Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas Quotes

Raoul Duke: Well? What are your plans?
Dr. Gonzo: Plans?
Raoul Duke: The child in the bedroom.
Dr. Gonzo: Oh, Lucy. I met her on the plane. Yeah, she's a religious freak. I gave her a cap before I realized... Jesus, she's never even had a drink before.
Raoul Duke: Well... it'll probably

work out. We can keep her loaded and peddle her ass at the drug convention. Yeah. She's perfect for this gig. These cops will go fifty bucks a head to beat her into submission and then gang-fuck her. We can set her up in one of these back street motels, hang pictures of Jesus all over the room, then turn these fucking pigs loose on her. Hell, she's strong, man. She'll hold her own.

Dr. Gonzo: Jesus Christ. I knew you were sick but I never expected to hear you actually say that kind of stuff, you filthy bastard.
Raoul Duke: Straight economics, man. This girl is a godsend. Shit, she can make us a grand a day.
Dr. Gonzo: That's ugly, man. Stop talking like that.
Raoul Duke: I figure she can

do about four at a time. If we keep her full of acid that's more like two grand a day. Maybe three.
Dr. Gonzo: Hold on, man. What if I just jump you and beat the dog shit out of you? Would that make you feel better? You filthy bastard.
Raoul Duke: All right, listen to me. In a few hours, she'll probably be sane enough to work herself into some kind

of towering Jesus-based rage at the hazy recollection of being seduced by some kind of cruel Samoan who fed her liquor and LSD, dragged her to a Vegas hotel room and then savagely penetrated every orifice in her little body with his throbbing, uncircumcised member.
Dr. Gonzo: That's so ugly, man!
Raoul Duke: Fuck. Truth hurts.
Dr.

Gonzo: That's... argh! Argh! That's argh! Argh! That's argh!
Raoul Duke: Argh!
Dr. Gonzo: I wanted to help her, man.
Raoul Duke: Well, you'll go straight to the gas chamber for this one. And even if you manage to beat that, they'll still send you back to Nevada for rape and consensual sodomy. She's got to go.

Dr. Gonzo: Shit. It doesn't pay to try to help someone these days.

Dr. Gonzo: [spills the cocaine] Jesus! You see what God just did to us, man?
Raoul Duke: God didn't do that, you did it. You're a fucking narcotics agent, I knew it! That was our cocaine, you fucking pig swine whore...
Dr. Gonzo: You'd better be careful. There's plenty of vultures out here, they'll pick your bones clean before

morning.
Raoul Duke: You fucking whore.
Dr. Gonzo: Heh heh heh.

Raoul Duke: [Narrating] Ah, devil ether. It makes you behave like the village drunkard in some early Irish novel. Total loss of all basic motor skills. Blurred vision, no balance, numb tongue. The mind recoils in horror, unable to communicate with the spinal column. Which is interesting because you can actually watch yourself behaving in this terrible way, but you can't control

it. You approach the turnstiles and know that when you get there, you have to give the man two dollars or he won't let you inside. But when you get there, everything goes wrong. Some angry rotarian shoves you and you think "What's happening here? What's going on?" And you hear yourself mumbling...
Raoul Duke: Dogs fucked the Pope... no fault of mine.
Raoul

Duke: [Narrating] Ether is the perfect drug for Las Vegas. In this town they love a drunk. Fresh meat. So they put us through the turnstiles and turned us loose inside.

Raoul Duke: I want you to understand that this man at the wheel is my attorney. He's not just some dingbat I found on the strip, man. He's a foreigner. I think he's probably Samoan. But that doesn't matter, though, does it? Are you prejudiced?
Hitchhiker: Hell no.
Raoul Duke: I didn't think so. Because in spite of his race, this man

is extremely valuable to me. Oh, shit. I forgot about the beer. You want one?
Hitchhiker: No.
Raoul Duke: How 'bout some ether?
Hitchhiker: What?
Raoul Duke: Never mind. Let's get right to the heart of this thing. Twenty-four hours ago we were sitting in the Pogo Lounge of the Beverly Heights Hotel, in

the patio section of course, drinking Singapore Slings with mescal on the side, hiding from the brutish realities of this foul year of Our Lord, nineteen-hundred and seventy one...

Dr. Gonzo: Sounds like big trouble. You're going to need plenty of legal advice before this thing is over. As your attorney, I advise you to rent a very fast car with no top. And you'll need the cocaine. Tape recorder for special music. Acapulco shirts. Get the hell out of L.A. for at least 48 hours. Blows my weekend.
Raoul Duke: Why?
Dr.

Gonzo: Because naturally I'm going to have to go with you. And we're going to have to arm ourselves... to the teeth!
Raoul Duke: Well why not? Shit if it's worth doing, it's worth doing right! This is the American Dream in action. We'd be fools not to ride this strange torpedo all the way to the end!

Dr. Gonzo: When it comes to that fantastic note where the... rabbit bites its own head off, I want you to - throw - that - fuckin - radio - into the tub - with me.
Raoul Duke: Fuck, man. You've gone completely sideways! That'll blast you right through the wall. You'll be stone dead in ten seconds. Fuck, they'll make me explain things. Shit.

Dr. Gonzo: [reaching for his knife] Bullshit!
Raoul Duke: [wielding a shower curtain pole] Don't fuck with me now, man. I am Ahab.
[Gonzo rises out of the tub with his knife]
Raoul Duke: Alright, you weird fucker! Sit down! Back in the tub! Back in the tub! I'll plunge this into your fucking throat, man.
Dr.

Gonzo: Don't make me use this, man.
Raoul Duke: Alright, man. It's probably the only solution. Let me make sure I've got this all lined up. You want me to, uh, throw this into the tub when the white rabbit peaks? Is that it?
Dr. Gonzo: Ugh, I was beginning to think I was gonna have to go outside and get one of the goddamn maids to do it.

Raoul Duke: No, man. I'll do it. Shit, what are friends for?
Raoul Duke: [now playing white rabbit] Are you ready? Close your eyes. Yeah... good boy.
Dr. Gonzo: [suddenly flailing around] White rabbit! White rabbit!
Raoul Duke: Why, goddammit? You're wasting my time!
Dr. Gonzo:

Higher, man! Higher! Ugh! Higher!
[Duke turns up the volume]
Raoul Duke: Okay, close those peepers. Ten...
Dr. Gonzo: Waughhhhh!
Raoul Duke: Nine! Hundred-and-eleven! Fifty-two! Three!
[Duke throws a grapefruit and Gonzo's head and runs out of the bathroom]
Dr. Gonzo: [offscreen]

UGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Hitchhiker: Hot damn. I never rode in a convertible before.
Raoul Duke: Is that right? Well... I guess you're about ready, then, aren't you?
Dr. Gonzo: We're your friends. We're not like the others, man, really.
Raoul Duke: No more of that talk or I'll put the fucking leeches on you, understand?

Dr. Gonzo: Heh heh heh...
Raoul Duke: [as the Hitchhiker stares at them nervously] Get in.

Raoul Duke: When I came to, the general back-alley ambience of the suite was so rotten, so incredibly foul. How long had I been lying there? All these signs of violence. What had happened? There was evidence in this room of excessive consumption of almost every type of drug known to civilized man since 1544 AD. What kind of addict would need all these coconut husks and crushed

honeydew rinds? Would the presence of junkies account for all these uneaten french fries? These puddles of glazed ketchup on the bureau? Maybe so. But then why all this booze? And these crude pornographic photos smeared with mustard that had dried to a hard yellow crust? These were not the hoofprints of your average God-fearing junky. It was too savage. Too aggressive.