Correspondent:: nenslo Date: Mon, 21 Feb 2005 15:16:21 -0800
--------
When I lived in Denver in the late 70s and early 80s I was a member of a
cooperative art gallery called Pirate. Pirate put up a new show every
month and no matter how crappy the art might be, the opening was widely
known as the best party in town. Occasionally you I a chance to chat
with minor celebrities like William Burroughs, Robert Rauschenberg and
Stan Brakhage, and for a couple of years it you went to a Pirate opening
you had about a 30 percent chance of seeing Hunter S. Thompson. Or
rather, his alter ego, MANHUNTER.
ManHunter described herself as "the revivified cadaver of Judy Garland."
You could always tell when ManHunter arrived. Say, you were up in the
mezzanine smoking somebody else's hash and the noise level would
suddenly double. Somebody would say, "ManHunter." When you came
floating down, sure enough there she'd be with a couple of big beautiful
boys in attendance, looking as if she had just lost a cat fight,
carrying a huge purse full of liquor. Being one of ManHunter's dates
could be demanding at times, and late in the evening it was most like
nursing someone with senile dementia as it was then known. You just had
to make sure she peed in the bathroom instead of behind the piano. It
was rewarding, however, as ManHunter had a reputation for generosity. I
was assured by more than one of her boys that there was no sex involved.
ManHunter was a Virgin Queen - gay but not homosexual.
When ManHunter encountered a fan of Hunter S Thompson, it usually went
like this. A biker type dude would be scanning around looking for
someone, and finally say to you, "Hey man I heard Hunter S. Thompson was
here, have you seen him around here?" Then you just POINT. It takes the
guy a minute to figure out who you are pointing at so you just keep
pointing. Finally he says, "You gotta be shittin me." You just shake
your head. If you feel extra mischievous you talk the guy into going
and asking for himself. He goes over there, and after a minute or two
he manages to attract ManHunter's attention and mumble something. She
SHRIEKS, "Oh, one of my ADMIRERS!!" and jabbers away at him for a couple
of minutes, ending up by flinging her arms around his neck and giving
him a big kiss on the lips. leaving an ugly red smear. Poor guy
stumbles away looking like he'd just been shot in the head. Then she'd
say to her entourage, in a clipped Bette Davis lilt, something like
"Hunter S. Thompson is a half pint Hemingway in frilly pink panties."
Which was greeted with silence.
In her lucid intervals ManHunter could be quite charming. I had a few
benign chats with her myself when she wasn't up on a table or singing or
some crazy thing. The last time we spoke, I have no idea what we were
talking about, and I was probably just spouting my usual innocuous
bullshit like, "The human race ought to be hacked up with machetes and
fed to the hogs." Later a friend of mine (yes, I had friends way back
then) asked me "What did you say to ManHunter?" I replied that I had no
idea. "She told me you are a dangerous and frightening man. A powder
keg which could blow at any moment." I said well I'll be darned. She
didn't make a point of avoiding me but we never seemed to end up in the
same corner of the room again.
I got the impression that Hunter S. Thompson the Writer was never
reconciled with being gay. Gonzo Thompson COULD NOT be gay. ManHunter
the Party Monster cruelly ridiculed Thompson the Writer, and herself.
She was a caricature of a queen, and could never really just relax and
be okay with being gay. I was going to say "okay with being herself,"
but I don't think either of her personas was really his or her self.
Maybe he had to put up a macho front to live up to his reputation, and
she created a riotous spectacle to destroy that reputation. I leave
analysis to the "experts." I'm just telling you what I saw. I am glad
he finally got it over with, because it seemed to me he was in the
process of killing herself every day. I don't feel all mopey and
mournful because I never cared for his writing and have a hard time
feeling sorry for a millionaire living in a luxury ski resort. The end.
Correspondent:: "Rev. Ivan Stang" Date: Mon, 21 Feb 2005 19:14:04 -0500
--------
Nenslo, will you marry me?
--
The SubGenius Foundation, Inc.
(4th Stangian Orthodox MegaFisTemple Lodge of the Wrath of Dobbs Yeti,
Resurrected, Rev. Ivan Stang, prop.)
P.O. Box 181417, Cleveland, OH 44118 (fax 216-320-9528)
Dobbs-Approved Authorized Commercial Outreach of The Church of the SubGenius
SubSITE: http://www.subgenius.com PRABOB
Correspondent:: nenslo Date: Mon, 21 Feb 2005 21:27:27 -0800
--------
"Rev. Ivan Stang" wrote:
>
> Nenslo, will you marry me?
>
Man, you MUST have been drunk. We ARE married.
Correspondent:: HellPope Huey Date: Tue, 22 Feb 2005 20:25:31 GMT
--------
In article <421AC2C0.431947C0@yahoox.com>, nenslo
wrote:
> "Rev. Ivan Stang" wrote:
> >
> > Nenslo, will you marry me?
> >
> Man, you MUST have been drunk. We ARE married.
That would explain a host of really mortifying things. The loverly
Princess Wei is a FAR tougher woman than we had suspected, not to
mention a truly unique sort of polygamist and as for MRS. Nenslo... mmph.
Gag... makes me feel as if I have an ostrich egg stuck in my throat...
or maybe somewhere horrifyingly lower, ahem.
Anyway, I love you both, even though you are uppity, mercurial,
vindictive assholes with appaling selective memories. What can I say,
its a character flaw, B'GAWK! I like pie.
--
HellPope Huey
If you can read this,
you're online too damned much
and Big Ronda sends her love
You only have power over people
so long as you don't take everything away from them.
But when you've robbed a man of everything,
he's no longer in your power- he's free again.
- Alexander Solzhenitsyn, "The First Circle"
"We're almost too drunk to use power tools."
- "King of the Hill"
Correspondent:: "Phil Scott" Date: Tue, 22 Feb 2005 01:53:37 GMT
--------
"nenslo" wrote in message
news:421A6BC4.259D26C7@yahoox.com...
>
> When I lived in Denver in the late 70s and early 80s I was a
member of a
> cooperative art gallery called Pirate. Pirate put up a new
show every
> month and no matter how crappy the art might be, the opening
was widely
> known as the best party in town. Occasionally you I a
chance to chat
> with minor celebrities like William Burroughs, Robert
Rauschenberg and
> Stan Brakhage, and for a couple of years it you went to a
Pirate opening
> you had about a 30 percent chance of seeing Hunter S.
Thompson. Or
> rather, his alter ego, MANHUNTER.
>
> ManHunter described herself as "the revivified cadaver of
Judy Garland."
> You could always tell when ManHunter arrived. Say, you
were up in the
> mezzanine smoking somebody else's hash and the noise level
would
> suddenly double. Somebody would say, "ManHunter." When you
came
> floating down, sure enough there she'd be with a couple of
big beautiful
> boys in attendance, looking as if she had just lost a cat
fight,
> carrying a huge purse full of liquor. Being one of
ManHunter's dates
> could be demanding at times, and late in the evening it was
most like
> nursing someone with senile dementia as it was then known.
You just had
> to make sure she peed in the bathroom instead of behind the
piano. It
> was rewarding, however, as ManHunter had a reputation for
generosity. I
> was assured by more than one of her boys that there was no
sex involved.
> ManHunter was a Virgin Queen - gay but not homosexual.
>
> When ManHunter encountered a fan of Hunter S Thompson, it
usually went
> like this. A biker type dude would be scanning around
looking for
> someone, and finally say to you, "Hey man I heard Hunter S.
Thompson was
> here, have you seen him around here?" Then you just POINT.
It takes the
> guy a minute to figure out who you are pointing at so you
just keep
> pointing. Finally he says, "You gotta be shittin me." You
just shake
> your head. If you feel extra mischievous you talk the guy
into going
> and asking for himself. He goes over there, and after a
minute or two
> he manages to attract ManHunter's attention and mumble
something. She
> SHRIEKS, "Oh, one of my ADMIRERS!!" and jabbers away at him
for a couple
> of minutes, ending up by flinging her arms around his neck
and giving
> him a big kiss on the lips. leaving an ugly red smear. Poor
guy
> stumbles away looking like he'd just been shot in the head.
Then she'd
> say to her entourage, in a clipped Bette Davis lilt,
something like
> "Hunter S. Thompson is a half pint Hemingway in frilly pink
panties."
> Which was greeted with silence.
>
> In her lucid intervals ManHunter could be quite charming. I
had a few
> benign chats with her myself when she wasn't up on a table
or singing or
> some crazy thing. The last time we spoke, I have no idea
what we were
> talking about, and I was probably just spouting my usual
innocuous
> bullshit like, "The human race ought to be hacked up with
machetes and
> fed to the hogs." Later a friend of mine (yes, I had
friends way back
> then) asked me "What did you say to ManHunter?" I replied
that I had no
> idea. "She told me you are a dangerous and frightening man.
A powder
> keg which could blow at any moment." I said well I'll be
darned. She
> didn't make a point of avoiding me but we never seemed to
end up in the
> same corner of the room again.
>
> I got the impression that Hunter S. Thompson the Writer was
never
> reconciled with being gay. Gonzo Thompson COULD NOT be gay.
ManHunter
> the Party Monster cruelly ridiculed Thompson the Writer, and
herself.
> She was a caricature of a queen, and could never really just
relax and
> be okay with being gay. I was going to say "okay with being
herself,"
> but I don't think either of her personas was really his or
her self.
> Maybe he had to put up a macho front to live up to his
reputation, and
> she created a riotous spectacle to destroy that reputation.
I leave
> analysis to the "experts." I'm just telling you what I saw.
I am glad
> he finally got it over with, because it seemed to me he was
in the
> process of killing herself every day. I don't feel all
mopey and
> mournful because I never cared for his writing and have a
hard time
> feeling sorry for a millionaire living in a luxury ski
resort. The end.
THe Beginning.
HST will now be marked in history, with his purse full of
hooch, pistol cocked and fully in tact wit...... gone
completely off the edge where the foundings of all life stays
alive and well for eternity...
.... that will be in contrast to the rest of the world
population..... burgeoning with porkchops, government forms
and gut... fearful that that some flaw or other might be
exposed that they will then be subsquently shameful about or
prosecuted for by the terminally joyless.
.
HST offered us an exact oposite demonstration.... that
demonstration will prove priceless and limitlessly valuable as
humanty continues to stagger on in its abjectly and competely
drunken insanity.... posturing as some inmate in an assylum
as the good and rational doctor.
.... that is the deepest horror.
This series of eulogies for HST is in honor and respects to
CM Brezina... a babe and a half 20 years my junior who spent a
summer screwing my brains out in Honollulu as she introduced
me to the writing of HST, Jay Laren, Miss Kalanhi... and a
life style cleanly off the edge of reason.
Phil Scott
Correspondent:: "Herimoine" Date: Mon, 21 Feb 2005 21:00:09 -0500
--------
"Phil Scott" <> This series of eulogies for HST is in honor and respects
to CM Brezina... >
Who asked you, and who cares, you fucking loser drug addict piece of shit?
Correspondent:: "Phil Scott" Date: Tue, 22 Feb 2005 03:12:17 GMT
--------
"Herimoine" wrote in message
news:DmwSd.3706$Q47.3107@bignews5.bellsouth.net...
> "Phil Scott" <> This series of eulogies for HST is in
honor and respects
> to CM Brezina... >
>
> Who asked you, and who cares, you fucking loser drug addict
piece of shit?
Aww...how special of you. Incorrect though on my personal
non drug and alcohol life style... I abstain from drugs
entirely, and drink maybe a beer a week.
its just that each person is different and those that manage
what HST did get nothing but my compliments regardless the
path they took.
Yourself on the other hand will pass no doubt where you
stand today...in the mud fields,
..never knowing flight.
the mechanism is this. You make an assumption, correct or
not correct...then you become abusive... then you *justify the
abuse.
The justification is what causes your brains neurons to
link in a recall pattern from which you then function more
broadly....in ALL other areas.
in that fashion, being abusive to others is a personally
fatal error. Enjoy.
Abuse is always in error. In justifying such error and abuse
you format whats left of your brain in the ways of
destruction.. the first victim of such is always the host...
such brain formats generate a body chemistry that eats its
host alive from the inside out.... and ruins the lives of
those in close proximity as well.
so........ for a demonstration in your case.. take a look
around at those close to you? Whats left of them? Are the
mashed into the dirt to lifelessness...or just gone.
Phil Scott
>
>
Correspondent:: nenslo Date: Mon, 21 Feb 2005 21:29:05 -0800
--------
Phil Scott wrote:
>
>
> the mechanism is this. You make an assumption, correct or
> not correct...then you become abusive... then you *justify the
> abuse.
>
You are a satan worshipping child molester.
Correspondent:: "krustymadfaker" Date: 21 Feb 2005 19:19:03 -0800
--------
nenslo wrote:
> When I lived in Denver in the late 70s and early 80s I was a member
of a
> cooperative art gallery called Pirate. Pirate put up a new show
every
> month and no matter how crappy the art might be, the opening was
widely
> known as the best party in town. Occasionally you I a chance to chat
> with minor celebrities like William Burroughs, Robert Rauschenberg
and
> Stan Brakhage, and for a couple of years it you went to a Pirate
opening
> you had about a 30 percent chance of seeing Hunter S. Thompson. Or
> rather, his alter ego, MANHUNTER.
>
> ManHunter described herself as "the revivified cadaver of Judy
Garland."
> You could always tell when ManHunter arrived. Say, you were up in
the
> mezzanine smoking somebody else's hash and the noise level would
> suddenly double. Somebody would say, "ManHunter." When you came
> floating down, sure enough there she'd be with a couple of big
beautiful
> boys in attendance, looking as if she had just lost a cat fight,
> carrying a huge purse full of liquor. Being one of ManHunter's dates
> could be demanding at times, and late in the evening it was most like
> nursing someone with senile dementia as it was then known. You just
had
> to make sure she peed in the bathroom instead of behind the piano.
It
> was rewarding, however, as ManHunter had a reputation for generosity.
I
> was assured by more than one of her boys that there was no sex
involved.
> ManHunter was a Virgin Queen - gay but not homosexual.
>
> When ManHunter encountered a fan of Hunter S Thompson, it usually
went
> like this. A biker type dude would be scanning around looking for
> someone, and finally say to you, "Hey man I heard Hunter S. Thompson
was
> here, have you seen him around here?" Then you just POINT. It takes
the
> guy a minute to figure out who you are pointing at so you just keep
> pointing. Finally he says, "You gotta be shittin me." You just
shake
> your head. If you feel extra mischievous you talk the guy into going
> and asking for himself. He goes over there, and after a minute or
two
> he manages to attract ManHunter's attention and mumble something.
She
> SHRIEKS, "Oh, one of my ADMIRERS!!" and jabbers away at him for a
couple
> of minutes, ending up by flinging her arms around his neck and giving
> him a big kiss on the lips. leaving an ugly red smear. Poor guy
> stumbles away looking like he'd just been shot in the head. Then
she'd
> say to her entourage, in a clipped Bette Davis lilt, something like
> "Hunter S. Thompson is a half pint Hemingway in frilly pink panties."
> Which was greeted with silence.
>
> In her lucid intervals ManHunter could be quite charming. I had a
few
> benign chats with her myself when she wasn't up on a table or singing
or
> some crazy thing. The last time we spoke, I have no idea what we
were
> talking about, and I was probably just spouting my usual innocuous
> bullshit like, "The human race ought to be hacked up with machetes
and
> fed to the hogs." Later a friend of mine (yes, I had friends way
back
> then) asked me "What did you say to ManHunter?" I replied that I had
no
> idea. "She told me you are a dangerous and frightening man. A
powder
> keg which could blow at any moment." I said well I'll be darned.
She
> didn't make a point of avoiding me but we never seemed to end up in
the
> same corner of the room again.
>
> I got the impression that Hunter S. Thompson the Writer was never
> reconciled with being gay. Gonzo Thompson COULD NOT be gay.
ManHunter
> the Party Monster cruelly ridiculed Thompson the Writer, and herself.
> She was a caricature of a queen, and could never really just relax
and
> be okay with being gay. I was going to say "okay with being
herself,"
> but I don't think either of her personas was really his or her self.
> Maybe he had to put up a macho front to live up to his reputation,
and
> she created a riotous spectacle to destroy that reputation. I leave
> analysis to the "experts." I'm just telling you what I saw. I am
glad
> he finally got it over with, because it seemed to me he was in the
> process of killing herself every day. I don't feel all mopey and
> mournful because I never cared for his writing and have a hard time
> feeling sorry for a millionaire living in a luxury ski resort. The
end.
I'm going to hump your leg.
"All internal security agents please turn in your personal effects and
report to the food vats." -Paranoia R.P.G.