One of my "old-school" counter-culture heroes from way back is Hunter S Thompson. How many people my age had their sad, mundane lives twisted into a sick, grossly perverse, insane shit-train hell ride of biblical proportions because of "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas"? I read everything he published through 1980, when real life took over for a while. One of my favorite screeds of his was the treatise he wrote on breakfast, from the 1976 Rolling Stone Article, "Jimmy Carter and the Great Leap of Faith". Here it is, in all it's Gonzo glory!

"I like to eat breakfast alone, and almost never before noon. Anybody with a terminally jangled lifestyle needs at least one psychic anchor every 24 hours, and mine is breakfast. In Hong Kong, Dallas, or at home - and regardless of whether or not I have been to bed - breakfast is a personal ritual that can only be properly observed alone, and in the spirit of genuine excess. Of course, the food factor should be massive: four Bloody Mary's, two grapefruits, a pot of coffee, Rangoon crepes, a half pound of either sausage, bacon or corned beef hash with diced chilies, a Spanish omelette or Eggs Benedict, a quart of milk, chopped lemons and/or limes for random seasoning and something like a fine slice of Key Lime pie, two margaritas and six lines of Pink Peruvian Flake cocaine for dessert. ...and at least one good source for music...All of which should be dealt with outside...in the warmth of the hot sun,and preferably stone naked."

Truer words were never spake. RIP HST!

russell