The Sandspur

Issue date: 4/1/05 Section: Opinions

Media Credit: Issac Stolzenbach BAA: One goat misses the sweaty beast parties.

The Slantspur's photo editor, Issac Stolzenbach, gets wind of the CIA and the Skull & Bones involvement in having gonzo journalist, Hunter S. Thompson, assassinated at his home in Woody Creek, Colorado back in February of this year.

Foaming at the mouth and raving about receiving a document from an undisclosed source, Stolzenbach reengaged in his quest to expose Yale University's secret society, The Skull & Bones, as being the "they" that control the means of production and economy in the United States, and who control discourse (in the post-modern sense of the term).

Stolzenbach took to the road last weekend and has not been seen since; a final email stated that his sources were correct, and that he was conducting surveillance on the CIA in Aspen, Colorado where he viewed three men in black, wearing pantyhose over their heads, and condoms over their ears carrying a goat under each arm and chanting the National Security Agency anthem. They were escorting a man that resembled the grim reaper who had the secret society's coveted numbers, 322, tattooed in his forehead and etched into his sickle . . . he was riding a Shetland pony into the double-wide doors of the agency.

Our reporter states that he was hot on their tail, "I was just about to crack this madness wide open, but I tripped over the cord of my vodka I.V. and busted my camera equipment! Even if I couldn't bring them down for whacking Hunter, I could at least get whatever Senator that was under that cloak busted for his insidious bestiality practices. He moved his hand up the side of one goat's face, almost like he was caressing a baby. The goats . . . okay, fine . . . but that little pony didn't deserve mistreatment!"

The last communication The Slantspur received from our reporter in the field revealed the final stages of a degenerative mental disease, this is evident in the state of affairs last reported, "I was minding my own business . . . playing tug-o-war with my root see, when I suddenly found myself accosted by this scrumptious morsel of hooker (and no comments, our first president was a Hooker, so what's the hassle?) After filling my head with good food and drink, I sat down to document what I had seen, but my visitor wouldn't leave me alone. I finally succumbed to her Siren's squeal, but in the morning when I saw that it was vodka-goggles that made her so beautiful, I chewed off my own arm to escape! Thus, I have no article for you this week. But I will prove it was John Kerry, I swear it, that bucketheaded-sot of a man!"

Whatever becomes of our reporter we honestly could care less, but hopefully he'll stay gone long enough for us to clear up the slander and liable suits left in his wake. It is unlikely that Hunter S. Thompson meant enough to our government for them to assassinate him, but listening to delusional people can be entertaining . . . at times.

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