Read Online How to Fight Presidents: Defending Yourself Against the Badasses Who Ran This Country by Daniel O'Brien - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Daniel O'Brien
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cherry in a five-mile radius for fucking
anything
. But Taylor was heating up and sincerely believed that the cherries and milk combination would cool him down. Almost immediately after he ate his weight in tiny fruits, Taylor became sick with a mysterious digestive illness and died.
To this day, no one knows exactly what killed Taylor. His doctor diagnosed him with “cholera morbus,” which is
barely
a diagnosis. Cholera morbus was a nineteenth-century catchall for a wide spectrum of stomach-related illnesses, including diarrhea and dysentery and, thanks to Taylor, whatever disease is birthed by the union of digestive fluids and a metric ton of cherries. It was basically his doctor’s way of saying “His stomach’s fucked up and I don’t know why.” In 1991, his body was exhumed and examined but all tests for poison came back negative; but anyone with a slightly functioning brain has concluded that it probably had something to do with the lifetime supply of cherries he shoved down his throat on a hot afternoon.
Get a fistful of cherries and shove them down Zachary Taylor’s damn throat. That’s your only chance. And remember, Taylor does better when he’s outnumbered or outmatched, so try not to be a better fighter than him (though that’s probably not much of a problem for you, Guy Who Is Reading a Book About Fighting Presidents).
Millard Fillmore is, hands down, the most under-appreciated and ferociously badass president we have ever had. His parents, paranoid to an insane degree, wanted their son to be mentally and physically prepared should the British ever come back to attack America (an eventuality Fillmore’s parents were
certain
would happen in their lifetime). While most parents sent their children to school, Fillmore’s started training him for battle from a very early age. They didn’t teach him
standard
warfare; Fillmore’s father was well versed in the ancient and mystical art of the ninja, and decided to pass it on to his ambitious and powerful son.
That’s right. Millard Fillmore was a trained ninja at
eight years old
.
His parents would often blindfold him and drop him off in the woods with no food or clothes and leave him alone to find his own way home, which Fillmore
always
did. Regardless of how unfamiliar and unfriendly the woods were, Fillmore would find his way out, usually within the first twenty-four hours.
Still, Fillmore wasn’t
just
a ninja; he was also unbelievably brilliant. He built his first robot when he was just nineteen years old, and when the government offered a handsome sum for his design, he destroyed it and burned all of his research. The government wanted to turn his robot into a robotic soldier, and Fillmore refused to let his ideas be used for death and destruction. He was the first president in space and is largely credited with the discovery of penicillin. For his first campaign speech, Fillmore did backflips until his opponents
wept and surrendered
. He is (so far) the only American president who had a tattoo, and, if you’re wondering, yes, it was a sick dragon that occupied his entire back. He could pee lightning. Only like six people in the world can do that, and Millard Fillmore was one of them.
Full disclosure: I may have played with the truth a little bit. Not
everything
I said above might be considered “accurate” in any sort of “factual” way, though I do maintain that it’s all true in a broader albeit less truthful sort of way.
Okay, my publisher has informed me that I need to be more specific. The only true things about the above paragraphs are: 1) We had a president named Millard Fillmore, and 2) He had parents.
I’m sorry. I know this book is about pointing out interesting
true
facts about presidents, and for every other chapter, that’s exactly what I did, but holy crap, Millard Fillmore is just
terrible
. If you’ve never locked yourself in your apartment with eleven books about our thirteenth president only to come away with
anything
. But Taylor was heating up and sincerely believed that the cherries and milk combination would cool him down. Almost immediately after he ate his weight in tiny fruits, Taylor became sick with a mysterious digestive illness and died.
To this day, no one knows exactly what killed Taylor. His doctor diagnosed him with “cholera morbus,” which is
barely
a diagnosis. Cholera morbus was a nineteenth-century catchall for a wide spectrum of stomach-related illnesses, including diarrhea and dysentery and, thanks to Taylor, whatever disease is birthed by the union of digestive fluids and a metric ton of cherries. It was basically his doctor’s way of saying “His stomach’s fucked up and I don’t know why.” In 1991, his body was exhumed and examined but all tests for poison came back negative; but anyone with a slightly functioning brain has concluded that it probably had something to do with the lifetime supply of cherries he shoved down his throat on a hot afternoon.
Get a fistful of cherries and shove them down Zachary Taylor’s damn throat. That’s your only chance. And remember, Taylor does better when he’s outnumbered or outmatched, so try not to be a better fighter than him (though that’s probably not much of a problem for you, Guy Who Is Reading a Book About Fighting Presidents).
Millard Fillmore is, hands down, the most under-appreciated and ferociously badass president we have ever had. His parents, paranoid to an insane degree, wanted their son to be mentally and physically prepared should the British ever come back to attack America (an eventuality Fillmore’s parents were
certain
would happen in their lifetime). While most parents sent their children to school, Fillmore’s started training him for battle from a very early age. They didn’t teach him
standard
warfare; Fillmore’s father was well versed in the ancient and mystical art of the ninja, and decided to pass it on to his ambitious and powerful son.
That’s right. Millard Fillmore was a trained ninja at
eight years old
.
His parents would often blindfold him and drop him off in the woods with no food or clothes and leave him alone to find his own way home, which Fillmore
always
did. Regardless of how unfamiliar and unfriendly the woods were, Fillmore would find his way out, usually within the first twenty-four hours.
Still, Fillmore wasn’t
just
a ninja; he was also unbelievably brilliant. He built his first robot when he was just nineteen years old, and when the government offered a handsome sum for his design, he destroyed it and burned all of his research. The government wanted to turn his robot into a robotic soldier, and Fillmore refused to let his ideas be used for death and destruction. He was the first president in space and is largely credited with the discovery of penicillin. For his first campaign speech, Fillmore did backflips until his opponents
wept and surrendered
. He is (so far) the only American president who had a tattoo, and, if you’re wondering, yes, it was a sick dragon that occupied his entire back. He could pee lightning. Only like six people in the world can do that, and Millard Fillmore was one of them.
Full disclosure: I may have played with the truth a little bit. Not
everything
I said above might be considered “accurate” in any sort of “factual” way, though I do maintain that it’s all true in a broader albeit less truthful sort of way.
Okay, my publisher has informed me that I need to be more specific. The only true things about the above paragraphs are: 1) We had a president named Millard Fillmore, and 2) He had parents.
I’m sorry. I know this book is about pointing out interesting
true
facts about presidents, and for every other chapter, that’s exactly what I did, but holy crap, Millard Fillmore is just
terrible
. If you’ve never locked yourself in your apartment with eleven books about our thirteenth president only to come away with
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