The infamous Ajai Raj is an English major and campus journalist who idolizes Hunter S. Thompson and swears like Cartman. He complains about being busted for pot:
The Pigfucking Establishment had other plans. My roommate and I were awakened at 3 A.M. by two grinning Austin Police Department officers and a greasy-haired fat fuck of an RA who gets his jollies by hanging around with his thumb in his ass until he smells marijuana so he can inform the Justice League in exchange for a free raffle ticket. No shit— as the cops cuffed me for having an ounce of grass, this fucker got a chance to win a free microwave. Or to suck off a sheriff, as far as I know or care.I was led in handcuffs into a waiting room full of crazy yelling degenerates, wife beaters, whores, thieves, and contemptible crying cunts… my balls were fondled by leering criminals posing as representatives of justice… according to our “justice” system, a straight-A college kid holding a bag of weed is as bad a criminal as a guy who beats his wife and kid. I learned that in Texas, a cop can decide to arrest you for no reason at all and you can sit in jail for 72 hours before you’re even charged with a crime…
The law is sticking all kinds of fingers in my asshole right now, but with a few savvy business deals, I can plow through this shit and come out smelling like roses. Ironic, really—to get out of this drug charge, I’m forced to arrange bigger drug deals than I ever intended to. C’est la vie, non?
Raj worships the original gonzo journalist…
Hunter S. was, and is, my hero. No other writer has had a greater impact on my way of thinking…
… and turns surprisingly clean and reverential on the subject of his hero:
[Thompson] wasn’t fucking around - he didn’t have time to worry about the shallowness of decorum and etiquette and politically correctness and society’s misguided rules of propriety… a shaman — a man wiser than the others around him, whose apothecary of mind-altering substances were held in reverence as magic potions or catalysts, if you will, for direct conversation with the holy spirits which occupy planes of existence for which the unenlightened are simply not privy. Through altering his perceptions and staying true to his nature, the shaman finds higher truths and brings them to the people… His purpose is not to put on a happy face and shake hands with false preachers or hypocrites or liars. His job is to put himself in danger of utter destruction at the hands of his own demons in order to show us the demons at large.
Raj’s world-weary affectation even sounds familiar:
We have with us an ounce of grass and two bottles of rum — one white, one gold. Our stash is nothing that would have made the Good Doctor envious, but all of our connections with the harder drugs in life decided to choose tonight to be unavailable, so we had to make do with what we could muster up.
I’m now more inclined to think there’s some coherence behind his asinine stunt. Is he prophet or poseur? The throwback, Mark Knopfler / Hannibal pose doesn’t help.
Update: Here’s Raj’s second statement on the incident, considerably deflated:
I do not, nor have I ever, dealt drugs.
The original pot essay was pretty clearly satirical, so I guess he’s spelling it out in big black letters for the literalists.




