Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas: A Savage Journey to the Heart of the American Dream

This is Hunter S. Thompson’s famous twisted tail of a gonzo journalist and his attorney scouring Vegas in search of the American Dream while reveling in a drug induced cloud of psychosis, hysteria and paranoia. The writing is visceral, frenetic, hysterical and appaling. The book was a head trip, and I loved it!

“I hate to say this,” said my attorney as we sat down at the Merry-Go-Round Bar on the second balcony, “but this place is getting to me. I think I’m getting the Fear.”

“Nonsense,” I said. “We came out here to find the American Dream, and now we’re right in the vortex and you want to quit.” I grabbed his bicep and squeezed. “You must realize,” I said, “that we’ve found the main nerve.”

“I know,” he said. That’s what gives me the Fear.”

The ether was wearing off, the acid was long gone, but the mescaline was running strong. We were sitting at a small round gold formica table, moving in orbit around the bartender.

“Look over there,” I said. “Two women fucking a polar bear.”