White House Wonderland

The Not-So-Cocaine Chronicles

Oh, what a time to be alive! Have you heard the latest? Cocaine, my old friend, decided to make a grand entrance at none other than the White House. And no, before you ask, it wasn't mine. I mean, really, who in their right mind would leave such party favors just lying around? Amateurs, I tell you.

Now, the Secret Service, bless their hearts, came to me first, thinking, "Who else?" Well, I had a little taste test – purely for investigative purposes, you understand – and let me tell you, that was some bottom-shelf stuff. Venezuelan, maybe? I couldn't possibly claim it; my palette is far too refined. Only the finest Colombian snow for yours truly. To even suggest that swill could be mine is, frankly, offensive.

It's laughable, really. The idea that I, Hunter Biden, would misplace my recreational enhancers in such a rookie manner. And at the White House, of all places! I've always been a man of discretion and taste. Plus, I know better than to bring my own supplies to a place that's crawling with more cameras than a reality TV show set.

So, to the rumor mill and all its patrons, I say this: you've got to up your conspiracy game. If you're going to pin something on me, at least make it believable. Poor quality cocaine in the White House? Please. That's like saying the President forgot the nuclear codes at a McDonald's – amusing, but utterly preposterous.

But let's not let facts get in the way of a good story. After all, what's life without a little mystery and a lot of laughter? Just remember, when it comes to Hunter B., expect nothing less than top-tier tales and high-quality... anecdotes.

H.B. (The Connoisseur of the Good Stuff)