A Hunter S. Thompson Anecdote

From Metafilter:

Some years ago I needed to talk to Thompson for an article. I cadged his home number from a friend of a friend, who would not give it over until after he had spent fifteen minutes warning me about how a call to Hunter was likely to unfold. Hunter will probably be drunk. Hunter will be angry, or unintelligible. Hunter will ask you to send him something odd, or send him money. Hunter will ask you to come to his house to fix something that’s broken. Hunter will almost certainly not answer your questions, but if he does he’ll do so only after shouting at you for many minutes, so just buck up and bear it. “And for god’s sake don’t dare tell him how you got his number!”

Properly prepped, I dialed the number. Hunter answered. He sounded perfectly sober. I very gingerly explained who I was and what I wanted. We then spent a very enjoyable half hour on the phone, Hunter politely answering every question. When I was done I thanked Hunter and told him how much I appreciated the interview. “My pleasure. Happy to do it. One last thing, though, before I forget.” Yes? “How did you happen to get my number?” Oh, through a friend of a friend. “Hmmmm. Well. May I ask a favor?” Of course. “Throw that goddamn number away and tell that fucking friend of a friend of yours that if he ever gives my goddamn phone number out to another sonofabitch stranger I’m going to find him and fuck his eyeballs out.”