Hunter S. Thompson's last words may have been his most poetic (and tragic).

Written by Cole Schafer

At 5:42 p.m. on February 20, 2005, Hunter S. Thompson phoned his wife. He asked her to come home. He said he needed help with an ESPN column. He sat down the phone with her still on the line, cocked a gun and sent lead tumbling through his skull.

On his typewriter was but a single word…


Not too long previous to Thompson’s suicide, the Rolling Stone published what some believed to be his “suicide note” in a piece titled “Football Season Is Over”.

It went something like this…

*Hunter S. Thompson is typing now*

“No More Games. No More Bombs. No More Walking. No More Fun. No More Swimming. 67. That is 17 years past 50. 17 more than I needed or wanted. Boring. I am always bitchy. No Fun – for anybody. 67. You are getting Greedy. Act your old age. Relax – This won’t hurt.”


By Cole Schafer (but mostly the legendary Hunter S. Thompson).

P.S. For more on Hunter S. Thompson, read this piece and this piece.