Politics - News Analysis

RFK Jr. Casually Indulges His Chemical Addiction During Tense Senate Confirmation Hearing to Be HEALTH Secretary

Is this guy serious?

Robert F. Kennedy, Jr., the man who Trump has tapped to run the Department of Health and Human Services, is every bit the weirdo that he’s been painted. For a long time, the media mostly left RFK Jr. alone, since he’s of the Kennedy “Camelot” political dynasty. He was the nephew of President John F. Kennedy, and the son of Attorney General Bobby Kennedy.

Once he ran for president himself, however, the media’s gloves came off, and all the stories in the world came out. Yes, he’s a conspiracy theorist. Yes, he’s had a bunch of mistresses. Yes, he had a problem with both cocaine and heroin in his youth. Those are all things that Kennedy has confirmed to be true.

But then, even the really strange stuff started popping up: He once left the body of a dead bear cub in Central Park. He once decapitated a beached whale, strapped the head to the roof of his car, and drove home from his vacation with his kids in the back, the dripping fluids of the partial carcass getting in their mouths and eyes.

Suddenly all the stuff about cheating on his wife and doing drugs seemed to pale in comparison with this new caricature of a man in the news every day.

But the one thing we’ve always known is that Kennedy is a vaccine denier. In fact, his controversial stance lines up so well with MAGA voters who were angry about social distancing and vaccine mandates that it played a major role in Trump selecting him to run HHS after he dropped out of the presidential race and endorsed his former opponent.

He was so famously anti-vax that it’s really the factor that turned him away from the Democrats. He used to have a show on Air America Radio, the liberal equivalent of Rush Limbaugh, but they parted ways over his relentless and thoroughly-debunked vaccine theories.

You’d think that would be enough to keep him from being confirmed. Republicans may be partisan extremists eager to do Trump’s bidding, but the worst form of campaigning is literally killing your voters, and if RFK Jr. were to run our nation’s health care unchecked, that would be the most likely outcome.

Still, it has seemed as though they plan to confirm him, despite the idiocy.

But perhaps the brazen thing he did in his first hearing — they’re not over yet — right in front of the cameras, signaling that he doesn’t even care about his OWN health, might shift some opinions.

In the middle of questioning, Kennedy reached down to the green-and-white canister he’d been holding, pulled out a Zyn brand nicotine pouch, and stuffed it in his upper lip.

Now, if you didn’t quite see the item he put in his face, the pushing and prodding of the tongue in that clip should clear up any confusion. He looks exactly like that kid from high school who chewed Copenhagen and carried around an empty soda bottle to spit in, minus the bottle.

Zyn is spit-free, after all.

But seriously, just scroll back up and look at the featured image at the top of this article. That’s literally a still of him clearly holding the Zyn canister, and it looks an AWFUL lot like the one we saw laying on the table in front of Donald Trump Junior’s daughter from that photo of his family making indoor s’mores and playing board games.

I’m not about to judge the man for being addicted to nicotine. I am addicted too. But I’m not standing in front of the Senate asking for a job as the Director of Health and Human Services. That’s definitely a statement.

We won’t know until the final confirmation vote whether or not his arrogance paid off. But that’s exactly what it is — arrogance. That act says to America that he knows he’s going to be confirmed, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it. In fact, one House Republican, Clay Higgins, said exactly that:

If these guys have their way, it will be Republicans telling America they KNOW they’re hiring someone who would be terrible at the job, and they’re doing it just to suck up to Trump.

meet the author

Andrew is a dark blue speck in deep red Central Washington, writing with the conviction of 18 years at the keyboard and too much politics to even stand. When not furiously stabbing the keys on breaking news stories, he writes poetry, prose, essays, haiku, lectures, stories for grief therapy, wedding ceremonies, detailed instructions on making doughnuts from canned biscuit dough (more sugar than cinnamon — duh), and equations to determine the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow. A girlfriend, a dog, two cats, and two birds round out the equation, and in his spare time, Drewbear likes to imagine what it must be like to have spare time.

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