Tuesday, October 18, 2011

If At First You Don't Succeed...

“A man who procrastinates in his choosing will inevitably have his choice made for him by circumstance.”
~Hunter S. Thompson, The Proud Highway: Saga of a Desperate Southern Gentleman, 1955-1967

So, my attempt to turn Gone Gonzo News into a full-fledged news organization...failed. Yes, this was my lofty goal for the summer, be the next Rupert Murdoch. (minus the conniving "will hack your dead daughter's phone line" journalistic practices).

Now you may be asking, "Summer is over, it's clearly Fall, GGN hasn't been updated since June, what exactly are your plans?"

Uhhh... Well, I don't really have a set "plan". Mind you I may seem like a GOP Presidential Candidate but unlike them I have a strong moral compass and a reputation to uphold. Who needs plans anyway? With Thompson as a guiding force and the streets of Los Angeles to roam GGN will be back in swing soon enough.

I've made promises before and clearly have been unsuccessful in sticking to them, so I promise no promises.

Let the games begin. I will try to not upset my reader-base...of 7 people.

Photo: Steven Bonner 2011

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

Why We Rave

Photo: Caesar Sebastian

Sometimes it appears that we are reaching a period when our senses and our minds will no longer respond to moderate stimulation. We seem to be approaching an age of the gross; persuasion through speeches and books is too often discarded for disruptive demonstrations aimed at bludgeoning the unconvinced into action.

The young overwhelm themselves with drugs and artificial stimulants. Subtlety is lost, and fine distinctions based on acute reasoning are carelessly ignored in a headlong jump to a predetermined conclusion. Life is visceral rather than intellectual – and the most visceral practitioners of life are those who characterize themselves as intellectuals.”

- Vice President Spiro Agnew, 22 May 1970

- Sampled by deadmau5 on BBC Radio 1’s Essential Mix, 10 April 2009

I’m a raver, and I’m not the drugged out, mindless misfit that politicians and journalists and the former Vice President of the United States think I am.

It’s hard for me to explain what raving is like because raving isn’t meant to be explained. It’s meant to be felt – in your eyes, on your skin, in your soul. It’s about looking up at the heavens, then down at the pulsing throng of people around you, and rejoicing at the simple fact that you’re alive. It’s about hugging your friends, and telling them that you love them with all your heart, and meaning it. It’s about being kind to strangers because you understand that we’re all here for the same reason.

We rave because we love dance music’s inherent simplicity and occasional complexity. We do it for the pulse of house beats, the bliss of trance rhythms, and the wonderful, furious, face-melting wobble of dubstep.

We do because no one else is brave enough to.

The Electric Daisy Carnival is the raver’s Christmas. It’s the highlight of the summer festival season, the only event on the continent that attracts nearly every big-name artist in electronic music.

Last year, the festival was headlined by Armin van Buuren, the Dutch DJ widely recognized as the finest in the world, and deadmau5, the Canadian producer known for performing his live shows inside a huge, self-illuminated mouse helmet. All together, EDC attracted 185,000 ravers over the course of two days. I was one of them.

It was my first rave, so I remember it particularly clearly. It was a characteristically beautiful Los Angeles summer evening. The air was balmy and cool, the sun’s rays were no longer harsh but refreshing, and the permanent haze that swathes downtown’s skyscrapers was miraculously gone. It was the kind of evening that reminded you most of this country’s population wishes it lived in here.

As the sun finally dropped below the Coliseum’s bleak gray walls, I looked up, basking in the glory of the unseen sunset, which had thrown rays of pink and orange across the entire glorious sky. As I tilted back my head, the DJ, Laidback Luke, unleashed yet another unbelievable song, sending 100,000 ravers into pure, unbridled, ecstasy.

We were here for “love and light,” he said, and as the first set of fireworks ripped into the beautiful pink summer sky, I realized that I had never felt so alive before. The defense mechanisms built up through 19 years of foreign climates and cultures, of the struggle for acceptance, of always being the outsider, simply melted away.

EDC changed my life for the better. It gave me the confidence to be the person that I know I am.

In 11 months that have followed my first rave, my relationships with my friends, partners, and parents have deepened. I’ve grown more poised and self-aware, and I’m far more open and expressive with my emotions.

The truth is that every generation spends its maturity trying desperately to extract meaning from its existence (which is how ideas like heaven came about in the first place). You criticize us for it, but understand that life is inherently visceral. Why not embrace it?

True ravers know that a rave - a real rave - is more than some drug-fueled, mind-bending, all-night dance party (though those are fun, too). A rave is a vision of the world as it could be – as it should be. Ravers are a community of good people. We don’t want to fight or argue or complain. We want to have fun, to be ourselves, to wear crazy costumes, make colorful bracelets, and share our joy with old friends and new.

We live in the moment, and we hope for the future. We understand that a rave isn’t like any other kind of party, that it’s not just some hedonistic ritual.

It’s a reminder of the world’s beauty, a place where we recognize the human ability to create the sublime. It’s humanism at its finest, an experience through which we derive meaning from our lives.

~Bryan King

Friday, May 27, 2011

Fuck if I Know

The drinking began at noon. There was no stopping squirrel and me, we were on a train to Drunkenville and we weren't stopping until we hit belligerent.

The first game was to take a shot or rather, a "big gulp" of Smirnoff (there were no shot glasses in the house) when one of the characters on the Real World did or said something stupid. Well there were only 15 minutes left on the show but somehow each of us managed to take 5 big gulps before the show ended.

Apparently, the Real World centers around imbeciles...

Anyways, by the time we had finished our "adult drink" (it was really just straight vodka with apple juice chaser) We decided that we were in dire need of more. So we solicited squirrel's roommate.

Mission accomplished. We retrieved more good stuff, managed to run into a baby hippo and continued on our trip to wait for it... Drunkenville. For seasoned drinkers like squirrel and me, there was no way in hell 5 "big gulps" was going to get us belig.

The rest of the baby animals eventually flocked to squirrel's apartment and we no longer felt like alcoholics.

I mean you don't have a problem if you do it with other people, right? RIGHT.

The Bulls game was the source of our entertainment and we prematurely celebrated a Bulls win. A. We wanted to drink more. B. Who doesn't want to relive their childhood through watching the Bulls win the golden ticket.

My hopes and dreams were destroyed by the fucking Miami Heat. However, I consoled myself with the obnoxious amount of liquor in the apartment. The weed also helped.

As the lines between being socially acceptable and brazenly obnoxious blurred, I found myself in another apartment listening to a heated conversation about whether Drake will be remembered/considered a musical icon of our generation.

Of course, this generation in a lot of ways is despicable, however, I highly doubt that Aubrey Graham or "Jimmy" from the Canadian teen melodrama Degrassi, will be the Marvin Gaye or John Coltrane of this generation.

If he is, I will change my birthdate to some indiscriminate time in the 60s.

This day/night which consisted of consuming massive amounts of alcohol and cannabis, unlike Drizzy, (ugh typing his name is almost painful) IS a sufficient marker of our generation.

Yes, this rag tag clan of people I spend my time with do what people like Drake only try to do, they live life and conquer great feats.

In simpler terms, they Get Money, Fuck Bitches and best of all remain professional.

In the words of my idol, the gleaming, shinning, pinnacle, better yet ICON of his generation:

"After all we are professionals"

Long Live Hunter.

Monday, May 23, 2011

Slacker McSlacksalot

So, I'll admit it I have been neglecting Gone Gonzo and not for lack of news... there has been a lot of interesting news.

For instance, Rick Santorum one of the potential GOP nominees will have to explain why he and his wife took their dead baby home from the hospital to "play and cuddle" with their other children back in 2005. Not looking so good Rick.

Ah yes. I almost forgot the 21st was supposed to be the end of the world...a day of rapture for all the Heathen people of the world....hmmm well, considering it's May 23 and I'm sitting here writing, I guess Harold Camping the fringe CA preacher who predicted this day of doom will also have some explaining to do.

He has yet to come out publicly and justify why there were no devastating earthquakes wreaking havoc on the Western Hemisphere.

Sooo that does it for me and my first post of the summer. And if this summer was anything like last summer believe you me homie there will be a lot of interesting/slightly insane posts.

So buckle up fuckers it's going to be a wild ride.

Long Live Hunter.

Saturday, April 23, 2011

Speedy Gonzalez

Woah, how'd this happen? Everything is speeding up and yet conspicuously slowing down. As the rambunctious silliness goes on upstairs and behind me, I am here writing a PR paper. Literally shit is falling out my ass right now, I never thought I was going to have to bullshit for 10 pages, but it's happening.

One of the other Hunters is sitting on the couch next to me, supposed to be upstairs....But here she is and here I am here with computers, listening to Sweet Emotion, not writing papers..

At least the party we went to wasn't horrific. Which is surprising considering the amount of fools they let in here. Seriously, buffoonery!

The plan was to work for an hour, which turned into watching The Real World, then go out to a party...then work at what is now 4:20am.

It really did sound like a good plan at the time. Don't ask what drugs we're taking, you don't want to know.

Am I really thinking about going to 420 fest to hear more dubstep? Yes, yes I am.

Highly functional drug addict is my name and apparently college is my game, or something.

This  is my brain
This is my brain on drugs.

----The Fashion Hunter-----

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Mark Zuckerberg Controls the World

Don't you want to be his friend?

Radical, I know. But it's true.

I am, of course, assuming you've seen the countless 20/20 and CNBC news features on Zuckkers, he even has a David Fincher film all about his rise to Nerd fucking martyrdom.

Basically, this kid is the fucking icon of our generation and he controls the world.

Let's recount how I got started on this idea of Z-berg being the grand puppet-master. The process began whilst lying in bed thinking about what I accomplished, today, the wondrous day of April 12. The last thing I was proud of myself for doing was saving $50 on my lease beacuse I liked the housing company, on wait for it...Facebook.

That got me thinking, Facebook is an everyday part of my life and it is for almost everyone in the Western World.(you know everyone you know has one)

I see that little blue fucking f symbol on buses, billboards, booze, bitches, beer,booths, magazine ads, newspaper articles, TV commercials, signs, bills, and all the other bullshit I'm forgetting.


Which of course, is a direct correlation to the fact that Zukkers is everywhere all the time. His lust, perhaps vindictiveness, curiosity, boredom, evil genius social skills and possible bouts of drunkenness (my description is basically based off the Social Network paired with the obvious influence Mandark from Dexter's Lab had on him. But of course, this is all speculation.) Produced a tool that 500 million friends and counting use all the time to keep in contact or for the majority of users "lurk" one another.

He has created the most accessible and easiest way for people who have fallen out of touch, are too shy to use a fucking phone, or those who have just barely met, to become "friends" and receive a rather intimate view of each others' lives.

Let's be honest, Facebook is a voyeur's dream, a secretive person's nightmare, a stalker's playground and the majority of the Red, White and Blue(aka the U.S.)/ the world (not China but props Commies) can't seem to get enough.

Long story short, good old Zuck, the advertising companies and their clients, (hint: every corporate American company) are in bed together, and they bathe in our money.

I do have to say kudos to you, Zuckerberg, you control the media, (every journalism outlet relies on you,plugs FB on their page,etc.,) the government is obviously your BFFL and well, every ad firm in the country better yet the world pays you the BIG BUCKS. Fucking shit, you are a P-I-M-P, playa.

So as much as I do loathe your business and ethical practices, I still use your product, dare I say your brainchild, all the time and so does everyone else.

My tribute to you Zuckeroo:

(Zuck's fellow puppetmaster, HOV..baby baby)

Long Live Hunter.

**Editor notes: Apparently music videos have to be censored?wtf? Ridiculous. What I've learned to do is basically mute youtube and play it on iTunes, works pretty nicely. Sucks if you don't have BP in your library...loser

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Do Yourself a Favor and Experience this Shit!

I didn’t sleep on Friday night; I was too excited. My alarm went off at 8, but I was wired already. My roommates decided to go out that night, so they were hung-over and sleeping. Time to get up you stupid motherfuckers! I wake up, go directly to my refrigerator, pull out a nice little plastic baggy with two tabs of acid in it and down the rabbit hole I go. The next couple of hours are a blur: there’s a breakfast in there somewhere, some television, and the sound of some familiar songs from my childhood, but it’s nothing but a blur.

Then I’m there. Where? There. Where? FUCKING DISNEYLAND BITCHES!

LOLZ. Now that I’ve done with that whole eerie, creepy buildup to my destination, you know I’m the fucking happiest person in the world. And for those of you who have yet to cream your panties, IT”S MY FIRST TIME EVER. YAY! (insert ejaculatory scream here)

Disneyland is truly the most magical place on earth. Add a head full of acid and a pill of what we’ve now decided was cat tranquilizer, and you literally will explode with the magical-ness of it all. I know I did.

We spent over 12 hours at Disneyland which consisted of: Space Mountain…Twice, Lollipops, Alcohol, a scary run in with a drug dog, The Tiki Tiki Room, 5 trips back and forth between Disneyland and California Adventure, multiple Mickey hats, fireworks, 2 moment’s where I cried (which never happens), and the most amazing explosion of color and Disney (World of Color) to end the night.

It literally changed my life; it’s a magical place that only believes in happy endings and cotton candy. Everyone is happy, everyone is dressed up, everyone is either 40 or 4, and everyone shares the communal experience of being at the most amazing place on the planet. It was surprisingly busy last Saturday (I forgot about spring break), but the well-oiled machine that is Disney made me and my best friends feel like we were the only people there, or at least the only people who mattered.

I entered Disneyland that day as a 20-year-old college student who never understood what Disney means to be people and it’s power as one of the most identifiable brands in the world. I left an exhausted, strung out, 5 year old, high on a combination of life and the drugs I’d been taking all day, with a new understanding of Disney and everything it represents. I won’t spoil anything for you people who haven’t been because you have to experience it for yourself. But I had the most magical day at the most magical place in the world, and if you haven’t given yourself that gift…KILL YOURSELF! Or go… NOW BITCHES!


Could it Be?!...Will He Really Leave??

"O-L-I-G-A-R-H-Y." –misspelling "oligarchy" on his chalk board while claiming he had deciphered a secret code that he said was proof President Obama was trying to create an "Oligarhy," Aug. 27, 2009, Glenn Beck show on FOX News Channel

This just in... Glenn Beck is set to leave his daily show on Fox News by the end of this year.

Glory, Glory Hallelujah. There really is hope in this doomed world.

For the past 2 years Buster Beck has been infiltrating our homes and lives with his nonsense and historically incorrect claims. I mean this yahoo has actually rewritten history and sold it to his inept viewers as Truth. The blasphemy! The Horror...the HORROR.

It's clear I dislike this guy but to ensure you hold the same opinion as me, here's a clip from his show that was actually aired on cable news. Mind you, the clip with commentary is from Keith Olbermann's Show (No problem whatsoever with Big O, his commentary is funny yet informative because...oh wait he actually KNOWS American History):

Sadly, all is not fair in war and media and Beck will produce shows for "Nazi News" oh excuse me I meant Fox News.

Anyways, its not like I watch the channel anyways, its not "Fair and Balanced" as its slogan purports but rather "Bias and One-Sided"

Unfortunately, only half of the news watching population of the Star Spangled States agree with me. According to a poll by Public Policy, Fox News is not trusted by 46% of Americans and trusted for credibility by 42% .

Ugh... too close for comfort for me.

Yet, it was still a glorious day knowing Glenn Beck's face will no longer disgrace TV sets in homes throughout the country.

Long Live Hunter.

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Pardon the Interruption... There Was Business to be Handled

They lie about marijuana. Tell you pot-smoking makes you unmotivated. Lie! When you're high, you can do everything you normally do, just as well. You just realize that it's not worth the fucking effort. There's a difference." ~Bill Hicks

Excuse my absence, my education at the USC has overtaken my personal life. This past week consisted of editing packages, NO sleep, laboring over my Constitutional Law midterm and intermittent mental breakdowns to cope with the amount of stress I was under. These burdening factors consequently made me neglect my Gone Gonzo duties.

Yet, there was light at the end of the tunnel and it was in the form of HempCon.

Yes, HempCon a convention at the LA Convention Center for marijuana enthusiasts and stoners alike.

Despite the large neon pink and yellow posters and huge billboards around town to garner large crowds, the stoner population is hard to get out of the house. Thus, the turnout on Friday night was rather lousy.

The event was entertaining and with the low turnout I received more attention from vendors... needless to say I was quite amused.

The legalization of marijuana in California has been a long and treacherous road but the stoners, patients and activists have prevailed and Hempcon was a fine example of their success.

Due to my altered state of reality I partook in the festivities, buying everything from a Rasta cap, to Dope on a Rope (it's soap) and even a 40's poster with a stereotypical clean-cut white man surrounded by the words "Mind if I smoke? Dope Made Me the Man I Am Today" (oh the irony)

For the James Bond sneaky smokers there were pipes disguised as highlighters, stash cans which were actually hollowed out Pepsi cans and even...well actually I forgot. (no pun intended)

Moving on, Hempcon displayed the very finest of glassware, medical doctors and of course go-go weed girls persuading you to go to their clubs wearing alluring, sexy yet tasteful outfits. ( Unfortunately, even I gave into their antics)

From Jamaicans to white boys, all were welcome with open arms to this year's Hempcon and of course all attendees shared one thing in common... the notion that Marijuana Prohibition is absurd.

That is all.

Long Live Hunter.

Photo: LA Weekly

Thursday, March 24, 2011

The Crook Who Killed the American Dream

"He said-since 1964, when he worked as a deputy prosecutor in Oakland and Berkeley, during the time of Great Confusion." ~HST quoting Ed Meese, author of the Attorney General's Commission on Pornography, 1986

Photo: guardian.co.uk

The face of Gonzo Journalism, the late Hunter S. Thompson, authored pieces that provided intuitive and brilliant insight into the world of politics, the motorcycle gang Hell's Angels and the death of the American Dream.

ONE of my favorite pieces by the Godfather of Gonzo is an obiturary on former President and the epitome of a marginal man, Richard Milhouse Nixon.

The following is an excerpt from He was a Crook published in the Rolling Stone in 1994:

"Nixon's spirit will be with us for the rest of our lives -- whether you're me or Bill Clinton or you or Kurt Cobain or Bishop Tutu or Keith Richards or Amy Fisher or Boris Yeltsin's daughter or your fiancee's 16-year-old beer-drunk brother with his braided goatee and his whole life like a thundercloud out in front of him. This is not a generational thing. You don't even have to know who Richard Nixon was to be a victim of his ugly, Nazi spirit.

He has poisoned our water forever. Nixon will be remembered as a classic case of a smart man shitting in his own nest. But he also shit in our nests, and that was the crime that history will burn on his memory like a brand. By disgracing and degrading the Presidency of the United States, by fleeing the White House like a diseased cur, Richard Nixon broke the heart of the American Dream."

In two grafs, Thompson captured the essence of the Crook King and the skid mark he left on American politics.

Nasty Nix and his dirty tricks caused the American public to distrust their elected officials. His uber-conservative agenda and the swine that voted him into the most esteemed office in the US killed the most beautiful period in our society, the Love Generation.

Thompson couldn't have said it better, "Richard Nixon broke the heart of the American Dream."

This obit is only one of Thompson's works that exemplifies journalistic perfection. Thompson vividly captures not only Nixon's personality but also the lasting imprint he left on America.

All journalists, writers and the general public can learn something from Thompson. Take his words to heart, think about them. Look back at Nixon's policies on war and social programs. His harsh treatment on people (hippies, liberals etc.) who only wanted to raise consciousness in America, who wanted their American Dream to become a reality, was cruel and vindictive.

Long Live Hunter.


Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Why America Sucks Large Deep Fried Oreo Balls!

The RTA is planning to change safety regulations on buses because Americans are getting so big that they can literally make an entire bus stop moving… so, basically, obesity is fucking out of hand.

According to the CDC, there are only 2 states in the entire country (Congrats Colorado and D.C.) that have less than 20% obesity rates for their populations. That has to be the saddest statistic ever. Though everyone from Michelle Obama to 50 Cent (no really, “Fiddy” is against obesity too!) has fought against obesity, it’s still not working…obviously. So what’s wrong? What are we as a nation doing wrong?

The answer is that we’re accommodating the issue we’re trying to fight. We’re making our seats bigger, and telling people that the burger they’re eating has 3,000 calories in it (Newsflash! They don’t care) instead of actually taking a serious stand against this problem.

Now, if you’re a hundred pounds overweight and can still manage to fit your ass into chair, I honestly could care less about the way you live your life (eat to your hearts content!). But when I hear things like “Oh, ma’am you’re too big to fit in one seat on this aircraft so you can just buy two tickets and then you will be fine” or “Sir, you’re so big that you make this bus literally unmovable, so we are just going to take a few people off so you can ride,” my stomach churns.

I don’t believe in accommodating a problem you are trying to solve, and that’s exactly what America is doing.

Here is a suggestion: let’s make our airplane seats smaller! Let’s make it illegal to serve anything that contains more than 25% of your Recommended Daily Value of fats, salts or sugars! Let’s put anyone whose kids have diabetes before they hit puberty in prison for child abuse! Let’s take some initiative!

I get that there is a fine line between solving a problem and discriminating against a population, but I really think it’s time to lay the smack down on obesity’s candy ass. Do you smell what The Rock is cooking? I’ll give you a hint…it’s not deep-fried!

- howmanyhuntersarethere

Elizabeth Taylor Dies, and with Her, so does Beauty

One of the world’s greatest beauties died this morning after a long battle with her health and I wondered, "was she a symbol for the death of all beauty in our society?"

As I look around and overhear my peers' conversations, I can’t help but think I am surrounded by shells of humans. I heard someone singing parts from that godawful Rebecca Black viral video, yet I leave my house dressed in Valentino and fur, as an ode to the death of Ms. Taylor. I heard nothing in class or around campus about the death of one of the most beautiful and glamourous icons in America.

Apple of Andy Warhol’s eye, and as a friend said, the “Goddess of Eyeliner,” Taylor’s death symbolizes the death of a lost American society that once championed glamour, beauty and class and would have scoffed at the “so-bad-they’re-good” movies, songs and reality TV shows that Americans seem to gobble up like a McDonald’s hamburger.

Taylor was from a time when the Academy Awards were not some kind of circus show with that hag Anne Hathaway and dresses recycled from a junior high dance à la Jennifer Hudson. But an event that celebrated the very best of American cinema and people who represented an ideal of American manners and style

Although Taylor starred in films such as, Cleopatra, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, Who’s Afraid of Virgina Woolf and Giant, she was more than a movie star. Every woman wanted to be her and every man wanted to be with her. With deep set piercing blue eyes and brunette hair coiffed to perfection, she helped women strive to become the most beautiful and confident versions of themselves.

No one values her level of sophistication anymore. Somehow valuing beauty is seen as shallow and unnecessary but eating pounds and pounds of fast-food so that one is so fat and disgusting that they need two seats on a plane, well that's totally fine. The sub-human blobs that control the press say we should feel bad for those people and that they can't help themselves...total bullshit. I blame this degradation of society partially on the loss of emphasis on beauty, appearance, and upkeep.

I feel a time of darkness awaits American society. The separation between people living only to watch Real Housewives of Beverly Hills and those of us trying to find something deeper is becoming more apparent.

I know that she died from “natural causes” but I cannot help but think that she could not bear to go on living in our dreary culture that is filled with Ice Road Truckers, 99 cent 1200 calorie meals, and meaningless apocalypse films such as, 2012 and Battle LA.

Maybe, subconsciously, we know the end is near....

And as for Elizabeth Taylor, she died, in my eyes, with diamonds in her hair and pearls wrapped around her neck.

Even if everyone gives up, decides to shop at Layne Bryant and wear slippers outside their house, I will stand here in pearls and diamonds and internalize her memory forever.

Dripped in diamonds, even in a wheel chair

RIP Elizabeth Taylor, you will be dearly missed.

- The Fashion Hunter

Sportswriter by Day...Pimp by Night

"There are a lot of better ways to spend the national holiday than hunkered down by yourself in the far corner of a white-plastic widebody 767 cabin, 37,000 feet over Utah, muttering into a tape recorder or making entries into a ledger. There is nothing stylish about it, nothing chic or trendy or hip." ~HST

It's a well-known fact that journalists don't go into the field for the money or for that matter, the glamour. No amount of pay can compensate the endless hours that go into each story, dealing with idiots who refuse to be interviewed and distilling the news into an article that the average McDonald's eating, WalMart going American citizen can understand. It's no easy job.

So when fellow journalist Kevin Provencher claimed he started a prostitution ring because of pay cuts, albeit I was disgusted, I wasn't surprised.

Provencher, who is in fact, an "award-winning sportswriter," argued to the judge that he was forced to start a prostitution ring because of the downturn in the print journalism industry and his pimping was "just a side job" to supplement his income.

Interesting argument.

Yes, the man blamed his affinity towards prostitutes and the life of a pimp because his day job wasn't paying enough.

Pimp Provencher interviewed each of his nightwalkers by making them have sex with him before he hired them. His girls were made to sleep with average joes in hotel rooms, pay for their own rooms AND give half their earnings to Provencher in cash or a direct deposit to his bank account.

His pimp hand must be strong.

Anyways, Pimp P was sentenced to 2 1/2 years in prison. He'll be out in no time to build his pimping empire in Mass.

Is Pimp P a pervert? Yes. Is he a delusional, sex-crazed, money-hungry pimp? Yes. But, does Pimp P prove that journalists are severely underpaid and are forced to go to extreme measures to make ends meet? YES.

As an aspiring journalist I now know that I can never live my lifelong dream of being both a journalist and a pimp without getting in trouble with the boys in blue.... good to know. Thanks Pimp P

Photo: AP
Long Live Hunter.


Tuesday, March 22, 2011

I'm a Fucking Masochist

Yesterday, while we were driving to dinner, Krista asked me to be a part of Gone Gonzo News. This is how our conversation went:

"What's Gone Gonzo News," I asked, "and why do you want me to help you with it?"

"We're writing about things we're interested in in the most descriptive and honest way possible. You know, like the godfather of gonzo journalism, Hunter S. Thompson."


"You should write something as soon as possible so we can have something from all of us by the end of the week!"


Krista was sitting in the backseat so she didn't notice the "WHAT THE FUCK?" look on my pained face. I started sweating so I awkwardly and frantically turned on the air conditioning.

"Squirrel! It's going to be so much fun!" she yelled as she looked out the window and imagined her world takeover.

"Ya, totally...I'm so excited."


Don't get me wrong, guys. I love Thompson and gonzo journalism. Also, I think that Krista's brainchild is brilliant. For a second, I was even like damn, why didn't I think of that? It wasn't Thompson or Krista's idea that made me cringe with anxiety...it was the idea of actually writing something.

You're probably wondering, what the fuck? This bitch is a Comparative Literature major, which means she plans on writing as a career, so why is she freaking out about writing about stuff she likes for a cause that she supports? I love writing, and it's a crucial component of my major. At the same time, however, I hate writing, and it literally is the bane of my existence. As my friends know, every time I write, I torture myself by sitting in front of the computer until I can't see the screen anymore. I cry, I whine, and I even threaten to kill myself.

"Squirrel! Don't kill yourself! Who will cook me dinner?" Krista would say.

Pft. Idiot. I would never kill myself, but the fact that I would rather hypothetically kill myself than write about Upton Sinclair's the Jungle and 20th century labor movements is something amazing and ridiculous in itself.

Then why, you might ask, do I continue to write? It's because at the end of the day, I don't want to have children so I use writing as an outlet to figuratively give birth. My work is so important to me that every word is truly a labor of love.

...Just kidding. LOL. It's because my name is Chloe, and I'm a fucking masochist. Duh.

Think Attention Whores...THINK

I came across this little ditty today:

“Nothing looks worse than a dress or a suit on a red carpet. It is an ongoing tragedy of cheap fashion on cheap celebrities, followed by ubercheap comments”

Hedi Slimane is fucking right. Celebrity Fashion SUCKS and whoever is running the show during awards season not only needs to be fired, but could also use a good punch in the gut (I know Rachel Zoe is pregnant and all, but still!) Where did all the imagination go? Or better yet, was there ever really any imagination there? Now, I’m not saying you need to do this:

Photo: India Forums

Or this:

Photo: The Richest

But I’d like to see people think a little bit more outside the box. I’m tired of seeing boring dress after boring dress after boring dress because people are afraid of getting put on the worst-dressed list. Apart from princesses, heiresses and Anna Dello Russo celebrities are really the only people that can truly afford really amazing gowns, remarkably standout pieces. Come on celebs…take a leap of style!

Buffoons...Every Last One of 'Em

Another one of the GOP busters is on a Christ Crusade and this time he's affected the lives of thousands. Today, in the obscure state of South Dakota, good ol' boy Gov. Dennis Daugaard signed a law that seriously inhibits a woman's right to an abortion. This heinous piece of legislation requires a woman to wait 3 whole days after talking to her doctor to have an abortion. AND she has to go to a bible thumping pregnancy clinic where Jesus obsessed lunatics persuade her to keep her baby. Of course, Daugaard didn't have the balls nor conviction to speak to the press after his signing ceremony. The bastard knows he's wrong.

Anyways, the perspicacious boys and girls that head Abortion Rights groups in South Dakota are already gearing up for a legal battle. The groups are in the beginning stages of filing suit against Daugaard and his cronies and they will win.

I say this because this case reminds me of a lesser known supreme court case Akron v. Akron Center for Reproductive Health.

Here's a quick overview: In 1978 Akron City Council passed a law much like Daugaard's, a woman had to wait 24 hours to have an abortion after speaking to her doctor and doctors were required to tell patients that the fetus was a human life the moment it was conceived. I smell bullshit and the Supreme Court justices did too. Grand Finale: the law was ruled unconstitutional. 1 for the good guys 0 for the crazies.

So if the good guys don't win this time say sianara to an America that isn't totally controlled by Jesus Freaks and right to life loonies.

Long Live Hunter. Down With the Buffoons.

Photo: KSFY

Monday, March 21, 2011

The Princess is in Fact, a Frog

Hello all you lovely readers out there. I will be reporting on world of fashion (if one can even call it that in this present time of crop tops worn with flabby bellies).

Well some of the news is good. Finally someone spoke out against this awful thing they call the future princess. Thats right, Kate Middleton.

ally, Matthew Williamson says what I have been thinking....well the nicer version of what I've been thinking..."Kate isn’t a fashion bunny. I don’t know why everyone in fashion is waiting to see what she wears. I’m, like, thinking: 'get over it.' "

I was thinking more along the lines of....

Kate Middleton is a commoner and therefore dresses like one. She's not only a SNORE and the pinnacle of mediocrity but she also dresses hideously. She is truly a disgrace to Princess Di's legacy of glamour and timeless beauty.

Let's Compare:

As you can see, I have proven my point with logic and reason. Just because someone gives you their beautiful and perfect dead mother's ring, does not mean you will miraculously turn into her.

So, Kate Middleton, will you please give up?

And, fashion industry, will you please stop assuming that the magical fashion fairy godmother will swoop in and turn her into a glamourous fashionista.

Sorry, wrong fairy tale. This is no goddamn Cinderella story. This is the Princess = Frog and I'm stickin to it.

-The Fashion Hunter

Politics...or Lack Thereof

Revolutions are springing up left and right creating chaos in the World of Journalism. The media doesn't know what the fuck to do. Revolutionaries, FREEDOM FIGHTERS, in Libya, Egypt, Bahrain and Yemen are overhauling their current fat cat governments and crying out in the streets for reform. These goons are actually living for something...seizing an opportunity for change and some semblance of a representative government. Amid this excitement of a new dawn around the world, the obese ridden population of America can't muster enough energy to get off their corpulent asses and actually do something. Yet while American citizens do nothing but incessantly consume useless entertainment news our big boys up in DC have gotten us into yet another war. That's right America's Military Industrial Complex has reared its ugly head once again. The air missile attack on Libya this past Saturday and Sunday is added to the laundry list of wars the US has started and failed to finish. With no end to this vain missile strike in sight, the educated populace in America must be wondering, "what the hell is going on? " Are we all doomed for obesity, brainlessness and bombs? With the current state of affairs the outlook is dim.

Long Live Hunter.