The price that great writers pay for cursing convention and soiling the milquetoast ranks, it seems, is braving an inflamed collective that refuses to acknowledge the filth at its feet. At best, such artistic confrontation is met with a wince. At worst, literary banishment. And so writers who present an

? GIRLS! / WOMEN! ? Is there a guy (or girl) you have on your mind who you love having sex with, but for whatever reason you just haven’t been lately? No matter what coast you live on (especially you LA vixens), USE THE NUCLEAR THREAT TO GET SOMEONE TO SLEEP

As 2024 winds down, we’re reflecting on another incredible year of sharing the stories, art, culture, and nightlife that make the Bay Area so unique. BrokeAssStuart.com wouldn’t be what it is without you—our community of readers, supporters, and believers in independent media. This year, instead of asking you to join Patreon

Hunter S. Thompson was a lot of things, amongst them: an explorer, a madman, an asshole, and a brilliant writer. But what he was best at was getting at the root of something in the sharpest and most poignant way possible. And that’s just what he did the day after

In 1970,  Scanlans ran a the first piece of Gonzo jouralism about the Kentucky Derby titled “Decadent and Depraved” by Hunter S. Thompson.  Even when I read it a few years ago, the strange mixture of the crowd’s high society posturing and lewd, whiskey swilling conduct made a powerful impression.