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What a joke.
Hunter Biden continued his lovefest with an adoring, understanding, thoroughly enchanted media last night with a lengthy spot on Jimmy Kimmel.
Never have two people found crack addiction so funny, or international influence-peddling so banal, or obvious lies so easy to explain away.
“The laptop,” Kimmel said.
Now this is the laptop that contains thousands of emails and texts from Hunter Biden to his father, wife, sister-in-law-turned-mistress, his sister-in-law’s married sister, who also becomes his mistress (try to keep up), drug dealers and prostitutes and colleagues at Burisma, the Ukrainian company that paid him $50,000 a month for God knows what.
The laptop also contains thousands of pictures and videos of Hunter in some compromising scenarios: at the dentist, getting his meth-destroyed teeth capped; engaged in a threesome in a seedy bedroom; making porn with prostitutes.
An amazing through line in Hunter’s memoir — which he continues to insist is raw, heartfelt and honest — is his astonishment at his worsening marriage. Why, Hunter keeps asking himself, is my wife so angry at me all the time?
So much for owning up to all your faults.
The Biden campaign never denied the authenticity of the laptop or its contents. Neither has Hunter Biden, who has ripped a dubious tactic from that other political loser, Anthony Weiner, in claiming that he just can’t say for sure whether the laptop is his.
“You say you don’t know,” Kimmel said to Hunter, “which is hard to believe unless you read the book. I’m surprised you have shoes on.”
Hunter laughs, Kimmel laughs, the audience laughs.
“Pants were the problem,” Hunter quips.
Yet believe him when he says he was totally, 100 percent qualified to sit on the board of Burisma.
Here’s a question Kimmel didn’t ask: If Hunter can recall in vivid detail so many of his experiences on crack, why can’t he recall whether a laptop — since independently authenticated as his — is his?
Also: If Hunter was such a raging addict for decades, punching holes in vodka bottles to drink faster, blowing his family’s savings on drugs, booze and prostitutes, dying, as he writes, “to have conversations with someone who wasn’t a dealer or gangbanger or bouncer or stripper” — what kind of work could he possibly have been doing for Burisma or his Chinese benefactors? The answer, of course, is nothing. They were paying for access to the Biden family.
Kimmel is also the latest to be utterly fascinated with crack and crack addiction, as if there aren’t a million poor and marginalized people who could surely relay much the same story — though you’d have to swap out the fancy rehabs for prison cells.
No one ever asks how this guy never once got charged for possession or hiring prostitutes or why, according to Politico, the Secret Service covered up a 2018 incident involving Hunter’s missing gun, allegedly tossed into a trash can by his sister-in-law/girlfriend, Hallie — across the street from a high school! — which then went missing.
But according to Kimmel, the depravities of a hardcore drug addict can result in some “very interestingly positive things,” as when Hunter writes of letting a homeless crack addict called Rhea move in with him for five months.
“Mainly,” Hunter writes, “we just planted ourselves on the couch and smoked a ton of crack.”
Positively heartwarming. Imagine if this was a poor black man who had done half the things Hunter admits. Would the media feel so riveted, so willing to look on a nonexistent bright side?
Watching this fake, insincere redemption act is insulting. Hunter Biden, 51, has firmly established himself as a liar, a narcissist and, sorry, an irredeemable degenerate. To quote Jay-Z: “You can’t change a player’s game in the 9th inning.”
And watching the media play Hunter Biden’s trespasses for laughs, while avoiding truths they’d pummel, say, a Trump kid for, is infuriating.
“Well,” Kimmel said in summation, “this is some book.”
Indeed. Better categorized as fiction.
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