Tomorrow is the day to end all days: The Hunt in Far Hills, New Jersey.
It's like the Kentucky Derby for Jerseyians. And I plan on celebrating it in the fashion of
Hunter S. Thompson.
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It's a fantastic scene-- thousands of people fainting, crying, copulating, trampling each other and fighting with broken whiskey bottles..."
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We've come down here to see this [terrible] scene: people all pissed out of their minds and vomiting on themselves and all that... and now, you know what? [that's] us..."
"Total chaos, no way to see the race, not even the track...nobody cares. Big lines at the outdoor betting windows, then stand back to watch winning numbers flash on the big board, like a giant bingo game."
"Old blacks arguing about bets; "Hold on there, I'll handle this" (waving pint of whiskey, fistful of dollar bills); girl riding piggyback, T-shirt says, "Stolen from Fort Lauderdale Jail." Thousands of teen-agers, group singing "Let the Sun Shine In," ten soldiers guarding the American flag and a huge fat drunk wearing a blue football jersey (No. 80) reeling around with quart of beer in hand."
"No booze sold out here, too dangerous...no bathrooms either. Muscle Beach...Woodstock...many cops with riot sticks, but no sign of a riot. Far across the track the clubhouse looks like a postcard from the Kentucky Derby."
Complete and total debauchery in muddy fields. Nothing sounds more pleasing to me right now.
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