How to Fight Presidents: Defending Yourself Against the Badasses Who Ran This Country (33 page)

At Roosevelt’s death, a fellow politician said, “Death had to take him sleeping, for if Roosevelt had been awake there would have been a fight.” This historicomical book doesn’t go so far as to presuppose that there
was
a fight and that, in fact, Death lost, but it also refuses to stoop to such levels of historical irresponsibility as to suggest that such a thing is
impossible
. In the interest of erring on the side of caution, this chapter will prepare you in case Roosevelt decides to a) not be dead, b) feast on human brains for sustenance, and c) track you down for pissing him off. Almost everything about the (living) Roosevelt chapter (and in particular the bits about you being physically, spiritually, and intellectually incapable of beating him), still apply, but there’s an added level of impossibility: How do you kill a Theodore Roosevelt
that’s already dead?!

Well, let’s start at the beginning and try to figure out
how
Theodore Roosevelt got infected with zombiism. The most likely scenario,
insofar as any theory involving a fictional horror staple and a dead president can be “likely,” is that he played with dead things too much. When he was just eight years old, Theodore Roosevelt was walking home when he came across the body of a dead seal in a New York marketplace. According to him, the corpse immediately filled him with “every possible feeling of romance and adventure.” He would return to measure the corpse, and tried to find out how it died, and eventually took the skull home and kept it. TR built up his personal collection throughout his life, occasionally writing to his sister to brag about all of the dead birds and mice he had in his bedroom. If a non-bite-related way to catch “being a zombie” exists, it is my professional opinion that playing with skulls and growing up in a bedroom full of death is probably it.

So we’ll assume that surrounding himself with corpses and obsessively embracing life is what brought TR to his current Presidential Zombie status. If standard zombie rules apply (and let’s say they do), then the game hasn’t changed; just remove the head and destroy the brain. Now, if standard Roosevelt rules apply (let’s
obviously
say they do), then it won’t be as simple as all that. TR was always prepared for everything. He’s going to assume you know the whole “destroy the brain” thing and will likely try to gain an advantage. An advantage, in this case, means putting his head as far from your reach as possible. If you’ve been following closely, you already know what I’m about to say.

Theodore Roosevelt killed an elephant while on safari, gave it the zombie virus, and now he’s riding a zombie elephant, right to your door.

Or a rhino. Roosevelt killed both in his days on safari, so there’s really no telling what you’re going to be facing (though, yes, it’ll probably be one of those things). You’re at a severe disadvantage, not just because TR’s got the higher ground, but because he’s the one who knows how to take down big game better than any other president (he and his son Kermit killed 11 elephants, 20 rhinos, and 17 lions); he’ll know their weaknesses, so he’ll know how to protect them against you.

The dangerous thing about zombies—the reason we all fear
them—comes from their numbers. A single zombie isn’t intimidating; zombies are slow, awkward, and uncoordinated, and really only pose a threat when they’ve got an army. Roosevelt is a loner. Sure, he may have a rhino or lion or two, but he won’t have raised a zombie army, because that takes time and foresight, and Zombie TR just wants your sexy and delicious brains. One zombie is nothing. He’s slow and can’t use weapons, and you will
always
have the advantage because of that. Take him out.

Oh.

Unless, of course, he
does
raise a zombie army, which is totally possible, because as a human he
did
raise a human army of one thousand people for his charge up San Juan Hill. If that happens, my advice to you (and you’re not going to get better advice anywhere else) is just, like … die. If TR’s raised a zombie army, then humans are
done
, and I suggest you join the new winning Zombie team as soon as possible.

All hail President Zombie Roosevelt!

pres-i-dent

Origin:
1325–1375 < Latin
prae
and
sidens,
which translate to “king” and “of the fight-monsters
,”
respectively
.

My ancient and nameless American Government professor had one, humble goal: to teach a bunch of college freshman how to read a newspaper. Some might consider that a noble pursuit, but I think we can all agree that it shrinks in the shadow of the objectively more ambitious goal of
How to Fight Presidents
. Readers may not be able to properly read a newspaper when they complete this book (the author, in fact, still cannot), but they now know the best way to beat Zachary Taylor in a street fight, where JFK’s weaknesses are, and the terrifying secret of Grant’s testicles.

Have I covered everything? No, but
How to Fight Presidents
was never meant to be the definitive guide on this subject, only a stepping stone for future research, a gateway book that would serve as a solid jumping-off point for your quest to learn about and then fight any and all presidents that might ever sass you. If you still have lingering questions about president-fighting, I strongly encourage you to visit your nearest library and local fight club.

The important thing to remember is that presidents are insane by nature and can become dangerous when threatened. If you ever happen to spot one in the wild and he (or
he
) sees you carrying this book, he will flip out and viciously attack you, charging like some kind of ferocious whirlwind of fists and flag pins. Bet you’ll be thrilled you bought the book when
that
happens, and not just because of the content. One of the best things about
How to Fight Presidents
is that it doubles as a weapon; if every lesson fails you in your fight, just, like, throw it at the angry president you’re facing.

Right at his face. He’ll hate that.

How to Fight Presidents
would probably never have been written had I not been born, and for that I guess I should thank my parents, Donna and Thomas O’Brien. Thank you for raising me to be curious enough to always challenge authority but respectful enough to always do it by reading, thinking, and writing.

Thanks to David, my brother who has always supported me (emotionally and, every so often, financially). I’d never be able to fight even someone who
wasn’t
a president if I didn’t know you were in my corner. Thanks to Tommy for his protection and guidance and all of the jokes he made when we were younger that I will continue to steal. Thanks to Marne and Dayna for making me laugh and for taking care of my big brothers.

Elise Leonard kept me sane during the exhausting ordeal that was this book, and also during everything else that’s ever happened
to me. I’m not sure I’d write anything at all if I didn’t think she was going to read it.

Thank you, Joe Valenzuela, Mike Caruso, Chris Brugnola, and Mike Facchin. You are all much funnier than I am and growing up around you has completely shaped my sense of humor. Thank you to Nancy Lee and Kaitlin Large, who somehow magically always knew the exact right time to call me with a distraction when I needed a break from writing. Your Spider Sense for my need to procrastinate is uncanny.

A giant thanks goes to Winston Rowntree, my illustrator and a constant source of positivity. Winston’s encouragement and support kept me moving. The strength of his illustrations inspired me to work harder every day, so the words could reach the incredibly high bar set by his images. (I almost made it.) Let’s make lots of books together, please.

This book would have sat collecting e-dust on my hard drive had Ryan Holiday not introduced me to the literary agent who turned the manuscript into something worth reading. Ryan is one of the brightest guys I’ve ever met, and also he periodically sends me tiny hooded sweatshirts for my dog, which is another very good quality in a person.

Thank you to my hilarious super-agent, Byrd Leavell, who once described me as “a historian trapped in a comedian’s body,” which is the most flattering description I’ve received. Byrd has some of the best literary and comedic instincts I’ve ever seen, and I am very fortunate to be able to work with him.