01/30/2025
Gonzo...
Robert F. Kennedy Jr. walked into his Senate confirmation hearing like a man stepping onto an ice rink wearing banana peels for shoes. He had one job: convince the world that he was not a bug-eyed conspiracy theorist who once hoarded a whale head and left a bear carcass in Central Park. Instead, he walked out as the leading cause of migraines among Democratic senators.
This was supposed to be his moment of redemption, his big I’m-not-actually-insane speech. Instead, it turned into a political demolition derby featuring protesters screaming that he was a liar and a killer, Bernie Sanders interrogating him about baby clothes, Elizabeth Warren asking if he planned to run HHS like a side hustle, and a surreal moment where Kennedy had to confirm that he probably said Lyme disease was a military bioweapon. By the end of the day, Capitol Police had forcibly removed more people from the chamber than a dive bar on St. Patrick’s Day.
Kennedy barely got through his opening statement before a woman exploded from the gallery like a jack-in-the-box filled with rage and science degrees.
“YOU LIE!” she screamed, holding up a sign that read VACCINES SAVE LIVES before being swiftly tackled and dragged out by Capitol Police.
Kennedy blinked rapidly, which is how you know he was hearing the voice of the worm that used to live in his brain whispering, Abort mission, Bobby. Abort mission.
A brief moment of peace settled over the room, and then it happened again.
“YOU'RE KILLING PEOPLE!” another protester howled, launching into a full-body rage spiral before security carried her out, legs kicking, like a screaming suitcase with opinions.
Kennedy took a deep breath and tried to regain his footing, but Senator Ron Wyden had been waiting for this moment like a prosecutor with a personal vendetta.
“Are you lying to us, Mr. Kennedy?” Wyden snapped, staring daggers at him.
Kennedy forced a nervous smile, but it came out looking like he’d just been told he had to fight a horse for a parking spot.
“That claim has been repeatedly debunked,” he said, attempting to sound reasonable despite an entire room full of people who were watching YouTube compilations of him saying the exact opposite.
Wyden wasn’t buying it.
“You signed a petition to restrict access to the COVID vaccine. Did you or did you not?”
Kennedy mumbled something about the petition being “misrepresented” as the air in the room thickened with sweat, bad decisions, and organic supplements.
Wyden was gearing up for a finishing blow when another protester detonated like a landmine.
“YOU’RE A FRAUD!” she shrieked as security dragged her away in a full-body lock.
Even the cops looked exhausted now.
Then came Bernie Sanders, a man who has not been in the mood for nonsense since 1972.
“Are you supportive of these baby onesies?” he demanded.
The room froze.
Kennedy’s brain crashed like a Windows 98 PC.
“Excuse me?”
Sanders lifted a printed-out photo of a baby bodysuit covered in anti-vaccine slogans.
“These are being sold by the Children’s Health Defense, the organization you founded.”
Kennedy looked like he had just accidentally eaten a ghost pepper and was trying to play it cool.
“I—I don’t have oversight over that organization anymore,” he mumbled.
Sanders cracked his knuckles like a man ready to fistfight a CEO and leaned in.
“Are you supportive of these onesies?”
Kennedy started sweating through his suit.
Laughter rippled through the room. A Republican senator actually covered his face.
Kennedy, now looking desperate for a fire alarm to pull, tried to pivot to his real passion: banning corn syrup.
Sanders wasn’t having it.
Then Elizabeth Warren took the mic, radiating pure prosecutorial energy.
“Will you commit to not taking money from pharmaceutical companies while serving as Secretary of Health?” she asked, in the tone of a woman who already knew the answer but was going to enjoy watching him squirm.
Kennedy grinned like a dog that just chewed up your furniture and is hoping you’ll laugh it off.
“I don’t think they’d want to give me money,” he chuckled.
Warren did not chuckle.
“Will you commit to not profiting from lawsuits against pharmaceutical companies while serving as HHS Secretary?”
Kennedy froze.
The color drained from his face.
“You’re asking me not to sue drug companies?” he said, voice rising.
“No, I’m not going to agree to that.”
Warren’s eyes gleamed like a hawk spotting a wounded rabbit.
“So you’ll be suing the same companies you’re supposed to regulate?”
Kennedy looked like he wanted to melt into his chair.
Then came Michael Bennet, a man who had been waiting patiently to drop a gr***de into Kennedy’s lap.
"Did you say that Lyme disease was a militarily engineered bioweapon?” Bennet asked, deadpan.
Kennedy hesitated.
“I probably said that.”
The audience gasped.
Bennet cocked an eyebrow.
“Did you say that pesticides turn children transgender?”
Kennedy turned bone white.
“I don’t recall saying that.”
Bennet’s lip twitched.
“But you do recall saying Lyme disease was a bioweapon?”
Kennedy looked like he had been hit by a tranquilizer dart.
Even the Republican senators were staring at their desks, avoiding eye contact.
The hearing finally adjourned, but Kennedy is not in the clear yet.
His next grilling is scheduled for tomorrow, and there’s no telling how much worse it can get.
His opponents smell blood. His supporters are already crafting conspiracy theories about the deep state.
And if the vote ends in a deadlock, Vice President JD Vance will cast the deciding vote.
Yes, JD Vance—the political equivalent of a wet cardboard box—will determine if a man once partially controlled by a brain parasite will run America’s health system.
The nation waits in suspense. Pass the whiskey.
