I thought at first, when I heard that Hunter S. Thompson had eaten a bullet, that it had to be an accident. After all, he was loaded for bear and a couple of years ago he accidentally shot his assistant. Then after a second or two, I thought that maybe his drug source or a political enemy had snuck in and put two in the head, to cap off old Raoul for good. Too much trouble, more trouble than he was worth. Shut up the old bastard. Save a few Underwoods from untimely destruction. But the more I think about it, the more it makes sense just the way it is reported. I'm betting that the tank was just empty, and he was tired of playing around. Take a look at the example he gave: Wasn't his self-destructive life, his "I dare you to fuck with me" attitude a sort of prayer for destruction? Wasn't his whole life an exercise in upping the ante, bluffing with nothing and getting more and more surprised when the house kept folding? Hunter had a desire to get busted, but busted with style, and no-one seemed willing to take him up on it. Hunter needed no lesser authority than the Almighty to shut him up. He had questions and he wasn't about to talk to low level functionaries. And then in the end, maybe he figured it out. God wasn't coming down off his high chair to gat a cap into his ass. And what about "the Man?" The Man is too old and his bones creak now, no time to get 1963 on Hunter's fool antics. No profit to be gained by fencing with an aging Quixote with a cigarette holder and a penchant for the 454 Casul. The fates, the furies, the powers that be, none of them were going to give a rat's ass about Hunter. If there was to be a reckoning, then by Jingo, it makes sense that Hunter himself would decide when and how to cash out. The man was in pain, it seems, but we all thought it was a joke. So now we get the punchline, and more power to it. I for one, am still on the torpedo, and that's where I'll stay, but it's a shame that Hunter is no longer along for the ride.
P.S. Wherever Nixon is, he better watch his ass.