Yes, combination of poetic license and me being a general dick. Mailer inhaling of his divine farts, and Thompson playing and replaying his role as drugged-out wild man for the entertainment of his lessors. (Notice the "o".) I had a pretty tragic experience with Thompson in New Orleans not long bedore A: his death; and B: Katrina, though that was long after I wrote that particular lyric. Both men were sort of heroes to me at one time or another, and no riper target than a disappointing hero, eh?