Dr.H.S. Thompson: Transcript of a Fax from Beyond the Grave

Dear Dan...
What are you, some kind of drooling primate?! This country is in enough shit without swine like you abusing his only creative outlet to indulge his repressed suburban fantasies!

You have no business dragging Hilary Duff into your perverted world. She's a dumb kid, but you can't fault her for that. She has an inhuman amount of money and follows bad advice from people who are draining her like a freshly tapped oil field. You are just taking your place in line. Take a cold shower. Guzzle some whiskey and quaaludes. Lock yourself in the bathroom for the weekend with a tub of olive oil and this week's Kohl's ad, but for Christ's sake, stop projecting this rabid depravity!

"What ever happened to that little girl..." My ass! Your concern is transparent. You and I both know that if given half-a-chance and fifteen minutes, you'd do things to that poor idiot that would render her with a limp and a life's-worth of regression therapy bills.

You are lucky that the only people who read your blog are lifeless number peddlers and tattooed, bespectacled lunatics. If someone with any kind of pull got ahold of this, you'd find yourself licking the boot sole of some mouth-breather prison guard in Joliet, IL. The hammer of justice looms, my friend, and it's casting its shadow over your laptop.

Sincerely,

Hunter

My response:

Dr. Thompson,

Have those wonderful nights reading Italian poetry in the hot tub at Owl Farm meant nothing to you?

Despondently Yours,

Daniel