I’ve always considered writing the most hateful kind of work. I suspect it’s a bit like fucking, which is only fun for amateurs. Old whores don’t do much giggling. Nothing is fun when you have to do it–over & over, again & again–or else you’ll be evicted, and that gets old. So it’s a rare goddamn trip for a locked-in, rent-paying writer to get into a gig that, even in retrospect, was a kingshell, highlife fuckaround from start to finish … and then to actually get paid for writing this kind of manic gibberish seems genuinely weird; like getting paid for kicking Agnew in the balls. So maybe there’s hope. Or maybe I’m going mad. These are not easy things to be sure of, either way…*

–Hunter S. Thompson (1937-2005)

*Excerpt from the jacket copy for Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas: A Savage Journey to the Heart of the American Dream