Dateline, February 20, 2017. From the Ouija board that summoned the spirit of President William Henry Harrison:
Oh for crying out loud, America.
You HAD IT. I HAD IT. After all this time, after all these centuries, I thought you had finally elected a president atrocious enough to lose his job quicker than I lost mine. After 176 years, I truly thought I would no longer be the shortest-reigning president of all time, because Donald Trump would easily be impeached and fired within, like, a week. Maybe even less! Finally, I wouldn’t have this stupid 30-days albatross around my bony, rotted neck!
And YET … here we are, 30 days later, and Trump is STILL your president? There’s … no hope for me, is there? Barring some freak twist of fate like, oh, HOW I DIED, I’m never losing this damn record, am I? You really are a bunch of morons, America, you know that? I can’t believe I spent several weeks of my life leading your dumb asses.
Seriously, do you think I want to be the shortest-reigning president ever? Talk about an embarrassment that doesn’t go away with time. Even the ghost of Zachary Taylor — the guy who got his ass kicked by cherries and milk — hazes me non-stop for it. And I didn’t even do anything to deserve it! I wasn’t a blowhard like the guy you got now. I wasn’t an ignorant hate-monger like the guy you have now. I wasn’t an incompetent rambler who could barely speak his own language like the guy you have now. I didn’t collude with enemy nations like the guy you have now.
You know what I did? I got sick and died. That’s it! And I get the ignominy of people making fun of me for it? That’s like mocking a marathoner for dropping dead of a heart attack a hundred feet into the race.
I suppose I should’ve seen this American idiocy coming. After all, I only got my job by lying to your ancestors’ faces and having them fall for it. Yep — had you actually bothered to study me beyond watching that Simpsons episode where the kid dressed as me yells “I DIED IN THIRTY DAYS,” you’d know I basically invented the whole “baffle the voters with bullshit” approach to getting elected.
Yep, I sold myself as an underdog man of the people, just some poor kid from a log cabin with a dream. HA, what a load of taradiddles that was! (You … still say that, right? It’s such a nice word, I dearly hope you do.) I was rich as fuck and highly educated. My family was a bunch of also-highly-educated politicians — yes, America, despite who you just hired to lead your country, you CAN, and damn well SHOULD, be an educated politician — and yet here I was, running around the country telling everyone I was “one of them.” And they lapped that crap up happier than a dog who hadn’t been fed in a week! I was in, not because I was good, but because I sounded good.
So yeah, I guess it makes sense that, ultimately, you’d get so blinded by the lies and bullshit, you’d bumblefuck your way into voting for the most incompetent, hateful, stupid, narcissistic, bigoted bully your country had to offer, all because he said what you wanted to hear. Hell, he didn’t even have to lie! I hid my riches, my privilege, my upper-classness — Trump sure didn’t! He was rich as fuck, gaudy as fuck, obsessed with gold like your moving drawings of an old, talking duck who swims in gold (how do you do that, America? Make drawings move and talk? Must be witchcraft.) and is as blatant and in-your-face about it as humanly possible.
At the same time, he somehow presented himself as “one of you.” Just a regular, down-to-Earth, talks-like-the-common-man Joe. AND YOU BOUGHT IT. Because why? You didn’t want to vote for a woman? I’m from 1840! We were all about infantilizing women and disrespecting their accomplishments and humanity at every turn. And even I would’ve voted for her! Except I couldn’t. Because I’m dead.
OK, I’m done slapping around the American people for voting this cretin in to begin with. Now to slap around the morons who keep him around. Listen: just because this uneducated, uncreative, blowhard of a bloated rich-kid becomes president, doesn’t mean he has to stay president! He took office on January 20th (not for nothing, but why January? It’s cold as fuck in January. At least March, the Inauguration Month in my time, has potential for warmth. Except on MY Inauguration Day, apparently), so by January 21st, he should’ve been out on his ass. Didn’t you guys pass the 25th Amendment for this very reason? So the people in charge could see a complete and utter tool running the place and immediately be all, “nope, not doing this shit. Sorry voters, but you fucked up. He’s bats, he’s gonna kill us all. He’s gone, he’s fired, bring in the veep.”
You don’t wanna do that? You’ve also got impeachment on the table. Why didn’t you lobcocks (another great term, it saddens me you abandoned it) start putting that shit together at 12:02 on January 20th? The second he took office, he violated the Constitution by double-dipping with his family business, and you all know it. And yet, a month later, while you talk of impeachment, you haven’t actually done anything about it. Why? Because your party’s in power? I’m sure the senators of the Roman Empire in 476 were thrilled to work with an emperor weak enough to fall to the barbarians, because at least that meant the senators had jobs.
Here’s the thing, you idiots — you impeach him, you convict him, you fire him (a thing the version of Trump that exists in your magical talking box of moving pictures that I’m SURE is witchcraft loves to do) … and you’re still in power. The Vice-President is YOUR GUY. You have the House. You have the Senate. You’ll probably have the Supreme Court soon enough. So you lose nothing by getting rid of him — in fact, you’ll probably look better for it. I mean, you won’t BE better, but you’ll LOOK better. And take it from ol’ Tippecanoe — looking good is all the voters really care about.
But alas, this has not been done. Trump remains in charge, I’m still the shortest-reigning President, and at the rate you cowards are going, he might actually make it all four years. And then, if he bullshits the voters again in 2020, he might make it all eight. And then he’ll change the rules, no one will do anything about it, and he’ll make it twelve. And then sixteen. And then he dies and his son inherits the throne for a few decades. And then everything we did to get away from England means fuck all, and I’ll still be the shortest-reigning president. I’m sorry, but that last bit really eats at the dust that used to be my ribs. He shouldn’t have been allowed one second, never mind one month-plus.
Look, this can still be remedied. My “record” didn’t fall — now make it so America doesn’t fall, either. Toss that buffle-headed, bracket-faced, clunchy bell-swagger out on his pratt next chance you get (and seriously, start talking like me again. These words are awesome, you’ll love them), stop obsessing about making America great again, and instead make America legitimate again.
Because if you don’t, and this guy makes it six months, then you gotta deal with an angry James Garfield. And you wouldn’t like James Garfield when he’s angry.