An Old Gonzo Bastard Has His Say…while officious bastards put a pox on him.


Gonzo journalism is a style of journalism that is written without claims of objectivity, often including the reporter as part of the story via a first-person narrative. The word “gonzo” is believed to be first used in 1970 to describe an article by Hunter S. Thompson, who later popularized the style. The term has since been applied to other subjective artistic endeavors.

Gonzo journalism tends to favor style over fact to achieve accuracy—if accuracy is in fact meant to be achieved at all—and often uses personal experiences and emotions to provide context for the topic or event being covered. It disregards the “polished”, edited product favored by newspaper media and strives for a more gritty, personable approach—the personality of a piece is just as important as the event the piece is on. Use of quotations, sarcasm, humor, exaggeration, and profanity is common.

Among the forefathers of the new journalism movement, Thompson said in the February 15th, 1973 issue of Rolling Stone, “If I’d written the truth I knew for the past ten years, about 600 people—including me—would be rotting in prison cells from Rio to Seattle today. Absolute truth is a very rare and dangerous commodity in the context of professional journalism.”[1]

The Gonzo explanation was provided by the invaluable wikipedia whose pages invite donations from grateful users.
The below quoted piece is reproduced, without comment, from NewScientist.

From the first voice box transplant ever to reversing the symptoms of Alzheimer’s by zapping the brain, it has been a fascinating, and on occasion downright weird, year in biomedicine. Who can forget the discovery that faecal transplants ease the symptoms of Parkinson’s? We’ve also reported pills that could prevent cancer, warned of the five small steps to a potentially lethal flu pandemic, and even had a reporter perform intimate acts inside an fMRI scanner to unlock the secrets of consciousness. Here are our top 10 favourite stories of the year.

Don’t know about other people who are interested in Queensland State politics, but my prescience doesn’t need to be engaged to pick up a decisive anti-Bligh swing at Bowen Hills. Their former mild admonishment of the George Street cabal is generally too cosy and apologetic for mine, so formatted to be forgotten after 24 hours, but Saturday’s Courier Mail of 17 inst. showed a return to editorial independence, a mettle of sorts, suggesting Murdoch is trying far too late, to expose his human characteristics by lifting his embargo on constructive criticism of the reviled, Beattie-tainted Bligh and returned comment to the locals. The capitulation compliments his British humiliation where own sewage laps at his nostrils to the doubtful, diminishing worth of defending Bligh’s Executive Looters. The pay-off isn’t there anymore, no gain in defending fellow hoodlums with retribution knocking on his own door.

The Courier Mail rewards age-pensioner hater, pro-smoking advocates like Syvret with editorial elevation, conscientious scribes move over to Crikey. Senior writers work lamely establishing a schism between the Government and the police when the fact is each would collapse without the other.

Laying shit on the minor players collectively known as the executive bench or “yes” people won’t dislodge artful dodgers in the PS system. Backroom shakers and boss bureaucrats have the system pretty well tied-up and use former Police Commissioner Lewis’s small fish analogy to call-in favours years later; are crafty artisans playing can’t lose Monopoly perfected during pre-TAB days when police protected local SP operators for a gratis five quid on the winner of the last in Melbourne.

During the sixties, particularly nasty anti-personnel manoeuvres by East Germany’s secret police appealed to psychological misfits who make Brisbane CIB what it is when it was situated in Queen’s Park opposite the present Treasury Casino where a dour, shit-covered Victoria presides, becoming the Secret Police template. When the Special Branch puffed itself up and got legs, there wasn’t a spluttering bomb to be found so they justified their existence by keeping track of decent, every-day citizens whose remarks at the work-place and in private became, with snapshots of the occasion, their dossiers.

With last week’s IT toys becoming passé by the minute, new equipment makes for open slather by malevolent and iniquitous operatives within once worthy organisations like Police Departments who believe newspaper platitudes of their own omnipotence and status. One of these manipulators tried entrapment on me reckoning an old bastard would forget about voice recorders. By the same token, his derogatory comments putting me down are on record. Talk of mental evaluation test didn’t sway me either. On reminding him of a clean crime sheet and that I had never feared losing my driver’s license, two indicators of a person’s character, his response was “for someone like you to avoid conviction,” meant I always had good fortune. I also had parents interested in my well-being, the nature of which would be beyond his understanding, and which is being steadily dismantled by a do-good, meddlesome nanny state and bad people within the “system.”

The comical innocence of official stupidity that so amused Yes Minister viewers has an element of truth about it but it would be a dread error to mistake amusing TV nonsense for the real thing where a crossed Department head can, with an ever-ready pool of eager perversity awaiting orders, inflict continuing torment on a dissident. I was forced out of a comfortable flat when vendetta-driven little girls, cigarette-smoking Queensland Housing staff condoned the lighting of multiple mosquito coils 24 hours a day by up-wind tenants, the previously mentioned ‘eviction tenants’ especially imported by manipulators to do a a specific job. It was successfully enacted. I departed, but when I ridiculed the two antagonists via this blog, Queensland Labor had their censor police visit me with a ‘shut-up or else’ ultimatum, also mentioned early on.

The next bit was lifted from a recent story:

In mid-November, 2010, the unusual activity and pointed theatrical asides of two relatively recent arrivals aroused my interest and their unpleasantness was noted to become posts on this site. After some nine months and many postings later, I hadn’t let up and my revelations apparently embarrassing Kaiser and his closet cadres enough for an uniformed police person to call on me with the threat to invoke the mental evaluation act to silence my comments on this pair of spivs. My decision-making, my freewill and my liberties were reined-in by a Labor endorsed thug. I had to quit referring to the two bullying Labor deviates. I’ve had my say on this subject and would rather reflect on why only baleen whales eat krill than have the tits bored off me in a revived interest of two confirmed stasi.

May The Gonzo Fraternity Grow And Help Dump(On)Complacent Government Nanny-Bludgers.

The Phrase Finder  gives its readers the last words of Hunter S.Thompson.

Cheers, Les Johns.

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