I am very rarely capable of completing a book written by Hunter S. Thompson. This particular one is no different. Hunter's point of view inevitably becomes irritating and wearisome. The constant refrain of "I took 500 of this or that and drank a gallon of bourbon..." is nothing but complete exaggeration and fails to make an impression. I simply cannot read this author. I'm not entirely sure why I persist in attempting to do so. It might be out of a sense of obligation to explore different literary styles or perhaps a glimmer of hope that I will finally understand and appreciate his unique brand of writing. However, with each passing attempt, my frustration grows. Maybe it's time to admit that Hunter S. Thompson's work is just not for me.