Tribute to Hunter S Thompson

The following is a scene/sketch I wrote the day Hunter S Thompson shot himself. I never intended to expand upon it

EW

The eternal waiting line. Several SPIRITS stand in wait to be judged. ST PETER is sitting at a desk, lazily working through the line. It is abundantly clear that he simply doesn’t care how long it takes. Most amongst the line seem resigned to the wait, but the MAN next in line is at the end of his nerve. He is thin, of medium height, bald, wearing an Acapulco shirt and a green gambler’s visor. He carries with him a large typewriter and an irritable disposition. When finally the previous client is passed on, he anxiously rushes to the desk.

MAN Jesus fucking Christ do you pigfuckers like to keep a man waiting.

ST PETER Sir, do you know who I am?

MAN It’s no goddamned mystery. I’m in the slowest fucking line in existence, and here I am talking to a man who has all the time in the world. Do you know how fucking long I had to wait, Peter?

ST PETER No…

MAN Neither do I! my fucking watch stopped! And this is a TIMEX! They give these things a lifetime fucking warranty for a reason.

ST PETER Well I suppose they’re glad to know that the warranty has expired

MAN Hey, that’s great. Make jokes. That’s what you scumsuckers do around here, isn’t it? I just left one enormous fucking bad joke. I guess I should have expected the next world to be full of you fucking clowns

ST PETER Since you know who I am, you must know why we’re here. We’re here to judge your life, and you’re not exactly assuming a good attitude

MAN A good attitude? Have you read that file? Do you know how fucked up that world is? Would you leave it with a good attitude?

ST PETER You should know well enough that there is no file. It’s just a metaphor.

MAN Are we going to get on with this or are we going to get into fucking semantics? I’ve got things to do, here

ST PETER (rolling his eyes) I’ve no doubt.

ST PETER pages through the file nonchalantly, with the air of someone who is reading merely as a gesture

ST PETER I’m sorry, but I can’t let you in there

MAN What the fuck? Is that it? No interview, no debate, no anything? You just wait me for however fucking long and then turn me away

ST PETER I’m rather busy

MAN The fuck you are! You took at least a goddamned hour with that last sonofabitch. I know my rights!

ST PETER Sir, you’re out of your element. Your life was a gross display of vice and hedonism. You fought, you stole, you lied, you cheated, and you corrupted innocent minds with your words and actions. By your uniquely horrendous exploits, entirely new sinful concepts unexplored even by Lucifer were invented. Even your departure from the world was violent. What is worse, you committed all these acts in the name of patriotism and the American Dream. You are not getting in. Don’t make me call the guards

MAN Fuck you and fuck your guards. Do you think I’m going to fucking stand for this shit?

ST PETER Bartleby? Loki?

Enter Two angelic thugs, BARTLEBY and LOKI

ST PETER Kindly dispose of this man, please?

They nod

MAN You think no one’s ever tried to throw me out before? It doesn’t fucking work!

What ensues is an odd struggle to say the least. The two THUGS have a clear advantage in height, weight, and strength, but they have an incredibly hard time dealing with this MAN. For several frustrating seconds, he avoids their grasps. When they finally do take hold of him, he breaks free almost instantly. He then grabs the typewriter in both hands and swings madly at the two angels. He connects with BARTLEBY’S jaw, sending the thug reeling. LOKI manages to knock the instrument out of his hands, and is rewarded with a crushing two-fisted uppercut, which knocks him back into BARTLEBY. They stumble back, and regain their balance, then re- advance, more strategically. LOKI feints, and ducks back, drawing a wild blow from the MAN that misses its mark by a considerable distance. LOKI grabs his arm, and the MAN swings his other fist, which is caught by BARTLEBY. LOKI takes the other arm while BARTLEBY takes hold of the MAN’S legs, which is no small feat. The two of him carry him off-stage right.

MAN If you fucking swine think you’ve seen the last of me you’re in for some serious fucking disappointment!

Exeunt

ST PETER Nevertheless, Dr. Thompson, you’re not getting past this gate. Not yet, at least.

Re-enter BARTLEBY and LOKI

BARTLEBY Sir, there’s still one thing I don’t understand.

ST PETER What’s that, Bartleby?

BARTLEBY Well, why the hell did you even have him stand in line? You had to have known that you weren’t going to let him through.

ST PETER That’s true. I just wanted to make sure that I got to meet him.

BARTLEBY Oh.

ST PETER Next!