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anarchywoofwoof · 7 months

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"To grasp the full enormity of our deterioration, however, consider the earliest condition of humanity, without government or property, when we wandered as hunter-gatherers. "Hobbes surmised that life was then nasty, brutish and short. Others assume that life was a desperate unremitting struggle for subsistence, a war waged against a harsh Nature with death and disaster awaiting the unlucky or anyone who was unequal to the challenge of the struggle for existence. "Actually, that was all a projection of fears for the collapse of government authority over communities unaccustomed to doing without it, like the England of Hobbes during the Civil War. "Hobbes’ compatriots had already encountered alternative forms of society which illustrated other ways of life — in North America, particularly — but already these were too remote from their experience to be understandable. (The lower orders, closer to the condition of the Indians, understood it better and often found it attractive. Throughout the seventeenth century, English settlers defected to Indian tribes or, captured in war, refused to return. But the Indians no more defected to white settlements than Germans climb the Berlin Wall from the west.) "The “survival of the fittest” version — the Thomas Huxley version — of Darwinism was a better account of economic conditions in Victorian England than it was of natural selection, as the anarchist Kropotkin showed in his book Mutual Aid, A Factor of Evolution. (Kropotkin was a scientist — a geographer — who’d had ample involuntary opportunity for fieldwork whilst exiled in Siberia: he knew what he was talking about.) "Like most social and political theory, the story Hobbes and his successors told was really unacknowledged autobiography. The anthropologist Marshall Sahlins, surveying the data on contemporary hunter-gatherers, exploded the Hobbesian myth in an article entitled “The Original Affluent Society.” "They work a lot less than we do, and their work is hard to distinguish from what we regard as play. Sahlins concluded that “hunters and gatherers work less than we do; and, rather than a continuous travail, the food quest is intermittent, leisure abundant, and there is a greater amount of sleep in the daytime per capita per year than in any other condition of society.” They worked an average of four hours a day, assuming they were “working” at all. Their “labor,” as it appears to us, was skilled labor which exercised their physical and intellectual capacities; unskilled labor on any large scale, as Sahlins says, is impossible except under industrialism. "Thus it satisfied Friedrich Schiller’s definition of play, the only occasion on which man realizes his complete humanity by giving full “play” to both sides of his twofold nature, thinking and feeling. As he put it: “The animal works when deprivation is the mainspring of its activity, and it plays when the fullness of its strength is this mainspring, when superabundant life is its own stimulus to activity.” (A modern version — dubiously developmental — is Abraham Maslow’s counterposition of “deficiency” and “growth” motivation.) "Play and freedom are, as regards production, coextensive. Even Marx, who belongs (for all his good intentions) in the productivist pantheon, observed that “the realm of freedom does not commence until the point is passed where labor under the compulsion of necessity and external utility is required.” "He never could quite bring himself to identify this happy circumstance as what it is, the abolition of work — it’s rather anomalous, after all, to be pro-worker and anti-work — but we can."

The Abolition of Work & Other Essays by Bob Black

#antiwork #anti capitalism #anti capitalist #anarchy #anarchism #anarchist

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bighermie · 10 months

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You Can't Make This Up: Obama-Appointed Judge Tanya Chutkan and Hunter Biden Shared Professional Ties at Boies Schiller Flexner, Firm that Worked for Burisma | The Gateway Pundit | by Jim Hᴏft

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zooophagous · 1 year

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The last in a series of vignettes in Wayward Souls that describe the history of Luther Strauss and how he managed to survive his first years as a fledgling vampire. We will return to the continuing plot after this. Thank you for your patience and I hope you enjoy these asides as much as I had fun writing them.

Account of an examination of a newly fledged vampire in Trier, Germany, May 17th 1790. By a Doctor Oskar Schiller. Translated from its original German by Sylvain Pietra with additional corrections via The Van Helsing Institute of St. Joseph vocational department:

17, May, 1798

This journal is late. It is eight years late, to the day. I should have done better to record my observations earlier when they were fresh, but the distance between now and then has given me the ability to examine the findings more objectively, now that the emotional component has had time to subside. I believe that this journal would be worth more, now, when my mind is clear than it would have been then, when I would be writing from a state of panic.

The following account details an office visit with my most peculiar patient. I have not met another like him before, and I have not met another like him since. I am of the belief that patients of his nature prefer to avoid treatment; or are otherwise very rare; and perhaps the truth is a combination of both.

I will not reveal the name of the patient here, for his safety. Should my journal fall into less kind hands the details of his identity would place him in mortal peril; it sounds strange to say as much, for by all accounts he is already dead. I will refer to him by the initials L.S.

I will start my observations from as early as possible, before he became a patient, L.S. was a peer. We both maintained similar practices in medicine, and we have called one another friends, though never close. L.S. was difficult to be close to even before his unfortunate regressions; but he was educated and polite and lived a normal life with a decent practice. Of course, I must insist my own practice was superior, but L.S. was a good doctor and by all accounts a good man. I know of no complaint against his character and I have none of my own to add.

He suffered, however, from a terrible and incurable sickness known as grief. It began with a terrible fever- not in L.S. but in his young daughter, a fever that would regrettably prove fatal to her.

Many ailments of the mind are born of grief. Some medicate their ailment with drink or absynthe or laudanum. L.S. was not given to the use of heavy substance. He was of a very clinical mind, being a physician, like myself; and was driven absolutely to solve his problems at their core.

Therein was the problem. At the core of the issue was death, and there was no cure for death. The study of human health improves with every year, but the realm of life and death is solely up to God.

I told him as much, when he found himself in my office. He did not want to hear it. I perscribed aids for the pain, aids for sleep, perscribed travel and exercise to ease the pain of loss. I even once perscribed a trip to the brothel, for all the good it would do him.

The only temporary stop-gap for pain was the delusion that he could repair his problems, and the bastard hurt so deeply, I indulged him. When he asked for books on medicine, I gave to him every book in my library. When I ran out of these, I helped him find more. His tastes began to stray into the unscientific and the esoteric, into desperate searches of half-true tales of men who made pacts with devils to get what they wanted.

God had seemingly ignored the prayers of L.S. and so he began to pray to something else.

I could no longer help him, by this point. As a man of God myself I am quite unable to bring myself to that peculiar realm of study, and his appetite for these materials made him a better hunter for it than I was anyway. It was all I could do to deal with his physical ailments.

He was not addicted to substance, despite his mania. The problem actually seemed to be not imbibing enough, of anything. He ate very litte, he slept even less, and his work became nonexistent except in pursuit of his goal.

His unattainable goal. I regret deeply that I was unable to help him. It should have been that he moved on with his life, and perhaps raising up a new family would have prevented him succumbing to the loss of the old. I resigned to keeping my old friend on palliative care, doing what I could to keep him comfortable until the end came for him and he rejoined his lost child. He grew more and more gaunt and haggard every day, and it seemed the end would come sooner rather than later.

It was with no small degree of consternation, then, that I received a letter one evening from L.S. that read only "I've found it."

I tried to respond quickly, but he was already unreachable. His windows were darkened and no one could say where the mad doctor had gone. I feared the worst, and unfortunately I am seldom wrong.

I was called in for an examination the following night, for a man discovered dead in the streets. He was apparently the victim of some violence and had been robbed of any valuables and stabbed repeatedly.

What an awful surprise, to lift back the sheet that covered the poor wretch and see that familiar face. I wish I could say he looked to be at peace. It was clear he had died fighting, his arms were covered in wounds- no doubt L.S. had tried to raise his hands to block an attack, or perhaps to plea for mercy, while the blows rained down on him. The killing blow was made to his neck.

His throat had been cut badly. No skilled butchery went into this- it was flayed open and the flaps of skin lay like the petals of a grotesque rose. His entire body was both stiff and pale. He had lost so much blood, in fact, that livor mortis was unable to set in where the body had touched the ground. There was not enough in him to color him.

A sad life, with a sad end. All the pity in the world could not help him now. I saw to it he was buried with his name and his title, near the little daughter he had missed so terribly. No doubt someone had promised him some great rare relic to lure him and dispose of him. But, his apartment was so terribly full of hideous arcane accoutrements that finding out who had promised him what and when was nigh impossible.

I had to bury him and wash my hands of it. I had done my Christian duty to him for long enough, I should have been allowed to be done with it then, at its logical end point. But God works in mysterious ways, and he was not done testing my faith.

Some two or three days had gone by since the burial of L.S. It was late spring, blooming into summer. I remember that it was a beautiful sunlit day. I remember that, because it is not the sort of day or hour one expects a specter.

A stranger wandered into my practice. It is not uncommon for a drunkard or a day laborer to come in off the street complaining of hangover pains or work related aches. This one staggered as he walked, no doubt another drunkard. He looked disheveled and his clothing was wet and dirty.

I did not recognize him at first. Not until he looked at me with his too familiar eyes and finally spoke my name.

"Doctor Schiller. What happened to me?"

My legs nearly fell out from under me. The breath stuck in my chest like a dart and I gripped the wall to stabilize myself. There before me stood L.S. in his grave clothes. Dirty, tattered, but awake.

I say awake, and not alive. For he was NOT alive. There was a moment of panic, of course. That perhaps a mistake had been made, perhaps I had allowed despair to cloud my judgement and allowed a man to be buried alive. But last I had seen him, his trachea and jugular had been ripped in half. Now he was speaking, not but two days after the fact. It was impossible he had been alive and I was only more sure of it now. He was dead when he had been buried. He was still dead in my office.

He was so drained of blood he appeared grey, even now, standing in front of me. He had been mortally wounded several times, though now the wounds appeared absent. His neck was repaired as if by a tailor. Pink scars crossed like a spiderweb over the skin where it had knit itself together. His skin clung to his empty skeleton like a wet cloth, and the stink of the grave still covered him, as did the dirt, and this reanimate demon that defied all reason now stood before a reasonable man, and asked what had happened?

"What happened?" I repeated, finding my breath and strength. "You found it. That is what happened."

"I did?" He asked stupidly. I was incredulous. L.S. had discovered his secret, his cure for death, and it had worked, though he did not seem to understand the miracle he had become a part of.

I stood backed against the wall, trying to remember where I had left my pistol. L.S. stepped towards me with his confused, pleading eyes. He spoke again, with a grating voice like a coffin lid.

"Can you help me?"

"Help you!" I laughed, despite it all, I laughed. "You have cured death! You are the superior physician. Heal thyself!"

He spread his arms out wide. "Please. It hurts."

He was closer now, and I finally brought myself to look at him. What I thought was the dirty remains of a shredded graveshirt I saw now was actually skin. Dead strips of skin hung from his arms in tatters, and boils and blisters ran up and down the length of his hands and exposed forearms. Horrid yellow fluid moved beneath the transluscent skin, and what color there was in his cheeks was from injury.

This instilled a sense of pity- I have been a physician for many years, and I know well the terrible pain inflicted from such severe burns. I dropped my guard.

"How did this happen?"

"I don't know." He replied weakly, still holding his limbs out as if it pained him to move them. "I believe it is sun-burn."

Sun burn like that, I have only seen once before, on a sailor on the open ocean lost for many days on a raft with no relief from the tropical sun. And even then, it wasn't half so severe.

I sat L.S. down and began to remove the dead skin judiciously. He was silent. He offered no explanation for his death and sudden reappearance but watched me work like a cat watches a lark. He had changed drastically, and had he not walked or talked, one might easily assume he were dead. He was cool to the touch and firm, and though I tried several times to find one I could decipher no pulse.

I offered him something for pain, and some water, which he drank greedily. He paused and turned his head and spit out a tooth. I bent to pick it up, and he only shrugged.

"That is the last of my teeth." He said flatly. "The others have been pushed out, by new ones."

New ones. As if deciduous teeth are expected in a man almost sixty years old. He drew back his lips in a tight grimace and I saw that he was right, however. Few teeth remained, save for a jagged set of sharp white teeth that were newly sprouting from the gum.

I asked if he was hungry, and he did not reply. I insisted he eat something. He asked for bread and broth. It was provided, and I watched him try to eat. He did drink the broth, as he had the water. The bread however, caught in his throat. He choked, he gagged, and I feared he might vomit- the fear was hot and bright in my heart, at the thought of what might appear from a dead man's gullet. He spat the bread out in despair.

He groaned deeply and complained bitterly that he was so, so hungry. So awfully hungry, but could not eat.

I had once helped this poor soul amass a library of the occult. God forgive me, I had read some of the books in his collection. He was avoiding the obvious yet unasked questions that hung above our heads like an executioner's axe. It was up to me to try something, and so I did.

He had been emptied of his life's blood. I fetched my blood letting tools, and drew some of my own. I do not know what I meant to do with it. Many of the books in his... academic pursuits placed great importance on life's blood. I had a sense, an intuition that perhaps he knew what to do with it.

I offered it to him in a cup. He did not question my methods or even pause before putting it to his lips and consuming the entire contents. It was now my turn to stave off vomiting. He dropped the cup and took one or two fast steps towards me, but stopped short of touching me. He blinked down at the cup as if incredulous at his own hunger.

He finally looked at me.

"Doctor Schiller. I am afraid that I am dead."

"Yes." It was all I could think to say to him. "Yes, I believe you are."

"What do I do?"

How does one answer such a question?

"I believe the dead should stay in their graves." I told him. "I believe the dead should go to God."

"I do not believe God will have me."

It was now I began to grow angry. "You have ignored my advice for decades, and now you ask me what to do now that you have ruined yourself? You expect me to fix what you have done? I do not know what to say to you. You are dead, you should return to your grave, the best I can do is to put you there myself!"

I raised my voice and my pistol at him. I am not pleased with it, I do not make it a habit to act so unkindly to my friends or to my patients. But I was afraid of him. Afraid of whatever it was he had done to himself. I felt in that moment, that we had ceased to be peers. He had become something else, and whatever it was, I was now prey. I hated him.

He did not retaliate, but he shrunk. He was often too quiet in life, and was now too meek in death. Too meek to do anything but raise his hands to placate me.

"Doctor Schiller, please, do not harm me!"

I did not know if my pistol could have harmed him. How does one kill a dead man? His corpse however was not incorruptible, and the burns along his arms had told me he could still feel pain. It was that fear of pain that would keep him in check.

But, the Devil knows a man's heart well, and will exploit it, even the kind parts of it. Especially the kind parts. When he raised his hands to me, to beg for his own unholy existence, the pink scars of his death throws were revealed in the palms of his hands.

He had perished struggling and pleading once already; and even now, in this state, he did not seem capable of violence on his own behalf. Perhaps his many years of self denial- verging on self punishment, had atrophied his ability to fight for himself. I admit, I faltered. I could not do it. I could not put him through it twice.

I did, however, insist he must return to his grave. I gave him a new shirt and we waited till nightfall and I returned him to his rightful resting place. I tucked him into his vault like I was sending a child to bed. I warned him that he was not to return. He was dead, and he would keep to the realms of the dead, and if I saw him outside of his place, I would remove him with extreme prejudice.

I did not sleep that evening or the next or the next. When I finally gave in to exhaustion, after rising again I wondered if it wasn't a terrible nightmare. Maybe my own mind had invented some form of madness in the fallout of the heartache of burying a colleague and a friend. I began to think perhaps, that this was the more likely truth. I had experienced a delusion. Maybe the brain sickness of L.S. was contagious.

Such an elaborate and detailed delusion is cause for its own concern. Before long, I began to panic. I had to know the truth, so I developed a contrivance, a lie to get into the vault of L.S. to prove to myself that he was rotting in his crypt and that reality was still as it should be.

It was under the excuse that I was looking for signs of plague. It was a stupid excuse, as it was well known at the time that L.S. had died of an obvious murder, and not from illness. But I insisted, and I am respected enough that I was eventually able to get my way.

It was weeks post mortem and the workers cursed me for my idiocy. We braced for a rush of rot, an eruption of putrefaction from the breaking of the seal- but none came. There in the bottom of the vault lay L.S.

He looked exactly as I had left him. Even the globes of his eyes were still round and intact beneath the lids. He was still wearing my shirt.

We put him back quietly and exited the yard. I still send a stipend to the grounds keeper of the yard, for the care of L.S. If a patient needs bloodletting, not a drop of it is spilled. Even now I send this token, eight years later, and never has the groundskeeper asked me to stop. If anything, he will ask me to send more.

I will retire this year and will no longer be able to provide for L.S. I hope charity finds him, I fear what will happen if he is forced to fend for himself. I do not know if I have done the right thing, by feeding his madness for years or for feeding his hunger now. Perhaps I have done the world a great disservice, and if that is the case I hope the Lord can forgive me. I hope the Lord can forgive L.S. and take him to his daughter. Perhaps the separation from her is the punishment he has earned for overstepping the natural boundaries of life and death over us all.

#wayward souls #writing #vampires #long post

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andromerot · 11 months

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and just four hours ago i was laughing about humberts awful poem and now here i am kicking my legs crying a river about mrs richard f. schiller of enchanted hunters road who will die giving birth to eternally dead lolita the second

#OH DOLLY. OHHHHHGH #AHHHHHGGH #ok twentyso pages left can we do it tonight or will i become too ill

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freedomlovingamericans · 10 months

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Case Dismissed! Prosecute the prosecutors!

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the-eternal-quest-for-balance · 10 months

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I believe she needs to recuse herself. Or be forced to recuse herself by a higher court. This has gotten completely out of hand.

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theonlysamy · 3 months

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Hello.

It’s my first post .

In my own world .

Living my own life .

I gotta say the BEST times of my life were my childhood . God gave me such an AMAZING childhood. It had its traumatic experiences but nonetheless it was wonderful growing up . I’ve met so many childhood friends that’ll forever stay in my heart and I want to document that .

Let me think 🤔

Starting — 2nd grade

Brick town - water gardens

Rachel (blonde white girl )

Skyler Schiller

3rd grade

Sasha - who sat across from me and gave me a pickle in lunch becuz I use to crack pickle jokes in class when the teacher use to pick on me even tho I wasn’t raising my hand so I would answer back “pickle” she thought it was hiiilarious . I loved her for that .

4th grade

Rachel - she was the fastest female runner I was the 2nd , she lived in the same complex (Ventura ) we went to hunters creek elementary.

5th grade - it was Kim …my sister 🥰

I also went to Manchester Middle school

(Only remember the after school Friday dance nights & chillen with my cousin Lei a lot & going to the lake)

6th grade - Megan Couteu, Rachel Roger’s, Nancy, Lauria, Celeste ..

7th - Clarissa (Cici) , Andrea , Mariana , Lyla ,

Marian (Gummy Bear) , Adesia ….

8th —- Jenny , Leidy .

Oh man …. My heart for all of these beautiful ladies that came into my life , I’ve experienced the most wonderful times , love & memories. It was the love for me , the laughter , the fun . It was addictive, I wanted to the with those girls all of the time . I never really appreciated their presence until they’re no longer in my life anymore , they’re alive thank you God. But they’re not close to me. It genuinely does tare me apart that I don’t have these girls in my life anymore , broke my soul. This was love . I loved them so much . Each and every one . So grateful to experience it all.

9th - Zahieh , Anyssa , Vanessa , Jackie , Roldy , Leann, Taylor , Chantel , Johnathan , Brandon , Emilio .

10,11,12th same …

Graduated 2012.

Mello , Betsy , Gabby, Veronica .

Sigh….

If I had the chance to re live my life all over again and never make those mistakes that I’ve done.

All of those lovers that I’ve lost . 😞

Like how…. And why…. And I don’t ever wanna love anyone…becuz I have loved and I have lost.

I have loved and I have lost …

I miss them so much , each and everyone ….

It’s something ….. I don’t know how anyone can fully recover from ….. it was love … that is lost…. And now gone…

So … is heaven a place where I get to see them again and they will forgive and love me unconditionally?

So many friends …. I don’t want to make any more new ones…. I miss my old ones still holding on to my old ones … it’ll never happen again … so in heaven …. Is that where it’s supposed to all come together again? Forgive ? Love ? Hugs ? Kisses ? Wishes ? Trust ? Hope? Unconditional?….

Becuz if heaven is supposed to bring yall back to me then I guess I can’t wait for that …. & I guess since it’s too late then God just wants me to continue making many more so I don’t continue living this alone. And hurt . And regretful …. & stuck… I miss them so much. Each and every one…. I’m so sorry yall…

God told me it’ll all be forgiven…🙏🏽✨❤️

#dontneedtoProofReadAnything I know what I mean

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garythingsworld · 10 months

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dertaglichedan · 10 months

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Trump’s DC Judge Worked For Law Firm That Employed Hunter Biden, Lobbied For Burisma

U.S. District Judge Tanya Chutkan of Washington, D.C., the judge overseeing former President Donald Trump’s case in the district, previously worked at a law firm that once employed Hunter Biden and worked closely with Ukrainian energy firm Burisma.

Chutkan spent 12 years working for Boies, Schiller, & Flexner LLP (BSF) where she specialized in white collar litigation and antitrust defense, before she was nominated to her current position by former President Obama, her official bio states.

Chutkan worked at other private sector law firms and served as a public defender in Washington D.C. prior to her tenure at BSF. She graduated from George Washington University and the University of Pennsylvania law school.

“Perhaps as important as all the skillsets that she has, she is a person of just consummate decency,” Don Flexner said in December 2013 when Chutkan was nominated, the Legal Times previously reported. “I think she will be a welcome addition to the bench in Washington.”

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medpocketer · 10 months

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whiteboard pt. 1(?)

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deltamusings · 11 months

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Her resume includes a previous job likely to attract significant attention from Trump allies. She worked at the law firm Boies Schiller Flexner from 2002 until she was confirmed as a federal judge in 2014, according to a biography she submitted to the Senate Judiciary Committee.

Boies Schiller has strong connections to the Democratic Party, and then-second son Hunter Biden — whose dad, President Biden, is likely to face Trump in the 2024 election — was of counsel at the firm from 2009 to 2014, according to OpenSecrets.

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chubbycaucasianchristiancloseted · 11 months

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This entire interview was a lie.

This entire interview was a lie. Hunter admits that he had no experience to be on the board of Burisma. We now know Hunter Biden did a lot of “unethical” and “improper” things and that he did discuss his “overseas business” with his father. When a Biden says “No Joke” they are lying. Now the cocaine, tax evading criminal is the victim?

Direct Quotes:

"In retrospect, look, I think that it was poor judgment on my part. Is that I think that it was poor judgment because I don't believe now, when I look back on it -- I know that there was -- did nothing wrong at all," Hunter Biden told ABC News in an exclusive interview. "However, was it poor judgment to be in the middle of something that is...a swamp in — in — in many ways? Yeah."

"But did I make a mistake based upon some ethical lapse? Absolutely not."

Biden said, "I take -- full responsibility for that. Do I -- did I do anything improper? No, and not in any way. Not in any way whatsoever. I joined a board, I served honorably. I did -- I focused on corporate governance. I didn't have any discussions with my father before or after I joined the board as it related to it, other than that brief exchange that we had."

Soon after reading the transcript released by the White House, Hunter picked up the phone and called his father. Hunter said his father asked him about his daughter, Maisy, before getting into the big news.

"For real. And that's not a joke. I mean, and then discussion was literally like, 'Oh my gosh,'" the younger Biden told ABC News, describing their mutual surprise at the nature of the transcript. "But other than that, really, I want to make it clear, it's not like anybody has to have any discussion beyond that."

Hunter Biden reiterated that he never discussed his foreign business dealings with his father

"[My father] read the press reports that I'd joined the board of Burisma which was a Ukrainian natural gas company. And there's been a lot of misinformation about me, not about my dad. Nobody buys Dad. But – by this idea that I was unqualiﬁed to be on the board," said Biden.

"I was vice chairman of the board of Amtrak for ﬁve years," he continued. "I was the chairman of the board of the U.N. World Food Program. I was a lawyer for Boies Schiller Flexner, one of the most prestigious law ﬁrms in -- in the world."

"I think that I had as much knowledge as anybody else that was on the board -- if not more."

And while he cited being a lawyer at a prominent ﬁrm and his record serving on several boards as qualiﬁcations for the job, in his interview with ABC News, Hunter Biden acknowledged that his last name likely played a role in his Burisma board appointment.

"If your last name wasn't Biden," Robach asked, "do you think you would've been asked to be on the board of Burisma?"

"I don't know. I don't know. Probably not, in retrospect," he said. "But that's -- you know -- I don't think that there's a lot of things that would have happened in my life if my last name wasn't Biden."

"Look, I'm a private citizen," he said. "One thing that I don't have to do is sit here and open my kimono as it relates to how much money I make or make or did or didn't. But it's all been reported."

In a press conference over the weekend, Joe Biden said the decision "represents the kind of man of integrity [Hunter] is." The president took the opportunity to recast the decision as Hunter "being forced to leave a Chinese Company."

Despite Hunter Biden's dismissal of the $1.5 billion ﬁgure attached to his investment in the ﬁrm, ethics experts have said his connection with the Chinese-based corporation again raises the potential for the appearance of a conﬂict of interest, particularly in light of the fact that Hunter Biden ﬂew with his father to Beijing aboard Air Force Two in 2013 -- around the time the deal was negotiated.

Again, Biden insists he never spoke of his professional dealings with his father on the 13-hour ﬂight. And while he insists he did not engage in any business during the visit, he told The New Yorker in July that he did meet with a business partner, Jonathan Li, and even organized Li to shake hands with his father.

And even as he tries to remain positive, Hunter Biden worries that the undue attention on his personal life could undermine his sobriety – an issue he has long struggled with. He was discharged from the Navy Reserve in February 2014 after a positive test for cocaine.

#USA #TheChubbyCaucasianChristianClosetedConservative #HunterBiden #Biden #ABC

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