Best HST "tribute" that I have found so far. I did not write this but wish I had.

Last Writes

This came over the mojo wire in the SF Weekly offices Monday morning -- the first part of a serialized dispatch, Fear and Loathing at the Pearly Gates: A Brutal Journey to the Doorstep of God. The transmission was interrupted after the first page, printed below.

Part 1

Bad Craziness & a Terrible Howling From the Compound ... Too Weird to Live ... The Shitstorm Lifts ... Lashing the Great Red Shark Along the Turnpike in the Sky ... Is This Trip Necessary? ... Black Hash, Wild Turkey, and Two Sheets of High-Powered Blotter Acid: A Twisted Hour With St. Peter ... A Brutal Interrogation With the Shithammer of God ... Weird Memories & Fascist Angels ... Where Is Steadman? ... Sneaking Into Heaven Through a Piss-Ridden Back Door ... A Drink With Zevon ... How'd Nixon Get in Here? ... "Get Off My Cloud"

I had been barreling toward the ball of light in the distance for 43 hours when my eyes glassed over and I began speaking gibberish.

"Get ahold of yourself," Sandra Dee shouted, jerking the wheel away from me. "You're starting to act weird."

She was right. I stomped violently on the accelerator, whipping the Great Red Shark into fifth gear. The Firmament was in sight and now was not the time for strange madness. Or was it? The Fear had gripped me for many desperate months at Owl Farm until a jolt of Real Power seized me one recent evening. "Cazart!" I roared and smashed my telephone on the floor, ending my conversation with Don Johnson. This feeling had come over me before, and I knew that I would soon be filled with a brute strength. It is wonderful to grow stronger and stronger and know that you cannot be stopped.

We pulled up to the Gates of Heaven, where I forced the Shark onto the curb, knocking over a pack of bloated cherubim. My arrival was not expected. I cracked open the trunk and fished out a steel suitcase containing seven vials of... (this is where it ended. RTO)

(Tommy Craggs, Luke O'Brien)