Stop Invoking Me to Make Fun of Donald Trump
Enough.
I have endured the lazy barbs of ignorant louts over the past four years, but it needs to end. NOW.
Stop invoking me to make fun of Donald Trump.
For nearly two hundred years now I have grown accustomed to being the butt of jokes. With a name like “Millard,” perhaps this is inevitable, if a bit annoying. I mean yes, I know the name sounds strange, but if you think mocking someone’s name is comedy gold, then you are probably still in the second grade. Grow the fuck up.
But no, that is not what boils my ectoplasm. Rather, it is the constant stream of allegedly-humorous tweets and Facebook posts that profane my name by association with that boorish blackguard. “Move over, Millard Fillmore, there’s a new worst president of all time!” “I’ll bet Millard Fillmore is relieved now!” “Millard Fillmore can finally rest in peace!” Ha. Ha. Ha. The truth is my rest was just fine, thankyouverymuch, until this nonsense started.
I can handle reasoned historical assessments. If you want to say I was no Washington or Jefferson, I would be the first to concede the point. If you think I was worse than Franklin Pierce — or, perhaps, either of the Harrisons — I would grit my phantom teeth and respectfully disagree; but I suppose one could make rational arguments in any of those cases. However, to be hauled out the grave for the last four years to make a cheap joke about THAT guy? No. Just, no.
Just for the sake of argument, how on earth do we compare? Seriously, I want to know. I grew up in poverty, taught myself to read while toiling in a textile factory as a teen, then studied and worked my way up to become a successful lawyer, a major in the New York militia, and Vice-President of the United States. I was the definition of a self-made man. Apart from spending most of his life in New York, what, exactly, does that trust-fund-inheriting, never-an-honest-day’s-work-doing, Fordham-and-Wharton-academic-records-hiding, fake-bone-spurs-having, draft-dodging avatar of entitled privilege have in common with me? When the Library of Congress burned, I rushed over from the White House to help the bucket brigade in putting out the fire. Can you imagine Mr. Press-the-desk-button-for-a-diet-soda-on-a-silver-platter getting his hands dirty to help. . .anyone? Or, for that matter, caring about books burning in the first place? Me neither.
“Oh, but everyone knows that Fillmore was such a bad president!” Really? Do tell me, then, what EXACTLY I did as president that in any way compares to his train-wreck of an administration? Go ahead, I’ll wait. . .
That’s right — I thought so. Everyone who had nothing there, sit down and shut up. And keep shutting up about me for. . .well, ever.
For the two percent of you who had a meaningful answer, I already know what you are going to say: “What about the Compromise of 1850/Fugitive Slave Act?” Well, what about it? It was Henry Clay who engineered it, and history books still hail him as “The Great Compromiser.” Why does he get a pass? Oh, and you know who else supported the Compromise of 1850? Abraham Fucking Lincoln, that’s who. Who here has told HIM to “move over” to make room at the bottom of the presidential rankings? Anyone?
Hypocrites.
The truth is, if you bothered to read a book before having the unmitigated gall of mentioning me in the same tweet as Florida Man, you would know that I personally opposed slavery but believed the country would literally fall apart if I did not sign the Compromise. Because I took my oath of office extremely seriously, I felt it was my sworn duty uphold the Constitution no matter what my personal feelings or the political fallout might be. Imagine that. You may disagree with my decision, but I did what I did to preserve the Union.
You know what I did NOT do? Downplay and mismanage a pandemic that killed hundreds of thousands, get impeached twice, try to overturn the results of a presidential election that I lost, and incite a seditious mob to attack the Capitol. I’m sorry, but I have had it up to HERE with people thinking that my administration was in the same TIME ZONE as President Treasonweasel’s, much less the same base-ball park. I’m serious: it ends, NOW.
To that end, here’s another oath I take extremely seriously: if any of you ever dare mention me along with him again, I swear to God that I will haunt the eternal shit out of you.
