No time for love

ZO Jones is no ordinary guy. Just ask him – he'll tell you all about his murky triumphs back in the day, when beat was spelled with an upper-case "B" and men like Bukowski and Kerouac roamed the planet, mighty dinosaurs of the literary sort. But if his Brazilian Web site (GZO Jones Town) is any indication ... well, as we like to keep in mind, Dr. Jones has a way with words, never turns down a good question and hasn't missed a deadline.

Dear Dr. Jones,

Hunter Thompson is still at it, but his schtick is wearing pretty thin. Aren't you partly responsible for perpetuating the tired Gonzo myth?

Signed,
Hero Today, Gonzo Tomorrow

Dear Hero,

The first time I heard about Hunter's antics I could have sworn there was some imitation going on. I was flattered, of course, but when he started becoming famous, I couldn't help but cringe. Not to say that he isn't a nice guy – though we've never met, we've exchanged faxes intermittently for years.

I have to say, though, that whatever energy propelled him originally has certainly waned. He still pops up from time to time, whether it be kissing Bill Clinton's ass on the campaign trail, or barely escaping the consequences of his wanna-be Rick James act.

Perhaps that's the problem: Constantly living to tell the tale must drain the creative juices after a while. Though it's a miracle he's alive and not on his own MTV show, the work just doesn't have it anymore. How Gonzo is it to sit at home and write about stuff?

And while we're on the subject of the Gonzo myth, no, I'm not perpetuating. If anyone is, it's those krazy pornographers who jet-set from bukkake in Prague to gangbangs in New Orleans – convincing otherwise normal girls to get naked and lick the soles of each others' feet.

Hmm. Come to think of it, the advice for this month is: don't send any questions for 15 minutes or so while I ponder this one.

– Jones