Why RFK Jr. Is the Most Qualified Man to Lead HHS

A Statement from His Former Heroin Dealer

By Anonymous (But You Know Who I Am, Bobby)

Look, I never signed up to be a political pundit. I’m a small-business owner, a grassroots entrepreneur, a one-man stimulus package for the American dream. I sling commodities hotter than a Wall Street IPO, with customer service so good Big Pharma’s boardrooms weep into their caviar. But when I saw my old VIP client Bobby Kennedy Jr. strutting into the political circus, I had to dust off my soapbox. Because if there’s one guy who’s plumbed the depths of the American healthcare system — mind, body, and trembling veins — it’s Robert F. Kennedy Jr., the human guinea pig of liberty.

Robert F. Kennedy Jr. testifies on Capitol Hill, on Jan. 30. Nathan Howard / Reuters file

Let’s cut the crap: who else in D.C. has crash-tested more substances than a DEA evidence locker? Bobby didn’t just skim the CliffsNotes on the opioid crisis — he wrote the director’s cut. Field research? The man was a one-man Burning Man, storming the front lines of addiction in a three-piece suit worth more than my entire operation, car included. He’s mapped how toxins shred the body, how the mind does backflips under pressure, and how to keep yammering about Big Pharma even when the room’s begging for a mute button. That’s not just leadership — that’s a superpower forged in a spoon.

You want a Health Secretary who gets addiction? RFK Jr. doesn’t need a PowerPoint; he’s got Polaroids from the ‘80s. While Pfizer burned billions cooking up painkillers, Bobby was out there beta-testing their whole catalog pro bono, baby. He knows what hits, what flops, and which ones turn your voice into a gravel-gargling chainsaw that could make Tom Waits sound like a Disney princess. The CDC wastes years on drug interaction studies; Bobby could whip up a TED Talk with a lighter and a bent spoon in five minutes, tops, standing ovation.

And don’t sleep on his public health hustle. My guy’s a warrior, out there warning the masses about vaccines, 5G, fluoride, and the lizard people he saw while microdosing ether in a Whole Foods parking lot. Worried about trust in medical institutions? Bobby’s got half the PTA convinced a flu shot’s a CIA tracker chip — and he did it with a charisma only decades of premium-grade smack could unlock. That’s not just skill; that’s a Nobel Prize in suburban chaos.

Now, I hear the haters: “But he’s an environmental lawyer, not a doctor!” Oh, excuse me, you need a stethoscope to run HHS? Last I checked, Congress is stuffed with law-school dropouts deciding who gets bombed or bailed out, no credentials required. Bobby’s got something better: lived experience. He’s survived more overdoses than a ‘90s rock band, clawed back from addiction, and spent decades testing the patience of anyone within earshot. He’s not just a patient — he’s a walking, talking, conspiracy-shouting clinical trial. Eat your heart out, Fauci.

So, America, if you want a Health Secretary who’s seen the system from the inside — used it, abused it, and snorted it through a rolled-up Constitution — RFK Jr.’s your guy. He’s proof American medicine works miracles: a quivering, ranting testament that you can torch your body like a dumpster fire and still stumble into a presidential bid. That’s not just the American Dream — that’s the American Fever Dream, and Bobby’s the poster boy, shaking all the way to the podium.