Dr. Hunter S. Thompson (Deceased)

Dear Cleveland…

Since I now have the advantage of Eternal Bliss and the Time to ponder things I would normally have never given a rotten genetic-accident weasel fuck about, I have decided to tackle a number of issues, one of which is the future of Cleveland, O-HI-DE-HO.

Before I begin, I would like to acknowledge the fine work of J. Depp in funding the blasting of my scurvy, bong-ash Earthly Remains from a cannon. Although I would have preferred that this deed include the targeting of the Nixon Presidential Library, I do appreciate the fine effort.

But to hell with all that. The point of this is to discuss your problems, and my double- barreled, quadruple-cam, beast in heat solutions for them.

“No one wants to come here.”

Perhaps the answer is “No Shit”. In other words…LEGALIZE MARIJUANA. No one wanted to go to Amsterdam either before the cocoa-swilling Dutch unleashed the ready availability of the Kind Bud. Now numerous planeloads of buzz-seeking bastards arrive each day, spend all their money, and then leave with hazy, rambling memories.

“We never win.”

Neither do the Italians, but they seem content. So the answer must be a massively increased intake of red wine, garlic and skunky cheese. Plus, the women must always wear provocative outfits, even when there is an arctic hell-broth a-brewing, and an icy shit-storm spewing boulder-sized Snow-Cones through your loins.

“We have no leaders.”

Got me there. I’ll speak to Nixon about it. He seems hell-bent on another of his patented Comebacks.

In closing, don’t let the thieving Pig-Dogs drive you into a malignant mind-fuck. Get your ever-expanding ass out of your suburban Prozac Dream and rock the lights out.

Ciao, Hunter

As channelled through Clyde Miles Clyde.Miles@gmail.com (:divend:)