You can turn your back on a person, but never turn your back on a drug. Especially when it's waving a razor-sharp hunting knife in your eye.

[on Dr. Gonzo] There he goes. One of God's own prototypes. A high-powered mutant of some kind never even considered for mass production. Too weird to live, and too rare to die.

["One Toke Over the Line" is playing on the radio] One toke? You poor fool! Wait till you see those goddamn bats.

We had two bags of grass, seventy-five pellets of mescaline, five sheets of high-powered blotter acid, a saltshaker half-full of cocaine, and a whole galaxy of multi-colored uppers, downers, laughers, screamers... Also, a quart of tequila, a quart of rum, a case of beer, a pint of raw ether, and two dozen amyls. Not that we needed all that for the trip, but once you get into locked a serious drug collection, the tendency is to push it as far as you can. The only thing that really worried me was the ether. There is nothing in the world more helpless and irresponsible and depraved than a man in the depths of an ether binge, and I knew we'd get into that rotten stuff pretty soon.

How long could we maintain? I wondered. How long until one of us starts raving and jabbering at this boy? What will he think then? This same lonely desert was the last known home of the Manson family; will he make that grim connection when my attorney starts screaming about bats and huge manta rays coming down on the car? If so, well, we'll just have to cut his head off and bury him somewhere, 'cause it goes without saying that we can't turn him loose. He'd report us at once to some kind of outback Nazi law enforcement agency and they'll run us down like dogs. Jesus, did I say that? Or just think it? Was I talking? Did they hear me?

Dr. Gonzo: [Holding key] Where did this one come from?
Raoul Duke: That's Lacerda's.
Dr. Gonzo: Yeah, yeah I thought we might need it.
Raoul Duke: What for?
Dr. Gonzo: What for? So we can go up there and blast him out of bed with the firehose, man!

My attorney had never been able to accept the notation, often espoused by former drug abusers, that you can get a lot higher without drugs than with them, and neither have I for that matter.

Raoul Duke: Well, they've nailed me goddamnit. I'm trapped in some stinking desert crossroads called Baker. I don't have much time man, the fuckers are closing in! They'll hunt me down like a fucking beast!
Dr. Gonzo: Whoa, getting a little paranoid?
Raoul Duke: [yelling] I need a fucking lawyer immediately!
Dr. Gonzo: What are you doing in Baker, didn't you get my telegram?
Raoul Duke: What telegram you worthless bastard? I'll cripple your ass for this.
Dr. Gonzo: You brainless scumbag, you're supposed in Vegas covering the National District Attorney's Conference, I rented a suite at the Flamingo. Now what are you doing out in the middle of the desert?

Total control now. Tooling along the main drag on a Saturday night in Vegas. Two good old boys in a fire-apple red convertible. Stoned. Ripped. Twisted. Good people.

You scurvy shiester bastard. I'm a doctor of journalism man! Get in there and clean your shorts! Clean your shorts goddammit like a big boy!

Dr. Gonzo: This is it. Lacerda. Room 208.
Raoul Duke: [eyes askance] Huh? Lacerda?
Dr. Gonzo: Yeah, man. Lacerda...
Raoul Duke: [narrating] I couldn't remember. The name rang a bell but I couldn't concentrate. Terrible things were happening all around me.

The store was closed, but the salesman said he could wait if we hurry. But we were delayed en route when a stingray in front of us killed a pedestrian.

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