To hell with unemployment: I think it's a fine thing. I like
sleeping all day and having nothing to do but read, write, and
sleep whenever I feel tired. I like waking up in the morning
and going immediately back to bed if the weather is foul. In
short, I think it's a fine situation for a man to be in:
provided, of course, that he has enough money to eat and pay the
I don't...and therefore must work: but what the hell? Is it anything to cry and pray for forgiveness about? [...] Hell no it's not. I get goddamn tired of getting letters telling me to "buck up", to "keep my chin up," to "keep trying," to "pray and be virtuous," and to read Horatio Alger books. I like being unemployed. I'm lazy. There are plenty of jobs, but I just plain damn don't want to work. It's that simple [..] and I have an ode:
"Ah, lives there a man with soul so dead, who never to himself
hath said, as he hunched and rolled in his comfortable bed:
To hell with rent...I'll drink instead!"
Let us toast to animal pleasures, to escapism, to rain on the roof and instant coffee, to unemployment insurance and library cards, to absinthe and good-hearted landlords, to music and warm bodies and contraceptives...and to the "good life," whatever it is and wherever it happens to be.
So there you have it: a slacker's credo for pleasure...
-- Dr. Hunter S. Thompson, "The Proud Highway"
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