D-Man Bites Dog would like to apologize to the United Crack Whore Association for any embarrassment or humiliation caused through the implied association with Jennifer Lopez.

This is probably as much truth as I can ever guarantee:

Silence is a dead man's strength.

Silence is a dead man's strength
and sometimes when I'm asleep
I drift away and I become
the man that you hope I'll become.

If I could learn to just Shut Up
instead of making a song and dance
Then maybe I could become
the man that you hope I'll become.

But a leopard doesn't trim its claws
a porn star is still just a whore
And though I'm that man in my own bed
silence is a dead man's strength.

Speaking of dead men:

Hunter S Thompson -- the great gonzo journalist who made it OK to see delusional giant bats -- dead.
Alleged self-inflicted gunshot wound to the face.
In the words of tittychick, from whom I learned first of his passing:

"Why?"

In Tribute:

We were somewhere around Barstow on the edge of the desert when the drugs began to take hold. I remember saying something like "I feel a bit lightheaded; maybe you should drive...." And suddenly there was a terrible roar all around us and the sky was full of what looked like huge bats, all swooping and screeching and diving around the car, which was going about a hundred miles an hour with the top down to Las Vegas. And a voice was screaming: "Holy Jesus! What are these goddamn animals?"

Then it was quiet again. My attorney had taken his shirt off and was pouring beer on his chest, to facilitate the tanning process. "What the hell are you yelling about?" he muttered, staring up at the sun with his eyes closed and covered with wraparound Spanish sunglasses. "Never mind," I said. "It's your turn to drive." I hit the brakes and aimed the Great Red Shark toward the shoulder of the highway. No point mentioning those bats, I thought. The poor bastard will see them soon enough.

- Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas