The one in which the father of gonzo journalism goes off on the “asshole who scrambled all my wiring.”
Turns out, Thompson had had a new-fangled DVD player installed in his Woody Creek, CO home but couldn’t get the damnable thing to turn on. So he called what he thought was the installation company that sold him the unit—it was actually a local video rental store—and asked, as only he could, that someone get out there and fix it. If only he could remember his phone number.
