| Bio: |
No somoan attorney in his right mind is going to stomp through the metal-detector gates of
a commercial airport with a fat black .357 magnum on his person...
So he left it with me, for delivery- if i made it back to L.A. Otherwise... well, I could
almost hear myself talking to the California Highway Patrol:
"What? This weapon? This loaded, unregistered, concealed and maybe hot .357 magnum?
What am I doing with it? well, you see, officer, I pulled off the road near Mescal Springs
-- on the advice of my attorney, who subsequently disappeared -- and all of a sudden while
I was just sort of walking around that deserted waterhole by myself for no reason at all,
this little fella with a beard came up to me, out of nowhere, and he had this horrible
linoleum knife in one hand and this huge black pistol in the other hand.... and he offered
to carve a big X on my forehead, in memory of Lieutenant Calley... but when I told him I
was a doctor of journalism his whole attitude changed. Yes, you probably won't believe
this, officer, but he suddenly hurled that knife into the brackish mescal waters near our
feet, and then he gave me this revolver. Right, he just shoved it into my hands,
butt-first, and then ran off into the darkness.
and that's why I have this weapon, officer. Can you believe that?
No.
But i wasn't about to throw the bastard away, either. A good .357 is a hard thing to get,
these days.
so I figured, well, just get this bugger back to Malibu, and it's mine. My risk -- my gun:
it made perfect sense. And if that Samoan pig wanted to argue, if he wanted to come
yelling around the house, i'd give him a taste of the bugger about midway up the femur.
Indeed. 158 grains of half-jacketed lead/alloy, traveling 1500 feet per second, equals
about forty pounds of Samoan hamburger, mixed up with bones splinters. Why not?
--Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and Other American Stories--
--Hunter S. Thompson--
--1937-2005-- |
