‘When I imagine my future funeral, I usually imagine a cremation and a subtle dispersal by a few close friends and family members. However, if someone were to tell me, “Hey, we want to have a big party to celebrate your life, create a giant cannon taller than the Statue of Liberty and shoot your ashes high into the air, along with a half-hour’s worth of fireworks. We’ll invite 250 of your closest friends (because you HAVE 250 close friends, including former U.S. Presidents and some of the most respected writers, musicians and actors in the world) and there will be readings of your work and great musical performances, is that cool?” My answer would be “Only on two conditions. One, everyone gets drunk. Two, everyone gets laid.”
Hunter S. Thompson was the second coming of Mark Twain. He was a great American writer and critic, and simply a great American. So many writers have gone and were little more than a side note at the end of a newscast or a small piece of filler in the paper. But not Hunter. He made headlines for weeks, even six months after his death. And he was the first writer (ever?) to go out with a massive celebration equal to his massive presence on the literary landscape.
So fuck the detractors who say Hunter wouldn’t like this. Funerals are for the living. And if the living wanted to spend (a reported) 4 million dollars out of their personal wallets to celebrate HST’s life, I say, good, he was worth that and more.’