Hey Rube by Hunter S. Thompson

Author:Hunter S. Thompson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster Paperbacks
Published: 2004-09-20T04:00:00+00:00

It was just before halftime of the Indianapolis–New Orleans game on Sunday when Police invaded my house. I paid no attention to them at first—Peyton Manning was running for a touchdown with no time left on the clock and people were getting excited—but the cops refused to stop hammering on my door. “Get away!” I shouted. “We are asleep.” It was a weak thing to say, but I needed a few seconds to sweep a pile of money off the table and hide the Jimsonweed.

I heard a jiggling noise in the lock. Whack! The door flew open and they swarmed in. “Hello, Hunter,” said Grady, who seemed to be in charge. “Don’t worry, we’re not after You this time—but where is that woman you’re hiding?”

“What woman?” I said. “Wait a minute! I am confused. Was that a touchdown? Did Manning score?”

“Never in hell,” snapped the Coroner. “He was cheating. They called it back.”

Just then the Colts kicked a field goal, with no time on the clock, to tie the game 17–17. The cameras switched off to show cheerleaders and players running for the locker room. None of it made any sense.

The cop laughed. “She is on the White House list of suspected terrorists, and that makes You an official Terrorist sympathizer.” He leered at me and jerked a new ESPN magazine off my leather-covered refrigerator. “What is this?” he snapped. “Is this the issue with the Olympic Venue maps?”

I grabbed it out of his hand and threw it in the fire. “Watch your mouth!” I told him. “I am on my way to Utah right now. I am a member of—”

“Freeze!” he yelled. “Put your hands on your head!”

I saw the other cop moving to get behind my back, so I fell against the icebox and cut him off. “Stand down!” I shouted. “Don’t embarrass yourselves professionally.” I flashed a badge at them—a Lyle Lovett security badge, as it happened—and they momentarily stood down. “I am a Sportswriter,” I said calmly. “I am a member of the SLOC press security committee!”

What happened next is open to interpretation—but to make a long story short, they wound up taking Princess Omin away and telling me that I was under formal Quarantine, for Health Reasons. “And don’t argue,” the big one barked. “This is perfectly legal. We have a lot of New Laws these days. You Have No Rights.” He handed me a small blue card with a list of numbers on it, along with some dense small print about Terrorism and National Security Emergencies and Military Tribunal Judgments.

I had read it all before, but the presence of armed policemen in my home somehow put a new and more human face on it. I saw that I was about 95 seconds away from being locked up as a hostile foreign agent, so I caved.

“Thank God you’ve come,” I said. “She’s right up there in the attic. You are saving my Life! She Threatened me! Please take her away.”

I was sorry to see her go, but in truth I had no choice.

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