Many people saw Jones much, much more than they wanted to, free, gratis, and for nothing.
Condom with "tip" number 7 handed out to people waiting in line for Obama's acceptance speech:
Suicide pill: "SEAN PENN will offer his own comments . . . "
The blog Hard 7:
Here's a taste of prime Hunter [S. Thompson] from his masterful "Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail '72," a section of fanciful riffing on the infamous, Howard Dean-type collapse of Ed Muskie's presidential campaign:
"There was no doubt about it: The Man from Maine had turned to massive doses of Ibogaine as a last resort. The only remaining question was 'when did he start?' But nobody could answer that one, and I was not able to press the candidate himself for an answer because I was permanently barred from the Muskie campaign after that incident on the 'Sunshine Special' in Florida...and that scene makes far more sense now than it did at the time. ...
"In retrospect, however, it is easy to see why Muskie fell apart on that caboose platform in the Miami train station. There he was--far gone in a bad Ibogaine frenzy--suddenly shoved out in a rainstorm to face a sullen crowd and some kind of snarling
lunatic going for his legs while he tried to explain why he was 'the only Democrat who can beat Nixon.'
"It is entirely conceivable that--given the known effects of Ibogaine--that Muskie's brain was almost paralyzed by hallucinations at the time; that he looked out at that crowd and saw gila monsters instead of people, and that his mind snapped completely when he felt something large and apparently vicious clawing at his legs.
Another DC march sponsored by the friendly Marxist-Leninists of International Answer. My bet: even less successful than last year's.
Back of the poster is an ad for the nauseating Peace Nuns:
Sorry, got to quote from the dedicatory poem (enlarge photo to read whole thing) by one Michael Annis (long "a"):
She takes the law of humanity into old, painful hands; blood protector of the future cutting barbed wire, chain link fence; crawls through--a divine mole on all fours. . .
[N]ot a soul watching, no ego drives or runs her . . .
One voice threatening the security of Holy Imperialist Crusade America, a voice knowing (whether accompliced or not) each person must act alone . . .
For she is called the enemy, threatening a cold country, the feared jihad terrorist targeting homeland security, and soldiers are ordered before they surround her, "You shall be prompt. You shall be professionally brutal . . .
Soldiers protecting a flabby, fearful, condescending, money-worshipping, ignorant, hypocritical, spoon-fed nation from her Spirit on fire and blossoming in imminent threats of peace, love, and humility. . . .
Nope, no ego at all. Incidentally, there's a newish documentary about the egoless trio, if you're looking for something to avoid on a Saturday night.
Update: In my younger days people called me a divine chipmunk. Now I'm just a chipmunk.