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205 pages, Paperback
First published August 2, 2011
"Winter in Woody Creek, Colorado. It is just after midnight on january 5, 1972, and this is when the fun begins. They call this the wee hours, but there is nothing small about the hours between midnight and dawn. These hours last forever, each one as long and endless as the black gulf between the stars. As I pound the keys, the licking of the clock syncs with the world’s heartbeat, and the rapid-fire staccato of my typewriter slows. Each breath is an eternity.
These are not Wee hours; these hours are larger than life. They also call this the witching hour, and who knows? Perhaps they are right. All that I know for sure is that this is when I do my best work, under the cover of darkness. This is when I am strongest-when the whiskey and the mescaline and the pills course through my body, and my mind burns with a terrible righteousness and sense of indignation. This is alchemy. This is magic. When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro, and I am certainly both. Ask anyone. They know. They’ll tell you that I am both weird and a pro. I am a professional writer and my role is that of the back-ground observer. I am a doctor of journalism, and there is nothing more professional than that. And the night? The night has never been weirder."
" The American Dream is dead. I know this because I proved it was dead two years ago when I ran for sheriff of Aspen on the Freak Power ticket. There is no American Dream anymore-no guiding principle for generations of our countrymen. In the end, the American Dream was left raped and bleeding and lying face down in an alley, drowning in its own vomit and urine. That was how it ended, but the American Dream didn`t die overnight. No, its death was slow and insidious, like a long, painful bout of intestinal cancer that starts out as just a little flatulence and terminates with you vomiting out your own bloody intestines through your mouth. There were a number of symptoms, but We didn’t spot them in time. The downfall of our last, true American hero, Muhammad Ali, mixed with the treacherous doings in our nation’s capital and the vacation paradise that is Vietnam and the savage anarchy of the Hells Angels and the riots and the sick depravity manifested in Las Vegas. All of this and more contributed to the death of the American Dream and gave birth to the American Nightmare."