One of my favorite literary people on the Right, and one
with an especially wicked, no-holds-barred wit, recently
passed from our midst. P.J. O'Rourke, 74, was not what
you would call genteel; he once fired a machine gun off
of his left-wing counterpart Hunter S. Thompson's porch.
Both of these old friends were "gonzos" in temperament
and behavior. He perfected his craft as a young radical
working on the staff of underground papers including
Ramparts, later when with National Lampoon. O'Rourke
later brought his polished skills to conservative publications
such as American Standard, and wrote humorous books
in which he tore a new one in the backsides of politicians
and political parties, such as A Parliament of Whores
(which your favorite Peasant had the great pleasure of
reading some years ago) and Vacations in Hell.
A member of the next generation of the literary stars in the
firmament of the modern American Right, he has gone to
join its founders, among whom is William F. Buckley Jr,
founder of the National Review. Godspeed, P.J. Thank you
for all the wickedly wonderful fun. Requiescat in Pace.
MEM
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