Open Letter to Robert F. Kennedy Jr.

Dear Robert F. Kennedy Jr.,

I’m writing to you from the front lines of what I like to call the “American Gut Rebellion.” You know, that special kind of uprising where your stomach stages a coup after one bad taco and leaves you hugging the porcelain throne like it’s your long-lost blanket. But here’s the kicker: our government couldn’t cure a case of the runs if it came with a side of federal subsidies. Why? Because if a fix doesn’t tickle the fancy of Big Pharma’s patent lawyers, it’s deader than disco.

Picture this: Every day, the NIH drops $117 million like it’s confetti at a lobbyist luau—straight into the laps of biotech bros and university eggheads chasing the next “novel” pill that can be slapped with an IP sticker and priced like a yacht.

That’s $43 billion a year, folks! Borrowed from the piggy banks of today’s TikTok-scrolling teens, who are already doomed to pay it back while battling early-onset disease epidemics and IQ drops from too many ultra-processed chicken nuggets. (Fun fact: American kids now have more chronic diseases than their parents did at the same age, shorter lifespans, and they’re poorer. Congrats, Big Pharma— you’ve turned the American Dream into a nap under a blanket of medical debt.)

But real talk, RFK Jr., this isn’t just about blockbuster drugs for made-up diseases (looking at you, restless leg syndrome from too much Fox News). It’s about the basics our “sick care” empire ignores because they’re free, natural, and—gasp!—not patentable. Take lithium for Alzheimer’s. NIH’s tossed a measly $1 million at it over a decade, while blowing $40-45 billion on fancy biomarkers and gene tweaks that sound sci-fi but cure jack squat. Lithium shows promise? Pfft, who needs results when you can fund a trial designed to flop, courtesy of some pharma-beholden lab rat in a white coat?

Or—get this—food poisoning. Yes, that delightful roulette we play every time we hit a food truck. One in six Americans (48 million souls!) gets wrecked by it yearly: 128,000 hospitalized, 3,000 six feet under. Doctors? They hand you pink sludge (like Pepto-Bismoll) and tell you to “ride it out.” Ride it out? Buddy, I’ve seen mules with better endurance! Meanwhile, NIH? Zero dollars on researching iodine to nuke it. Zilch! Because iodine’s been around since the 1800s, cheap as dirt, and doesn’t come with a monopoly. The FDA’s out here treating it like it’s the lovechild of Chernobyl and a scorpion - slapping warnings that scare folks off faster than a vegan at a barbecue. Thanks to that, we’ve got shelves full of “miracle” antacids that do nada but line Pfizer’s pockets.

Enter the hero of our story: Lugol’s iodine. Not the watered-down stuff your grandma used for gargling—I’m talking the real deal, elemental iodine mixed with potassium iodide (or in our case, sodium iodide for that extra gut-friendly kick). Slap 12 drops under your tongue, and boom—nausea, queasiness, and that “why did I eat the mystery meat?” vibe vanish in under three minutes. No killing the good bugs in your colon, just a targeted SWAT team on the bad guys. It’s like giving your stomach a tiny, brown superhero cape. We’re calling it “Stomach Saver,” and it’s not snake oil—it’s made in sunny California with 30+ years of digestive wizardry, GMP-certified (check VeriGMP if you’re feeling nosy), and backed by over 10 million bottles sold. No junk fillers, no outsourcing to sketchy overseas sweatshops—just pure, immediate relief that lets you adventure without the fear of your intestines plotting a prison break.

Why hasn’t this gone mainstream? Follow the money, my friend. Big Pharma’s got our politicians in a chokehold with campaign cash and ad dollars—it’s like if the fox not only guards the henhouse but also writes the bedtime stories. NIH’s less than 1% on non-patentables means natural cancer busters (herbal cleanses! Iodine boosts! Immune hacks that actually work!) get the cold shoulder, even if they cure more folks than a room full of oncologists on espresso. Cancer’s beatable without chemo roulette? Shh, don’t tell the boardrooms! And don’t get me started on how they’re probably cooking up a “study” to prove iodine causes spontaneous combustion or turns you into a pirate.
RFK, you’re the guy who’s been yelling “Make America Healthy Again” from the rooftops, taking on the chemical cocktail in our food and the vaxxy overlords. So here’s my plea: Let’s team up and shove some sense into this system. Fund the basics! Tell NIH to ditch the IP obsession and chase actual health—like iodine zapping food poisoning before it zaps your weekend. Imagine: No more pink sludge casualties, just a nation of gutsy adventurers. I’ll even throw in a free bottle of Stomach Saver with a subscription to our Digestive Enzymes + HCL kit (50% off the bundle, plus probiotics to keep the party going). Because at our age, who needs 80% less stomach acid? (Spoiler: Nobody.)
What do you say, Bobby? Ready to declare war on the sick-care cartel and arm the masses with dropper bottles? Hit reply—I’ll save you a seat at the next food truck rally.
Gutsy regards (and zero queasiness),

[Your Name or “A Concerned Gut Patriot”]

P.S. If this letter made you chuckle, just wait ’til you try the drops. Your stomach will thank you… in three minutes flat.