note, is there anything worse than people trying to write like HST? I was guilty of it for a little while when I first got into him--but geez, I hope I was never as bad as some of the idiots I see on the web these days.