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After watching his old tape of that classic porn flick The Erotic Adventures of Candy, and always being enchanted by the Candy movies, he recalled the old mystery of Candy Goes to Washington. It was advertised at the end of Candy Goes to Hollywood, but Monk had never seen that movie offered anywhere. He was inspired today to google for it.
Apparently, the movie was never made, and one can only suppose that there might have been an intention to make such a movie, but nothing came of it, regrettably.
However, researching more deeply for some scuttlebutt on the 'missing movie,' googling the filmmaker, Gail Palmer, Monk came upon a fascinating little salacious story about Ms. Palmer and the legendary journalist Hunter S. Thompson.
In 1990 he was accused of assaulting a former porn film actress who had come to his house to interview him. The woman, Gail Palmer-Slater, accused Thompson of "squeezing and twisting her left breast and threatening to blow her head off" after she refused to join him in his hot tub. Thompson said she was drunk, and was seeking publicity for a new range of sex aids and manuals.
Ultimately, potential witnesses did not cooperate with the authorities and the charges were dropped - no blood no foul. For color, I have included below Todd Brendan Fahey's account of the incident from his article, "Hunter S. Thompson: Champion of Fun."
Although I cannot make much headway on the sourcing, here is also some interesting biographical material on Gail Palmer, and this is apparently her account of the incident with a little more background to the hot event, though the spelling is bad and it leaves out the gun, so who knows:
In February 1990, Gail and her husband attended an opthalmology convention in Aspen. A friend suggested she introduce herself to writer Hunter Thompsen who lived there. Seeking movie rights to one of Hunter's books, Gail sent a note on a personalized card that read "sex is a dirty business, but somebody's got to do it." Inside the card she wrote that she wanted to get together and "have a really good time."
Palmer-Slater claims Thompsen said naughty words to her, and when she turned down his proposition, he twisted her left breast and threw Cranberry juice at her.
Gail had Hunter charged with third degree sexual assault. The famous gonzo writer for Rolling Stone fought back with numerous interviews saying she got drunk and tried to seduce him.
When the case went to trial, Gail's main witness began flirting with Hunter from the stand. The prosecutor dropped the charges.
Life in the fast lane! It's crazy everywhere.
___ ___ ___
Sex & Drug Bust
Last year's sex and drug bust is still fresh in Thompson's mind. And even though all eight felony counts were eventually dropped--including possession of 39 hits of LSD, and assorted sticks of dynamite and blasting caps--the pain of an ugly trial lingers on. Seems an unwelcome visitor had come to Thompson's Owl Farm one lonely evening last summer. "Gail Palmer," he says, with emphasis. "A real pig. Really. Does anyone remember--"
"Candy Goes to Washington!" yells a man in the audience.
"Yes! Yes! That's it. Smart boy, wanna come up here?" Thompson nods eagerly at the empty chair at his table, but the man opts against the honor.
Tthhap!!
"The bitch almost ruined my life. Why would I want to fuck a burned-out porno queen?" he shrugs. "I was originally arrested for a goddamn third-degree misdemeanor. They called it Sexual Assault. Can you imagine that? I mean, Sexual Assault is a low-rent fucking thing."
As he tells it, one Gail Palmer was inexplicably in Thompson's living room, crazy with booze and carnal predilections, and wanted to hump the mad Doktor senseless in his jacuzzi. But Dr. Thompson--the gentleman that he is--refused her come-on and gingerly prodded her toward the front door...which differs slightly from the account Ms. Palmer gave to the police the next day.
According to Pitkin County sheriff's records, a friend of Gail Palmer--a long-time associate in the porno industry--reported that Thompson had held a gun to the woman's head, while trying to force her into his hot-tub. The Doktor disputes the allegations: "Would I really need to do that to get her to fuck me?" But the assistant District Attorney took the call seriously enough to dispatch a squad of officers to the Owl Farm in Woody Creek.
"The police spent eleven hours in my house," he mutters. "Eleven hours in a man's house. I guess that's what happens when people get the idea you're not...well. I'm surprised they didn't find more drugs," he giggles. "I hadn't cleaned my house for twenty years."
Indeed. The relationship between Hunter Thompson, sex, and strong chemicals is so intertwined that, at this late stage in his life, the triumvirate becomes impossible to separate. He is a man fond of forming oblique associations, having spent his formative years writing about "an unholy trinity of God, Nixon, and the National Football League"--a bizarre combination which produced such Gonzo classics as Fear and Loathing: On the Campaign Trail '72; and Fear and Loathing: At the Superbowl. But Thompson, Rolling Stone's erstwhile National Affairs Desk editor, packed up and left politics for the good life around 1976. No more cardiac arrhythmia in Washington press briefings; hello O'Farrell Theatre.
-- Todd Brendan Fahey
xXx
After watching his old tape of that classic porn flick The Erotic Adventures of Candy, and always being enchanted by the Candy movies, he recalled the old mystery of Candy Goes to Washington. It was advertised at the end of Candy Goes to Hollywood, but Monk had never seen that movie offered anywhere. He was inspired today to google for it.
Apparently, the movie was never made, and one can only suppose that there might have been an intention to make such a movie, but nothing came of it, regrettably.
However, researching more deeply for some scuttlebutt on the 'missing movie,' googling the filmmaker, Gail Palmer, Monk came upon a fascinating little salacious story about Ms. Palmer and the legendary journalist Hunter S. Thompson.
In 1990 he was accused of assaulting a former porn film actress who had come to his house to interview him. The woman, Gail Palmer-Slater, accused Thompson of "squeezing and twisting her left breast and threatening to blow her head off" after she refused to join him in his hot tub. Thompson said she was drunk, and was seeking publicity for a new range of sex aids and manuals.
Ultimately, potential witnesses did not cooperate with the authorities and the charges were dropped - no blood no foul. For color, I have included below Todd Brendan Fahey's account of the incident from his article, "Hunter S. Thompson: Champion of Fun."
Although I cannot make much headway on the sourcing, here is also some interesting biographical material on Gail Palmer, and this is apparently her account of the incident with a little more background to the hot event, though the spelling is bad and it leaves out the gun, so who knows:
In February 1990, Gail and her husband attended an opthalmology convention in Aspen. A friend suggested she introduce herself to writer Hunter Thompsen who lived there. Seeking movie rights to one of Hunter's books, Gail sent a note on a personalized card that read "sex is a dirty business, but somebody's got to do it." Inside the card she wrote that she wanted to get together and "have a really good time."
Palmer-Slater claims Thompsen said naughty words to her, and when she turned down his proposition, he twisted her left breast and threw Cranberry juice at her.
Gail had Hunter charged with third degree sexual assault. The famous gonzo writer for Rolling Stone fought back with numerous interviews saying she got drunk and tried to seduce him.
When the case went to trial, Gail's main witness began flirting with Hunter from the stand. The prosecutor dropped the charges.
Life in the fast lane! It's crazy everywhere.
___ ___ ___
Sex & Drug Bust
Last year's sex and drug bust is still fresh in Thompson's mind. And even though all eight felony counts were eventually dropped--including possession of 39 hits of LSD, and assorted sticks of dynamite and blasting caps--the pain of an ugly trial lingers on. Seems an unwelcome visitor had come to Thompson's Owl Farm one lonely evening last summer. "Gail Palmer," he says, with emphasis. "A real pig. Really. Does anyone remember--"
"Candy Goes to Washington!" yells a man in the audience.
"Yes! Yes! That's it. Smart boy, wanna come up here?" Thompson nods eagerly at the empty chair at his table, but the man opts against the honor.
Tthhap!!
"The bitch almost ruined my life. Why would I want to fuck a burned-out porno queen?" he shrugs. "I was originally arrested for a goddamn third-degree misdemeanor. They called it Sexual Assault. Can you imagine that? I mean, Sexual Assault is a low-rent fucking thing."
As he tells it, one Gail Palmer was inexplicably in Thompson's living room, crazy with booze and carnal predilections, and wanted to hump the mad Doktor senseless in his jacuzzi. But Dr. Thompson--the gentleman that he is--refused her come-on and gingerly prodded her toward the front door...which differs slightly from the account Ms. Palmer gave to the police the next day.
According to Pitkin County sheriff's records, a friend of Gail Palmer--a long-time associate in the porno industry--reported that Thompson had held a gun to the woman's head, while trying to force her into his hot-tub. The Doktor disputes the allegations: "Would I really need to do that to get her to fuck me?" But the assistant District Attorney took the call seriously enough to dispatch a squad of officers to the Owl Farm in Woody Creek.
"The police spent eleven hours in my house," he mutters. "Eleven hours in a man's house. I guess that's what happens when people get the idea you're not...well. I'm surprised they didn't find more drugs," he giggles. "I hadn't cleaned my house for twenty years."
Indeed. The relationship between Hunter Thompson, sex, and strong chemicals is so intertwined that, at this late stage in his life, the triumvirate becomes impossible to separate. He is a man fond of forming oblique associations, having spent his formative years writing about "an unholy trinity of God, Nixon, and the National Football League"--a bizarre combination which produced such Gonzo classics as Fear and Loathing: On the Campaign Trail '72; and Fear and Loathing: At the Superbowl. But Thompson, Rolling Stone's erstwhile National Affairs Desk editor, packed up and left politics for the good life around 1976. No more cardiac arrhythmia in Washington press briefings; hello O'Farrell Theatre.
-- Todd Brendan Fahey
