Log in



Tags » ‘fox’

It's Dr. Hunter S. Thompson's 75th birthday.

July 18th, 2012 by

Hunter S. Thompson, circa 1960

Dr. Hunter S. Thompson would have been 75 today.

In his honor, here are birthday words from Mr. Drew McKinney:

THIS WILL IDENTIFY HUNTER THOMPSONHunter Stockton Thompson was born seventy-five years ago in Louisville, Kentucky.

I wasn’t there that day but I have no doubt that it was miserable -- the air hot, humid, and thick with fifty different species of mosquitoes. There could be no other way to welcome the cranky Good Doctor to the planet that would trap him for nearly seventy years before he took it upon himself to leave and explore the cosmos.

But we’re not here to dredge up painful memories or mourn the passing of a great man, no, we’re here to celebrate a Rocket that burned powerful and bright and ignited the world with his white phosphorus afterglow.

I’m sitting on a front porch in rural Georgia and I can’t help but think that this is what it must have been like when Hunter was born. It’s not even eleven o’clock in the morning and the temperature is already at an oppressive ninety-seven degrees, sure to rise another ten or twelve or fifteen degrees more before the day is done. The humidity is intolerable and sits on my chest like a drunken Lady Wrestler, chafing the skin and causing the hair to grow inward and down where it will fester and poison the blood.

Bourbon is the only thing that saves in times like these. It’s too fucking hot for bourbon, yet here I sit, gulping Wild Turkey 101 like a fish gulps water. I have to, though, because of Tradition. It’s My Way and the only way I know so I keep at it, year after year, drinking a bottle of The Dirty Bird to celebrate the birthdate of that mean S.O.B. Thompson. In the years following his death my Tradition often tastes like a bitter, jagged pill that cuts all the way to the core before tearing a new asshole as it makes its way out and Beyond. But still, we do what we must and we suck it up and keep our mouths shut.

I don’t even know if the Good Doctor drank bourbon on a regular basis. Many accounts I’ve read of him suggest that he had a penchant for colorful girly drinks that contained rum and umbrellas and pieces of fruit. And so what? The man was from Kentucky -- bourbon country if there ever was one, and in my mind that makes him a bourbon drinker by default.

Dr. Hunter S. Thompson and a bottle of Wild TurkeyA birthday in America is traditionally celebrated with friends and gifts and cake but I fantasize that Hunter would have no part of that, preferring instead to pour a glass of liquor and maybe go outside and shoot something or blow some shit up and finish the day with a nice cut of beef or perhaps the heart of a bear.

I’m close to that, really close. I’m sipping straight from the bottle because I can’t stand dirtying a glass when the liquor comes in its own, and I have a .22 Long Rifle instead of heavy-duty firepower that Thompson was known for, and I don’t have any beef or hearts immediately available but I do have a ham sandwich. Sit, sip, shoot, nibble. The sitting and sipping and nibbling are easy but the shooting is something I’m not entirely used to, being a pacifist sissy City Boy and all that. So instead of taking potshots at the squirrels and foxes and lizards that seem to rule this part of the country I go for pine trees. Bang, take that you useless fucker! As far as trees go I find pine to be utterly worthless and have zero problems pumping them full of hot lead. The Doc would be proud of the War Cry that escapes from my throat every time I’m actually able to hit one, my aim being one of my truly horrible qualities that shouldn’t be discussed while in Polite Company.

And so we sit and eat ham and drink bourbon and shoot trees. Pretty tame compared to what Hunter would get himself up to but it’s what I have so Carpe Diem and all that. Happy Birthday, you weird Fucker, thanks for the inspiration and good times. We’ll do this again next year.

Young HST photo via wallofpaul.com. HST press badge photo via thethoughtexperiment.wordpress.com. HST + Wild Turkey via nomeatballs.wordpress.com. Thank you, Drew. Thank you, Scott. Thank you, Hunter.

Do not be scared of being eaten

June 9th, 2010 by

Paul Of Navarone explains what's inside the fox, tiger, rhino, and brown bear.

These come to us from Paul Of Navarone.

He took it upon himself to figure out how the insides of animals work, and we are all richer for his experience.

Paul Of Navarone explains what is inside a shark.

Paul Of Navarone explains what is inside a coyote.

Paul Of Navarone explains what is inside a hyena.

From Paul's notes on the hyena:

whilst travelling abroad, it has been my luck to be cornered and attacked by a wide variety of the worlds beasts. they see me as a tasty snack - my scrawny swimmers build and milky green complexion giving the illusion of good health food chow.

it has also been my experience at home, that small children, upon seeing my scars ask about these same beasts with a dread and fear in their little bodies entirely unhealthy for todays youth. and so. to dispel the foggy claptrap built up over years of wildlife documentary, bedside fairy tales and poor parental fearmongery, (it is no wonder bedwetting is the prevalent killer it is today) i bring you part 1, in a series of information graphics detailing my experience in the digestive flume of beasts.

there is nothing to be frightened of.

why if it teaches even one ignorant child, then it will have been worth getting eaten alive by all these different animals to find out whats inside. it still amazes me, that we can put a man on the moon, but we cant tell whats on the inside of a doberman. whichever political party has the guts to make this their key issue will get my vote. thats for damn sure.

so.

the hyena.

this is one of a series of box frames i have made about whats inside animals(about 30 in total).

the box frame measures 256 x 256 x 45. so fairly close to the size of a piece of a4 paper (300x200). i took a photograph with admiral ackbar standing in front for scale. thats a small model of admiral ackbar and not the real 6ft tall admiral ackbar obviously. i made the illustration of the hyena on the front with the text. it is adhered directly to the glass. the illustration on the inside is not mine, its vintage and is ripped directly from an old 1970s childrens book - oh my!! - and is stuck down with coloured plumbers tape.

perhaps you could keep it on a shelf above your newborn so as to instill a fearless outlook in the nipper. perhaps youre a teacher and could keep it in your school classroom in the event of rabid hyenas sparking mob panic in the playground. perhaps you could keep it by your armchair and when your youngest comes home in a terror you can klunk him round the earhole with it, and warn him sternly of the dangers of cowardice in the face of clear science, which is what this is, i assure you.

hyenas have beaches inside. fact.

id really like to be able to send to america and beyond. but airmail rates are practically theft to do so. (it weighs 1.6kg). so its just for the uk i guess.

(Via LJ/randompictures via krushisabitch via Paul Of Navarone. This post goes out to Neko Case.)