SOME THINGS IN LIFE are just wonderful mysteries, amusing quandaries, and entertaining aperitifs. The kinship of Hunter S. Thompson and Pat Buchanan is certainly one of those things. Consider Buchanan—Nixon speechwriter and political adviser, and a devout Roman Catholic paragon of the political right who was so right of the right he was almost too right for the right. Hunter S. Thompson—Pitkin County sheriff candidate, father of Gonzo journalism, self-proclaimed action junkie, King of Fun, and proclaimer of “I do not advocate the use of dangerous drugs, wild amounts of alcohol and violence and weirdness—but they’ve always worked for me.” They agreed on very little. They just liked each other. And Wild Turkey. Maybe it was an all-nighter at a Boston hotel drinking and, of course, debating political philosophies, as Nixon was making his comeback just before the 1968 New Hampshire primary, or Buchanan sneaking his oddball compadre onto a White House press corps plane. And who could accurately recall the two of them knocking back a cocktail or 12 poolside, at the Watergate, post-Watergate? Doubtful either of these two ideologues. But it all happened. That is on the record.