GEt mE SomE Pot by Ken Babbs

Dec 12, 2014 by

GEt mE SomE Pot by Ken Babbs

Hunter Long Beach 1989Running Magazine, based in Eugene, Oregon, sent Hunter Thompson to Honolulu to cover the Honolulu Marathon. They put him up in a fourstar hotel, paid all his expenses and waited for the story. And waited for the story. Finally, panicked, for the deadline was near, they flew him to Eugene and put him up in a motel and wouldn’t let him out until the story was done.

They were dealing with a force of nature and not necessarily a benign force. The days passed, Hunter stared at the typewriter, paced the floor, tried to open the drapes, look out the window of the second story room. Nothing doing. Paul Perry, the editor ruled with an iron fist, no to everything until the story was done. Take out containers littered the place. Coffee cups, half drunk left circles on the tables. Then the showdown.

One day to go. Hunter had locked himself in the bathroom and wouldn’t come out, no matter how hard Paul Perry pleaded, how he extolled, offered bonuses. “I need pot,” Hunter yelled. “Get me some pot.”

Paul Perry was beside himself. “How am I supposed to get you pot? I don’t know where to buy pot.”

“Get ahold of Babbs, have him bring me some.”

“And then you’ll finish the story?

Promise?”

“Sure.”

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