1965. The great San Francisco acid wave. I recall one night in a place called the Matrix. There I was. [does a double take, seeing the real Hunter S. Thompson sitting nearby] Mother of God, there I am! Holy ****! Uh...clearly I was a victim of the drug explosion - a natural street freak, just eating whatever came by.
Most scenes together: Gonzo & Raoul Duke (6), Narrator & Raoul Duke (3), Raoul Duke & Dr. Gonzo (2)
Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas quotes
Page 1 of 3Listen. You fellows haven't been drinking? Have you?
No. Not me. We're responsible people. [Drives away with screeching tyres]
Goddamn it! You got my pen! Goddamn hippies!
Hey, there's two women **** a polar bear.
Don't tell me those things. Not now, man.
Let's cut down to the brass tacks here... How much for the ape?
How much you got?
AHH! Medicine, medicine!
Huh? Oh, medicine! Watch out, this man has a bad heart, angina pectoris, but don't worry we have a cure. (cracks open an amyl) Ok, big wiff, big wiff, sunny boy! [Gonzo inhales the amyl] Much better...
Ahh, now for the doctor [he inhales the amyl]... eeeeeeeee... Ahh!
[Pause] Gonzo : What the-? What the **** are we doin out here in the middle of the desert? Somebody call the police, we need help, we need help, we need help [Slams the horn] Ah ha, ah ha, ah haha!
We won't make the nut unless we have unlimited credit.
Jesus Christ, we will, man. You Samoans are all the same. You have no faith in the essential decency of the white man's culture.
God didn't do that, you did! You're a **** narcotics agent, I knew it. That was our cocaine you **** pig, scum [swats at him with fly swatter] Pig, swine, whore!
Better be careful. Plenty of vultures out here, they'll pick your bones clean by morning.
You **** whore...
Yeah, all right sure. How long do I have?
As your attorney I advise you to drive at top speed and it'll be a Goddamn miracle if we get there before you turn into some kind of wild animal. Are you ready for that? Checking into a Las Vegas hotel under a phony name with the intent to commit capital fraud on a head full of acid? I sure hope so...
What's the trouble?
Well, all this white stuff on my sleeve is LSD!
The name rang a bell, but I couldn't concentrate. Terrible things were happening all around us. [sees the floor get flooded with blood]
Put on some golf shoes! Otherwise we'll never make it out of this place alive. Impossible to walk in this muck. No footing at all!
We were somewhere around Barstow, on the edge of the desert, when the drugs began to take hold. I remember saying something like:
I feel a bit lightheaded. Maybe you should drive.
Suddenly, there was a terrible roar all around us, and the sky was full with what looked like huge bats, all swooping and screeching and diving around the car, and a voice was screaming:
Narrator and Raoul Duke (simultaneously): Holy Jesus! What are these goddamn animals?!
Did you say something?
Hm? Never mind. It's your turn to drive.
No point in mentioning these bats, I thought. Poor bastard will see them soon enough.
What? No! We can't stop here! This is bat country!
The easiest way to do this is for each of us to try to imagine what is going on inside the possessed mind of a drug addict. [holds up a joint] The dope fiend refers to the butt of a marijuana cigarette as a "roach". He does so because it resembles a cockroach.
What the **** these people are talking about? You gotta be crazy on acid to think a joint looks like a goddamn cockroach.
You will notice that I have distinguished four distinct types of being in the cannabis and marijuana society. They are "cool", "groovy", "hip" and "square". Seldom, if ever, does one aspire to be "square".
This is a **** nightmare, man.
If he can figure out what is "happening", he can rise one notch to become "hip", and if he can convince himself to approve of what is "happening", he can become "groovy". [ominously] Groovy! And then he raise himself to the rank of "cool". He can become one of those... "cool guys".
Dr. Bumquist, do you think the anthropologist Margaret Mead's strange behavior of late can be explained by a private marijuana addiction?
Good question!
I'm not really sure I can answer that. But what I can tell you is that if Margaret Mead, at her age, smoked grass...she'd have one hell of a trip! [laughs hysterically; the seated DA's follow suit]
There's one thing you should probably understand. CAN YOU HEAR ME? GOOD! I want you to have all the background. [gets in the backseat] This is a very ominous assignment - with overtones of extreme personal danger. I'm a Doctor of Journalism, man! This is important, goddamnit! This is a true story!...
Our vibrations were getting nasty. But why? Was there no communication in this car? Had we deteriorated to the level of dumb beasts?
I want you to understand that this man at the wheel is my attorney. He's not just some dingbat I found on the strip, man. He's a foreigner. I think he's probably Samoan. But doesn't matter though, does it? Are you prejudiced?
Hell no.
I didn't think so. Because in spite of his race, this man is extremely valuable to me. Oh shit! I forgot about the beer! You want some?
No.
How 'bout some ether?
What?
Nevermind. Alright, let's get right to the heart of this thing.
Oh, you evil bastard! This your work. You better take care of me, Lord, 'cause if you don't you'll have me on your hands!
A drug person can learn to cope with things like seeing their dead grandmother crawling up their leg with a knife in her teeth, but nobody should be asked to handle this trip. Bazooko's Circus is what the whole hep world would be doing Saturday night if the Nazis had won the war. This was the Sixth Reich.