For many, it's hard to concieve of the word Gonzo as anything more than that little blue muppet baby with a serious jones for Miss Piggy (by the way, what the hell was Gonzo anyways? You had a bear, a frog, a pig...and a Gonzo). But truth be told, there is another definition to the word.

For all you denotatively (yeah I know its not a word, but its my blog damn it), minded people out there, the textbook definition of Gonzo reads as:

a style of journalism which is written subjectively, often including the reporter as part of the story via a first person narrative. The style tends to blend factual and fictional elements to emphasize an underlying message and engage the reader.

For those of you who, like myself, are more apt to hearing about connotative meanings of words: Gonzo Journalism is Raoul Duke is Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas is this man to my right readers (The Sky is Falling--the home of postmodern blogging).

I'm about 3/4 of the way through Fear and Loathing, the novel, and I gotta say that Johnny Depp for all his frazzled, loner, Jack Sparrow-ness--excuse me, Captain Jack Sparrow-ness--doesn't quite do the book justice. Aside from being out of his mind, in more ways than one, Hunter S. Thompson can turn a phrase; the man can write. And I like how he puts himself in the story, jumping in there himself. I bet he would've asked the Burger King Manager why he couldn't have it his way.
At the very least he would've posted one hell of a comment on my post about getting tailgated by the police...

Few people understand the psychology of dealing with a highway traffic cop. Your normal speeder will panic and immediately pull over to the side when he sees the big red light behind him...and then we will start apologizing, begging for mercy.

This is wrong. It arouses contempt in the cop-heart. The thing to do--when you're running along about a hundred or so and you suddenly find a red-flashing CHP-tracker on your trail--what you want to do then is accelerate. Never pull over with the first siren-howl. Mash it down and make the bastard chase you at speeds up to 120 all the way to the next exit. He will follow. But he won't know what to make of your blinker-signal that says you're about to turn right.

This is to let him know you're looking for a proper place to pull off and talk...keep signaling and hope for an off-ramp, one of those uphill side-loops with a sign saying "Max Speed 25"...and the trick, at this point, is to suddenly leave the freeway and take him into the chute at no less than a hundred miles an hour.

He will lock his brakes about the same time you lock yours, but it will take him a moment to realize that he's about to make a 180-degree turn at this speed...but you will be ready for it, braced for the Gs and the fast heel-toe work, and with any luck at all you will have come to a complete stop off the road at the top of the turn and be standing beside your automobile by the time he catches up.

He wil not be reasonable at first...but no matter. Let him calm down. He will want the first word. Let him have it. His brain will be in turmoil: he may begin jabbering, or even pull his gun. Let him unwind; keep him smiling. The idea is to show him that you were always in total control of yourself and your vehicle--while he lost control of everything.

It helps to have a police/press badge in your wallet when he calms down enough to ask for your license. I had one of these--but I also had a can of Budweiser in my hand. Until that moment, I was unaware that I was holding it. I had feld totally on top of the situation...but when I looked down and saw that little red/silver evidence-bomb in my hand, I knew I was fucked...

Go out and buy Fear and Loathing. Or get it from the library if people even do that anymore (I hear rumors but I have no first hand knowledge either way). If you've liked anything I've written here, you will like this book.

What? No. We can't stop here. This is bat country.

-Adam