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"Thompson, the comic yet brilliant journalistic bumbler is sent as the skunk to the garden party where he promptly drinks all the scotch, all the gin, all the tequila, gets the waitresses stoned, frightens the horses, shocks the local burghers and constabulary, and still turns in an award-winning aricle to his faraway editors in San Francisco or New York."
Hunter was perhaps one of the most gifted, troubled writers of his generation. RIP.
Cordially
Joe
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