From the Vault: An Experiment in Gonzo Journalism

Once upon a time, I wrote this and drew the accompanying illustraion shortly after I heard of the death of Hunter Thompson. I decided to write in a Gonzo-esque style and ended up with a short page of messy writing. I know in reality it is not true Gonzo Journalism but a play on Thompson's style so please do not attack me, I did it in the name of fun.

Enjoy.
Sweet Jesus, I thought, there’s no fire. We’ll all freeze up and die! “Bring another candle!” I screeched at the barmaid desperately, hoping that she had not yet succumbed to the bitter frost.

Instead of the candles she delivered wine lists and menus as if forcing us to pay for a chemical fire in our bellies would scare away the dark cold of the air. I thought it best to test her theory. “Beer! I must have a beer!” I shouted at the cheap, fire-hording whorefaces running the bar.

My camera assist ordered something remarkably similar to pinesol in its odour. It must have had something to do with his Island upbringing. Crazy bastard. “I’m sure you are all of legal age,” the waif collecting the menus stated questioningly.

"That’s never been proven!’

“So,” a strange voice interrupted the conversation I was having with our waitress, “who goes to school with this guy?”

I looked about me. Suddenly my table of close compatriots had been replaced by people who I didn’t know at all. I panicked and shouted, “The Fuck! Who are these people?!”

The owner of the voice was briefly stunned. I tried to hide behind the black wall of my beer wishing fervently that the man wouldn’t noticed that I had consumed too much.