Primitive Christian Instincts

I guess I lead a pretty good life when my "academic research" that I do while I'm "writing" causes me to write down quotes like this:

Jesus Creeping God! Is there a priest in this tavern? I want to confess. I’m a fucking sinner! Venal, mortal, carnal, major, minor—however you want to call it, Lord…I’m guilty.

But do me this one last favor: just give me five more high-speed hours before you bring the hammer down; just let me get rid of this goddamn car and off of this horrible desert.

Which is not really a hell of a lot to ask, Lord, because the final incredible truth is that I am not guilty. All I did was take your gibberish seriously…and you see where it got me? My primitive Christian instincts have made me a criminal.

Creeping through the casino at six in the morning with a suitcase full of grapefruit and “Mint 400” T-shirts, I remember telling myself, over and over again, “You are not guilty.” This is merely a necessary expedient, to avoid a nasty scene. After all, I made no binding agreements; this is an institutional debt—nothing personal. This whole goddamn nightmare is the fault of that stinking, irresponsible magazine. Some fool in New York did this to me. It was his idea, Lord, not mine.

And now look at me: half-crazy with fear, driving 120 miles an hour across Death Valley in some car I never even wanted. You evil bastard! This is your work. You better take care of me, Lord…because if you don’t you’re going to have me on your hands.

-Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, 86-87

Alway make the bastard chase you. That's all I got. Along with a moving version for all you non readers out there.