No more credit. No more Margaritas.

The joke is over. The dream is dead. It’s like going down on the good ship Reuben James.

Revelation 6:8
And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth.

Off the Mojo Wire

Hunter Stockton Thompson, who coined the term “gonzo journalism” to describe the unique and furiously personal approach to reportage exemplified in his 1972 book Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, died last night of a self-inflicted gunshot wound at his Woody Creek home. He was 67, family members said.

He was weird, Bubba. Thompson was so bad he could get innocent people into politics. We bought the ticket and we took the ride. When the going got weird, Hunter S. Thompson turned professional.

I feel I should go find the closest nearby equivalent of the O’Farrell Theater and watch naked women dance

Those not familiar with the Doctor might not realize that the above is entirely complimentary.

Kevin at Wizbang calls Hunter the Grandfather of the Blogging Movement and Michelle Malkin has a short roundup of posts on the death.

Michael “Savage” Weiner apparently had a bash Hunter fest today. S**t rolls downhill – Hunter did it with his Nixon sendoff and somebody will do it to Savage soon enough.

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