On HST, Enron and Aspen
July 13, 2010
“I don’t give a rat’s ass about the American public, I’ll do what I want, I am right, and don’t forget it.” We wonder, don’t we, what can happen if we didn’t wake from that nightmare, the dream that lingered in our minds as our sleepy eyes from Friday night were left hanging somewhere, not to be found this wet, cold Colorado Saturday morning. I shook it off, I didn’t care, I was still just damn sleepy from staying awake all night thinking about the call I got the day before.
“You will be on the November ballot for the office of the U.S. Senate …,” echoing in my head; it was from the Secretary of the State’s office, left on my phone, my thought was starting to become clear. Where is my morning coffee? I don’t smoke anymore, I quit, I never could imagine myself with some long Marlene Dietrich cigarette holder, a floppy hat and don’t “be afraid to wear those cheap sunglasses.”
No, this was 2010, the U.S. Senate was out. On that moment I reflect and mutter, simply because it’s the great moments to use the word, “audacity.” The audacity of the U.S. Senate bailing on the American unemployed, flying out of Washington on Wednesday and Thursday to beat the Friday holiday traffic, only to take a week vacation, home; what jerks.
I wanted to think how it was, flying out on your private jets, sitting in the plush lounge chairs as some tight-skirted 20-something-year-old with the classic major plastic pumped up breasts armed with Botox and the such was mixing you drinks, one after another. Where is there justice in that? My political mind fell into twisted memories of this and that senator stumbling from a plane, but that’s not how it is, is it?
Back to Aspen, heading up the hill, who will even care. I never really understood why someone from Enron would choose Aspen to spend his last moments on Earth. I guess I had to be there, as if anyone had a real choice. So, I can just imagine, filling up the white shark, that’s what I call my 1964 white coup-de-vile, large great white shark, what terror must fall into the eyes of those flatlanders as I scream up the hill. Brakes? Damn you, why the hell are you using your brakes, it’s uphill, as I loom inches behind them moving back to the slower right lanes to pass these going up I-70 under 65’ers in the left-hand lane. Don’t ask, I won’t tell, taking the trip down, no brakes to Golden using only a few gallons of gas, man that’s the way to go to Aspen.
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It’s not about the fear and loathing on the campaign trail anymore for me. I got out; sun burned my skin on those dog days of June when all you could think of was damn snow the week before. I had enough I was on the ballot. Somehow, I made it to one part of this road trip, and now I was heading to Aspen, just to remember someone who passed. Someone who would point out to America, how bizarre, corrupt and plainly vile, American politics, was, were, and would be, and most of all, that “We are all equal in the ocean.” God Speed, HST, the power of prayer is true, god bless America and god bless you.
Hunter S. Thompson, blew out his brains in 2005, for what reason I don’t know. He was a longtime resident and local personality in Woody Creek, might as well say, Aspen, Colorado. I respect the man for what he accomplished, stood for and fundamentally what he cared about, a Free America. I read and remember “Hells Angels,” “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas” and “The Curse of Lono”, and who can ever forget Bill Murray in “Where The Buffalos Roam.”
Littleton (unaffiliated candidate for U.S. Senate)