Recently, there’s been a big hullaballoo on the internet because Tomi Lahren made a pathetic generalization about a left-leaning city in a feeble and cynical attempt at “owning the libs.”
It’s understandable people assumed this tweet was completely fabricated. It’s easy to think someone so patently misinformed on almost every subject has never, in fact, traveled to San Francisco.
However, I’d like to stick up for Tomi in this case. She didn’t make up this tweet in a hideously transparent attempt at stirring faux-outrage among her easily-duped, idiot-filled following. It was very, very real. She did see a man “snorting cocaine off the street.”
I know this because that man was me, a billionaire venture capitalist who just so happened to be enjoying the tail end of a big-city bender. See, my most recent startup had just IPO’d, making me a cool half-a-bill overnight, and I figured what the hell, let’s have ourselves a big night out. Needless to say, we picked up a few eight balls and got in to a debauched evening of extravagance and all-around tomfoolery.
Or should I say, Tomi-foolery?
Okay, that was bad. (As bad as making up fake stories in weasel-like attempts to divide the voting public against themselves? Probably not.)
Anyway, here’s how it went down. It wasn’t my proudest moment. I was driving (yes, admittedly a little intoxicated), and saw a homeless family on the side of Stockton Street. So I pulled over to give them all the cash I had on me, because I am a Democratic Socialist and know firsthand how unfair the system is bent in my favor. I pulled my Lamborghini Aventador over to the curb, and handed this family $8,700 and gave the father the address of an un-leased apartment I own. Figured that might help them get on their feet.
Anyway, as I was getting back into my car, I dropped one of my coke baggies on the ground. Rather than just leave it there, for fear one of the homeless kids’ parents might get into it and suffer some kind of relapse, I decided to just snort the cocaine off the street, right then and there.
That’s when I saw her walking toward me: this blonde sorority-president-on-a-power-
“Is there a problem?” I asked, brushing the dust off my Brunello Cucinelli suede bomber jacket.
“Can I have a bump,” she demanded, in a shrill, nasally bawl.
I could tell immediately she wasn’t cool enough to share drugs with. So I hopped in my Lambo and cruised away. Over the rumble of the twelve-cylinder engine, I’m pretty sure I heard the loud shriek of an old crone trying to rob the homeless family I’d just helped out.
Despite all the coke I’d done, I got home and slept like a baby that night, dreaming peacefully about how much better of a person I am than Tomi Lahren.
