Few people realize that Hunter S. Thompson was an avid balloon animal maker. I didn’t realize myself until he showed up at my 18th birthday party. He arrived unannounced, made colorful balloon doggies for my friends, read us some of his works, and then closed with his hilarious tribute to the whoopie cushion.
He stayed for several days afterwards, camped out on a rusty lawn chair in our backyard, shooting beer cans (much to my parents’ chagrin). Dad finally had to turn on the sprinkler to get rid of him.
Nevertheless, that birthday remained my favourite childhood memory for many years until the year I turned 26 and Maya Angelou took me to a strip club.