Time for a divorce?

While fame and respect are obvious perks of being a widely-known political commentator, I'm also in the polemicism game for the women, so generally I avoid any mention of my wife. Clara's awful actions today, however, demand public reproach.

Those monocled fancy-pants over at the slightly-more-popular-and-grammatically-correct blog Millard Fillmore is a jerk (don't Google it!) decided to post "an incisive analysis of Washington's so-called 'Compromise of 1850'" and to the shame of myself, my ancestors, and my still-missing washing board, the fourth comment below their six-page snoozefest of a commentary read:

"I agree that while the President ostensibly hopes to soften relations between an agricultural slaveholding South and a wealthy abolitionist North, this so-called Compromise has only served to polarize the nation regarding these very issues.

- Clara L., Washington DC"

That's right. My own wife, pandering to the idiot factory that is "Millard Fillmore is a jerk". Needless to say, I tried to kick her out, but since she pays the rent my plan backfired and I am now typing this from my neighbor Alexandre's log cabin. Sometimes I'm not sure who America's real enemy is: our wishy-washy globe-gut of a President or those self-proclaimed anti-Fillmorians over at MFIAJ.

And speaking of the so-called Compromise--I'd like to compromise Millard Fillmore's kneecaps! Who is Dullard Take-A-Chill-Pillmore to tell us Northerners we have to return fugitive slaves to the South? Abolitionist or not, I'm not taking "executive orders" from the sweaty oaf who once stole my mail*, and just to stick it to him, I'm converting my cabin into a safe haven for escaped slaves [once Clara lets me back in].

Since actions speak louder than words, I even approached a runaway slave in Goldthwait's Pharmacy today and told him he could crash on my porch until the heat dies down. He introduced himself as Goldthwait and unkindly told me to take my business elsewhere, but my heart was in the right place. On a related topic, keep an eye out for my newest blog: Goldthwait was a jerk.

I think I hear Alexandre coming home. Hopefully Clara has cooled down. Keep reading,
-a friend

*"Delivered to the wrong address", my ass!

Already rattling some cages!

The Presi-dunce's latest Twitter:

Millard Fillmore Googled self again, found new hate blog. author thinks he knows me ??? washboard ??? sleep now.

That's right, Commander-in-Cheapskate! Your days of deceit are numbered! With every keystroke I can hear his oversized belly quaking in fear.

More Like "Swillard"

First of all, President Millard Fillmore owes me a washing board. It's amazing how quickly "I'll get this right back to you, neighbor!" became "Look, John, I'm really swamped with Congressional elections right now but I'll look for your washing board next chance I get" and then of course, "Sir, if you leave one more flaming bag of feces on the White House doorstep, the Joint Chiefs will classify you as a threat to national security." What that ninny in the Oval Office doesn't understand is that it's not about the washing board anymore--in fact, I've long since bought a new one*. It's about being a good neighbor. I don't care if you're the President or not, you should follow through on your commitments.

In the years since I lived next door to Fillmore, that washing board has also become a sort of icon of his buffoonery. There was the time he served undercooked veal for dinner and the time I went hunting with Mr. Too-Good-To-Strangle-A-Turkey. There were all those hoedown invitations he ignored, and the time he tore up my garden and ate all my petunias and sank so low as to leave deer droppings at the crime scene to throw me off. (He'll deny it to the day he dies, but I just want to know what kind of sick individual collects fresh deer droppings.) So just last year when good old Zach Taylor kicked the bucket and the torch of the Presidency was passed into Fillmore's fumbling hands, it became clear that only an insider like me could show the American people President Dirty Dingus McGee's true colors.

For those of you new to the anti-Fillmore cause, this is the latest in my series of dedicated efforts to get the message across that Millard Fillmore is a donkeyknocker. While I am certainly most notorious for my Saturday morning marches down Pennsylvania Avenue wearing a picture of Millard Fillmore with a hairy penis drawn on his forehead on a sandwich board, there are also the cause's lesser-known steps forward. For about fifteen seconds last Friday night, for instance, entering the word "Jerk" on Wikipedia redirected users to the Millard Fillmore article, which included photos from Fillmore's lesser-known days as a grime-slicked sewer rat. When Wikipedia very uncoolly blocked my account and removed all of the relevant trivia I had affixed to said article [did you know Millard Fillmore spelled backwards is Satan Sandwich?] I formed this blog to unify the small segment of Americans who recognize that I've passed gas more equipped to lead this country than old Failmore.

Before I wrap up this inaugural post, an extra-special screw-you to the political analysts who run the slightly more popular blog "Millard Fillmore is a jerk", thus forcing me to title mine in the past tense. No, I'm not going to link to it, and don't Google it either. It deals with all sorts of superficial issues about party divisions and tariff reforms. I'm discussing the issues that really matter, like the fact that once I saw "Smellmore" leave the outhouse without washing his hands.

Keep reading
-a friend

*Actually, I keep meaning to buy one but anti-Fillmore-related activities keep me pretty busy. That's okay though, I never really used or even knew how to use the old board.