Dear Hunter S. Thompson,
You don't know me but I've driven by your childhood home countless times wondering, what was it that inspired you to write the way you did? And did you really drink that much and drive around with rifles in the back of your car?
I admit, I use the "fear and loathing" phrase way too much. I assume that everyone knows where it comes from, but I'm not sure that's true.
I loved you, you old cynic you. And you'll be missed. And I affirm your right to choose when your life would end because you know, that's the only thing we really have any control over anyway.
Rest in peace.