WASHINGTON - A Twitter wag summed it up best: "Matt Gaetz is everything the Republicans were looking for in Hunter Biden."
The New York Times' report about a federal investigation into whether the Florida congressman had a sexual relationship with a minor and paid for her to travel has set off a scandal worthy of a pulp paperback, one swirling with claims of extortion, Ecstasy, an orgy, a hula hoop and sex trafficking, along with an Iranian hostage and, of course, a cameo by Roger Stone.
The moment crystallizes Republican hypocrisy. Trump and Gaetz viciously beat up on Biden, undeterred by their own vices.
As it happens, Hunter Biden begins his new memoir, "Beautiful Things," with a scene of him watching Gaetz on TV reading a magazine excerpt about Biden's addiction into the record of the House Judiciary Committee's hearing during Trump's first impeachment.
Biden writes, "'I don't want to make light of anybody's substance abuse issues ... ' Gaetz said, snickering for the cameras as he made light of my substance abuse issues.
"'Again, I'm not ... casting any judgment on any challenges someone goes through in their personal life,' Gaetz continued, as he cast judgment on my personal life. ... Trump believed that if he could destroy me, and by extension my father, he could dispatch any candidate of decency from either party - all while diverting attention from his own corrupt behavior. Where's Hunter?
"I'm right here. I've faced and survived worse. ... I'm not going anywhere. I'm not a curio or sideshow to a moment in history, as all the cartoonish attacks try to paint me. I'm not Billy Carter or Roger Clinton, God bless them. I am not Eric Trump or Donald Trump Jr."
For years, Joe Biden's second son has been a tabloid buffet of strippers, leaked photos, crack pipes, family love triangles, an incriminating laptop, a stray gun and ethical quandaries.
When the book was announced two months ago, it seemed like another bad calculation by Hunter Biden, sure to overshadow his father's presidential honeymoon.
But it isn't. The book, ineffably sad and beautifully written, tears the tabloid face off the story about an American family that has experienced the highest of highs and the lowest of lows.
Page after page, you wonder: How the hell is this guy still alive?
The book illuminates the underworld of addiction - our national shame - that left the son of a vice president and presidential candidate sharing an apartment with his crack connection in the shadow of the White House
"It was," he writes, "nonstop depravity."
Biden's odyssey to a "dark, bleak hole" tormented by the "Four Horsemen of the Crackocalypse" is a mythic saga: two brothers, Irish twins so inseparable they were referred to by a single moniker, BeauAndHunt; one who takes the straight path and the other, the crooked one. It is, above all, a love story - a love letter written to his dead brother, his soul mate and protector, Beau Biden.
Even his "shared-grief oasis" romance with Hallie, his brother's widow, is explained by Biden as a mistaken belief "that by loving each other we somehow could love him back into existence."
The memoir is, in essence, a response to his brother, whose first words in the hospital, after the crash that killed their mother and baby sister when they were little, were simply, "I love you. I love you. I love you."
People flocked to Beau Biden, who became known as "the sheriff" in high school; he was the perfect son, husband, father, military officer and public official. He never had a drink until he was 21, and he quit at 30. His brother had his first glass of Champagne at 8, under a table at a party for his dad's reelection to the Senate in 1978. Beau Biden went to AA meetings with his brother and tried to save him, again and again.
When Biden dives into the void in LA, learning how to cook crack in his Chateau Marmont bungalow, he still manages to write letters addressed to his late brother, telling him how much he would have loved California.
"Did you know there are mountain lions and coyotes here?" he wrote Beau Biden. "I mean RIGHT HERE? I wish we'd both learned to surf. I remember when we used to say that you, me, and Dad were going to ride motorcycles up and down the Pacific Coast Highway. I regret we never did. Love, Hunter."
The New York Times