We were sitting silently in the parking lot of a strip club as we watched the sun rise that morning.
From our perch on the hood of my car, my publisher and I tried to decipher the directions back home. You see, we were not there so much to catch some peep show or watch some stretch-mark addled 40 year old writh against a pole.
No, we were hopeless lost in this rural community and at 4 in the morning hte strip club off county road AA was the only place that was even open. Desperate times call for desperate measures. And we were not above acting like desperate men if that meants getting us out of this backwater hell hole.
I can't be associated with this kind of rif-raff. fuck no. My last update from the Ministry of Gonzo's Department of Weird got me into a little of trouble. Apparnetly my tales of strange people who are humping along in this strange world are too much for the suburban soccer moms and stay at home famliy men.
I had to get out of this place before the authorities found me out and hauled me.
"I swear officer, she told me this was the only position that she could give directions"
We had followed our bartended from the night out to this location. She drove like a bat out of hell and her female associate was not helping us any with trying o keep. At a blazing 90 miles and hour we crushed through the rural backroads of Jackson County trying o keep up.
We had been invted back to her house to drink and such - this of course was after we had spent the entire night at her bar drinking pretty much for free.
Knowing a bartender has its perks.
But once we got there the night took a turn for the worse. I could tell we were not welcome. We were the only guys in the house - not to mention the only straight ones.
there was this ominous presence of distates as soon as we entered. Cupped hands went up to faces to remark about the two ogres that had entered the house to crash this isolated party where the few liberly minded folk out in the rural parts of the county could come together to meets others like them.
i was in no condition to naigate these political waters - I was in my fratboy outfit, not my hipster costume. there was no way I could even pretend to fit in here.
the two that invited us went straight to the couch and started humping eachother like it was last days on earth. I felt a little letcherous watching but my publisher seemed ok to stay.
The family who apparently lived at this house was sitting out back smoking and I needed to get out of living room before I lost my bearing and went insane with the activities that were going on around me.
Once outside, it was brutely quiet. I knew we were in the the middle nowhere. We had been driving for nealry half and hour but stadning on the back deck of his home it looked like we were smack dab in the middle some cookie-cutter suburban neightborhood.
How did i not notice lack luster cluster of homes and family swing sets that infested this neighborhood. The party was something you would have expected to find hindden away in some loft down in the west bottoms of KC. Instead we were trapped in the middle of a hellish ex-urb where no one coudl escape.
I had to get out.
As I searched for my publisher i noticed he was crouching in front of the two girls who continued to suck the breath out of each other lungs. One was strattling hte other and i could jsut make out a small dog sitting inbetween them.
From my vantage point it looked like he was trying o join the fun, but instead he was jsut trying to pet the dog.
not even the most hadrend of gonzo followers was ready for this site. it was time to go.
But geting out was just the beginning adventure.
how true is this story, you might ask...that is a good question. When Hunter S. Thompson was asked if his first Fear and Lothing was true, he simply said "Only someone who is crazy would do all of that." and left it at that.
Well, how crazy do you think I am?