Hunter Biden: Crack and Corruption

In late 2015, in the weeks after his father announced he would not run for president in 2016, Hunter Biden was living in an apartment in Logan Circle in D.C. and drank “every day, all day” from Christmas until the end of January. (Naomi, the oldest of his four daughters, celebrates her birthday on December 21; Dad wasn’t invited to participate.) Joe Biden would call constantly; Hunter would say he was fine, then go out for a “handle” of Smirnoff vodka (roughly half a gallon) a day. He’d use a knife to dig out the gizmo that regulates the pour at the top of the neck so he could guzzle straight from the bottle and imbibe for twelve to 16 hours a day. Sometimes the ache would hit him so badly that he’d start gulping on his walk back home from the liquor store across the street. “I would turn on the TV, sit on the couch, drink, pass out,” he writes. “Even drunk — especially drunk — I never slept in my bed . . . I’d cry for hours without realizing I was crying. I hardly ate.”

This was not rock bottom, though. That was still to come.

About the Author

Kyle Smith

Kyle Smith is the film critic for the Wall Street Journal.

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In late 2015, in the weeks after his father announced he would not run for president in 2016, Hunter Biden was living in an apartment in Logan Circle in D.C. and drank “every day, all day” from Christmas until the end of January. (Naomi, the oldest of his four daughters, celebrates her birthday on December 21; Dad wasn’t invited to participate.) Joe Biden would call constantly; Hunter would say he was fine, then go out for a “handle” of Smirnoff vodka (roughly half a gallon) a day. He’d use a knife to dig out the gizmo that regulates the pour at the top of the neck so he could guzzle straight from the bottle and imbibe for twelve to 16 hours a day. Sometimes the ache would hit him so badly that he’d start gulping on his walk back home from the liquor store across the street. “I would turn on the TV, sit on the couch, drink, pass out,” he writes. “Even drunk — especially drunk — I never slept in my bed . . . I’d cry for hours without realizing I was crying. I hardly ate.”

This was not rock bottom, though. That was still to come.