Brightest Young Things

all words: Jeff Jetton
all photos: Dakota Fine

We'd made our way up that Proud Highway, I-270, to the kingdom of beer, Flying Dog Brewery.  It wasn't our first time up there.  A now-infamous BYT incident earlier in the year left us temporarily banned from the brewery, Gonzo-style until fences were mended.  I won't go into all of the details but suffice it to say, we'll leave the beer-brewing to Flying Dog and Flying Dog will leave the beer-chugging contests to BYT

But for the lack of drugs, great writing, shotguns, bat hallucinations, law enforcement, and failed political campaigns, it was almost as if Hunter was present.  He'd probably be spinning in his grave right now if he knew he'd been distilled down to a caricature: the hat, the riflery glasses, long cigarette filter, flowered shirt and safari shorts.   Oh wait, scratch that.  Hunter doesn't have a grave.  His ashes were scattered across Aspen, Colorado in a giant rocket launch/fireworks display.  Fuck it, the caricatures would have to do.  And do they did.

Let's be quite clear, here.  Frederick, Maryland is no Big Sur, California.  It's not Louisville, Kentucky nor Key Largo, Florida.  Nor is it Aspen, Colorado or any of the other exotic places that Hunter called home.  By some twist of fate, this Mecca, this Xanadu, this Shangri La even (of ale, at least), ended up transplanted from Woody Creek, Colorado all the way out to our backyard of Frederick.  I'm imagining that scene in the Wizard of Oz where the house gets picked up by a tornado from Kansas and dropped down in Oz.  Only this time, it's not a house, it's an enormous brewery, owned by George Stranahan, picked up from the Rocky Mountains and dropped in rural Maryland.  Yes, this is the Pink Floyd version of events:

We'll carry on with this Wizard of Oz theme, since I like that movie.  Alright, Dorothy, imagine yourself swept up in this cross-continental twister that pulls you out of lovely Aspen and drops you in Fburg.  You may land on a witch, you may not.  Not important.  What's important is that the brewery is still functional.  Why?  Because you just landed in some sort of crazy alternate reality, with lots of thirsty HST impersonators.  Impostors.  Tributees.  Whatever you want to call them, they're here.  Like so many Lollipop Kids, welcoming you to Munchkin Land.

Fifty or more Hunter S. Thompson imposters.  It was like that scene in Being John Malkovich where he ends up in his own head and all he sees is himself.

They say the journey is the destination.  That's a bunch of bullshit.  The destination is the destination, and the faster you get to that destination, the more time you have to drink as much free beer as you can possibly run through that gullet.  Which is apparently a lot, considering how obliterated most of the 3,000 festival-goers were by the time the last neu-metal band hit the stage.

This guy was the real deal.  So fucked up on something he could barely even walk.  And he *definitely* couldn't talk.  I thought he was going to offer us a triscuit, but to my non-astonishment he ended up pulling a bottle of prescription pills out of his box.  This cat wasn't acting.  Grade-A lunatic, kids.

The two guys below were perhaps the best 'dead-ringers' of the event.  Young Hunter and old Hunter, too.  It's like that scene in the new Star Trek where old man spock meets young spock and gives him some advice on something or other.

 Apparently one of the Blowfish of Hootie fame was playing with his new band.  The Hootie fan club was in full force.  As referenced by this young woman, a teacher, from Maryland.  If anyone knows who she is, please email us so we can forward to the principal at her school...

[vimeo]http://www.vimeo.com/6755083[/vimeo].

So now it's time to say goodbye.  Click your heels three times and say there's no place like home (when really you're thinking there's no place like free beer at GonzoFest).  But seriously after you've drank this much alcohol during a 6 hour period, there probably is no place like home. 

As your attorney, I advise you to go home and pretend this day never happened.

Previously in Tangents:

• 12/28: Terrible Boyfriend/ Girlfriend Generator.
• 11/2: PHOTOS: TAXLO Halloween (feat. Chain Gang of 1974)
• 10/10: #OccupyWallStreet
• 8/10: PHOTOS: Lawn Mover Racing, Eastern Seaboard Regionals @ Bowles Farm
• 7/26: Special List: Things the BYGays Want Now That We Can Marry In DC (and NY!)
• 7/20: PHOTOS: Artscape
• 7/19: Miho Hatori's Guide to New York City
• 4/11: Cirque Du Soleil: Totem (A Review)
• 12/29: War, Reenacted
• 12/29: What in Hell is Slaughterama?!?