inquiry

So here's my problem.

Once upon a time in the 1990s, I was wandering about a bookstore and chanced upon this:

https://www.amazon.com/Proud-Highway-Desperate-Gentleman-1955-1967/dp/0345377966

Okay, let me clarify. My problem isn't that I chanced upon that book.

My problem is that in the context of the fantasic memories I have of reading that book, and how it inspired me to maybe think and/or edit a bit while writing, that fucking Amazon page is all of what's become of it.

I mean, just look at the utterly disgusting filth that drips from it....

It's just... oh my fucking god... I mean, I know Hunter S. Thompson isn't some saint that deserves some kind of “we can't mess with him” status.

But FOR FUCKSSAKES...... oh my fucking God... what a... oh....... just... oh fuck.... <deleted>