The Wit & Wisdom of Martin VanBuren

Numerically, the 8th President. Objectively, the best ruler in the history of man.

February 18, 2005

I never liked you

I realize my success in all and every venture I consider vexes you quite terribly.

I can only assume my brilliance and overwhelming, magnetic machismo fill you with a burning envy that both inspires a seething fixation of hateful resignation and a paradoxical dose of awe, respect and desire.

I suppose it's easy enough to understand.

I am an awesome specimen.

A bigger man would forgive your consternation and frustration as the inevitable result of his own greatness.

Not me.

You see, I'm a bit on the short side and filled with a bit of the old Van Buren complex as a result (NAPOLEON can suck it).

I've always sensed that you smelled of root vegetables, and not the carrot or potato variety, but more of the turnip, rutabaga sort.

Before the bile soaked words you pass off for conversation pass your lips, you can see your very stupidity well up in your pores and begin to ooze like gangrenous puss.

I understand your mother died during your childbirth and I must admit I struggle to understand how a woman with the wisdom not to make your acquaintance could have not killed you in the womb?

I suppose that is a bit much to expect from a retarded prostitute.

Oh, and by the way you're sort of cunt.

Your hero and the Bain of your existence

Taken from a note circulated to every member of the Senate upon my elevation from Vice-President to the Presidency

You step to Dre you step to Death Row


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