New York Post columnist Miranda Devine literally wrote the book on The Laptop From Hell. Subtitle: Hunter Biden, Big Tech, and the Dirty Secrets the President Tried to Hide. Whenever she updates the continuing saga of Hunter Biden, attention must be paid. Today the reader’s attention is rewarded with low comedy:
Hunter has been making all of his 16 lawyers in cases across the country go through this charade of pretending that his laptop is not his laptop, is probably not real, or was it stolen, or maybe hacked?
It’s hard to keep track. The lawyers now swim in the same soup of delusion that Hunter and his father do.
It does make life more difficult for Lowell, as he has to write voluminous footnotes on all his filings explaining that, while he might be suing this person for breach of privacy or that person for stealing Hunter’s property, it doesn’t mean it’s actually his client’s laptop.
Take Footnote 4 in his latest Delaware filing: “Questions remain about the provenance and total authenticity of the data on the laptop image and hard drive the government seized, as both had been reviewed and likely altered.”
It must have been the Russians!
Footnote 17: “Mr. Biden does not concede or accept the prosecution’s version of events concerning the authenticity of this Apple device.”
Denial is a river in Mexico — as some wag said last week after Joe Biden’s “my memory is fine” press conference.
This state of self-deception over the reality of Hunter’s waterlogged Apple MacBook Pro led to this week’s humiliation for Lowell.
He had demanded from Hines in discovery an exact forensic copy of the “alleged” laptop that the FBI has had in its possession since December 2019, when two agents picked it up from the Delaware computer repair shop where Hunter had abandoned it eight months earlier while drunk and stinking of cigars.
He stiffed repairman John Paul Mac Isaac on the bill, too.
Maybe Hunter’s “Sugar Brother” Kevin Morris could find the 85 bucks to repay Mac Isaac, instead of throwing good money after bad at fancy data analysts telling Morris what he wishes were true.
Presumably in aid of concocting this parallel reality about the tainted laptop, Lowell went to great lengths in October to specify exactly what he required from the prosecutors in discovery: “We want to ensure the data we receive is an identical copy as you have it and that the data will retain its native forensic properties (e.g., time and date stamps, file paths, operative system characteristics, user profile information, etc.)” and that the “data loaded on the hard drive is complete and identical in every shape and manner to that obtained by the FBI when it acquired possession” of the laptop and hard drive.
He got exactly what he asked for. And now he’s complaining to the judge because the laptop is a dog’s breakfast, a Hobbesian digital chaos that echoes Hunter’s life.
A true “laptop from hell,” per Donald Trump’s coinage.
It is impossible to make sense of any of it without hours of aggravation, amid the constant threat of being ambushed by hundreds of selfies of Hunter’s erect penis, sometimes adorned with M&Ms, or flanked by a ruler, or being massaged by a pair of dainty feet, or simply flopped into a pizza in a hotel room in Vegas.
Of course, there is more:
Lowell has been complaining to the judge that he is “stuck searching an abyss of data (more than 220 gigabytes),” and “has spent hours combing through a forensic image of the device,” and that the prosecutors have “left buried the pertinent photos within a production of a voluminous, undifferentiated files.”
He could always ask his client.
Hines coolly replied: “The government accommodated this request.”
Whole thing here. I’m filing this under Laughter Is the Best Medicine.
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