We were somewhere around Barstow, on the edge of the desert, when the photoshop started kicking in. I remember saying something like "I feel like I'm overdoing cleaning up her zits, maybe you should take over.." And suddenly there was a terrible roar all around us and the sky was full of what looked like photographers, all swooping and screeching and criticizing the image. And a voice was screaming: "Holy Jesus! Who are these goddamn animals?" My retoucher had taken his shirt off and was pouring beer on his chest to facilitate the inebriation process. "What the hell are you yelling about?" he muttered, staring at the monitor with his wraparound Spanish sunglasses. "Never mind", I said, "their opinions mean nothing to me!" I left him to his retouching. No point mentioning the photographers, I thought, the poor bastard will hear them soon enough.
A TRIBUTE TO HUNTER S. THOMPSON'S FEAR AND LOATHING IN LAS VEGAS
Courtesy of a post by MMDesign