To hear it reported in the hopelessly liberal, “drive-by” media, controversy and scandal have never been within earshot of the White House until Barrack Hussein Obama, Kenyan national, slipped the bonds of the madrasah to inflict Marxism on a gullible, hope-driven populace. Sure, Bill Clinton stained the people’s house with his un-Constitutional infidelity and subsequent cover-up, but at least the endless investigations – all $120 million of them – failed to uncover even the vaguest hint that Bubba was shipped in from the Axis of Evil to destroy Christian virtue. He was an American. And now that we are, for the first time, currently being governed by an illegal alien, the missteps of the past recede ever-further into irrelevance and trivia, though this is not to say that the Oval Office hasn’t seen its fair share of head-slapping silliness.
While nothing has prepared us for this moment in time, there have been conspiracies and difficulties before, during, and after past administrations, most of which have been righteously exposed. From Grover Cleveland’s surreptitious surgery for cancer in July of 1893 to Woodrow Wilson’s debilitating stroke in the Fall of 1919, sunlight has indeed proven to be the best disinfectant, and we can come to terms with the official lies that have often governed our shaky experiment with democracy. We all know about the Eisenhower and FDR love nests, as well as the Kennedy couplings, and few are beyond a slight shrug when faced with Harding’s illegitimate children or Jefferson’s forbidden love. Washington owned slaves, Lincoln suffered from crippling depression, and Jackson refused the cough up the bullet that lodged in his chest, leading to a persistent odor that challenged even the most hardened 19th century noses.
But what of the buried sin, still unpublished and unknown? Perhaps nothing will ever equal the pain reluctantly brought to the table by the patriotic birther movement, but Obama, scoundrel-in-chief, is not the first to orchestrate an alternate fantasy to the horrible, jaw-dropping truth. Behold, American history on the down low; laid bare for perhaps the first time.
Ronald Reagan – RAPIST
If you’ve read a fawning biography or seen any number of drooling Sean Hannity specials, we know that Ronald Wilson Reagan, second only to Christ in the hearts of his countrymen, worked as a lifeguard, logging so many rescues that one wonders if the whole damn town of Dixon nearly drowned. And while dragging poor saps to shore in stifling Illinois summers was indeed noble, such selflessness retreats from view when faced with Reagan’s fondness for rape. Few victims have come forward and even fewer provide much detail, but during the late 1920’s and early 1930’s, “Dutch” (so nicknamed for reasons unprintable on a respectable website) is rumored to have sexually assaulted dozens of young women, the most revolting example a 13-year-old Girl Scout named Catherine O’Malley.
O’Malley and Reagan did, according to locals, date for a brief stretch, but the relationship turned sour in the fall of 1929, prompting the normally mild-mannered Ronnie to savagely beat and violate young Catherine. Though she survived the ordeal, the damage to her vagina was so severe that she could never have children. But Reagan didn’t stop there. While recuperating at the O’Malley summer home in Springfield, Catherine was attacked again by a furiously drunken Reagan, who had sneaked aboard the O’Malley vehicle by hiding out in the trunk. Though unable to speak, walk, or even see out of one eye, Catherine was repeatedly sodomized; for an hour by Reagan himself, then for fifteen minutes more with an available dust pan.
More girls fell prey to Reagan’s unquenchable sexual appetite, and though respectful enough of the female persuasion to never demand oral sex, Reagan found new life as an anal rapist, violating at least seven sphincters in the course of nine months. He raped again and again, pausing only to call the occasional baseball game for local radio, or beat his mother into a coma for challenging his father for drinking away his paycheck. It was an untamed, Picaresque youth, replete with alcoholism, venereal disease, and at least one abortion. Reagan appears to have stopped cold turkey by the end of the 1930’s, though there were rumors of assaults during the Hollywood years. Family lore also states that Michael, his adopted son with Jane Wyman, was purchased through the black market because Mrs. Reagan was uncertain Ronnie could be a father given the ravaged state of his genitalia. Future births ended this speculation, but from all appearances, Reagan never again raped an underage innocent until the day he died.
Calvin Coolidge – ABORTIONIST
Silent Cal, as he was known to fans and detractors alike, presided over a prosperous, regulation-free America, but while Governor of Massachusetts, between strike-breaking and tax-cutting, he performed back alley abortions in the basement of the executive mansion. Labeled the “Butcher of Beantown” by the police, his actions were usually dismissed as the fabrications of hostile public servants (Coolidge once famously said, “There is no right to strike against the public safety by anyone, anywhere, anytime”), but files deep in the archives reveal a stone cold entrepreneur, often charging as much as $300 to carve away the assorted unwanted of the Commonwealth. Surprisingly, Coolidge was an unusually progressive entrepreneur for the time, sending word that while he’d abort “anyone, anywhere, anytime” (his wit was often underrated), he preferred aborting black and brown babies, given that he was simultaneously gutting any semblance of a safety net for the state’s citizenry. The chief business of America, apparently, wasn’t business, but inducing septic shock among Boston’s poor.
Coolidge, unburdened by Nosy Nancys or the eye of regulatory officials, boldly refused to sterilize any equipment, often using the same bloody tools for months at a time. Lacking access to water or decent lighting, Coolidge botched a good 40% of the abortions he performed, but as “the streets” were close to 60%, he never failed to crow about his competitive advantage. “Let them cry about my mortality rate,” he hissed, “I’m all those sons-a-bitches have from here to the Cape.” Coolidge once beamed that he slept more than any other president in history, but there was little time for counting sheep as governor. Often logging marathon-like days, he once aborted fetuses for 33-hours straight, breaking even the lax labor laws he so vociferously failed to enforce. As if to soothe his conscience somewhat, Cal was known to give his underage assistants weekends off, becoming one of the first state leaders to observe the Sabbath. While Coolidge usually insisted on killing the babies himself, local legend tells of an exhausted Cal wiping his brow, throwing his forceps against the cold cement wall, and letting “his kids” take a whack at the female atop the slab while he calmly sipped lemonade.
Was the White House itself ever an abortion mill? It’s difficult to say, though a newspaper column at the time once hinted that Coolidge, as Vice President, cheerfully offered to abort the love child of Warren Harding, waiving his usual fee. The President declined, though he apparently never forgot the kindness. Coolidge was known to have mellowed for most of his White House years, though after his son died after stubbing a toe on the White House tennis court, Oval Office records show large blocks of time unaccounted for, often in the wee hours. A Secret Service agent once confessed that he heard an intoxicated Grace Coolidge spitting at her husband, “Off to murder more of God’s children, are we Calvin?”, but sworn depositions held little sway during the Depression. And by then, Coolidge was dead and buried himself, a threat no more to the little angels.
Richard Nixon – HOMOSEXUAL
Despite actually fathering children, it was always assumed that Richard M. Nixon had no real interest in sexual intercourse, largely because nothing could ever hope to compete with the orgasmic release of political gamesmanship. In fact, Nixon loved to fuck, but rather than Pat, he preferred the company of his fellow gentlemen. Nixon’s inner circle, beyond being one of history’s most corrupt, was one of the most sexually active, hosting landmark parties that are still discussed today. “The Kissinger Klub” wasn’t simply a place to hash out China’s trade policy, it was where Nixon himself went to inhale everything Henry could throw at him. Nixon was anti-Semitic on a personal level, but in the bedroom, he was faithfully kosher, often elbowing his top advisor with the quip, “Hey Henry, get some of those Jew bastards at the Times to suck me off.” Sadly, Nixon extended his hatred of blacks to this arena as well, turning away dozens of suitors in favor of lily white Congressional pages, State Department security guards, and the occasional clerk from the Supreme Court. He once placed a 3am call to Abe Fortas, but Nixon fell asleep before the disgraced Justice could be roused out of bed.
Nixon, ironically enough, abhorred anal sex, but because of his unshakable compulsion, he compromised by always playing the bottom. Little evidence exists to suggest he ever deviated from this role. While he sampled oral sex from time to time (he always marveled how much better it was with circumcised penises, hence his fanaticism for Kissinger), he was most enamored with kissing – “necking” as he called it, well into his Presidency. Some attribute this preference to his Navy days, when onboard poker games often descended into fanatical orgies, when the night’s best hand was rewarded with golden showers, Cleveland Steamers, and the occasional Yorba Linda Cupcake. Nixon never revealed the exact ingredients of the latter, but a cryptic cable was found among his personal papers that referenced said Cupcake with a winking, “One day, they’ll invent a soap that gets rid of this s–t.”
Few know if Pat ever discovered her husband’s secret identity, but her own memoir hinted at a hard-fought battle she once had to pry Dick away from what she called, “that damned life.” Historians have always assumed she was referring to the political arena that eventually destroyed Nixon, but what of the bon mot tucked away in the Haldeman diaries where Bob mercilessly jabs at his boss for the flop sweat that signaled, “P is daydreaming about Aggie again.” Really? His own VP? If so, it would be the first case in American history where a President fucked his own running mate (Taylor/Fillmore rumors to the contrary), and might account for ”Aggie’s” hasty departure in 1973. His replacement, Gerald Ford, was arguably the most heterosexual politician of his time, so it’s clear Dick was trying to reform, if belatedly. And those tears at his wife’s funeral? Who’s to say whether or not they were genuine, but as with everything in Nixon’s universe, they may have been for himself. An anguished release for the crimes of Watergate, unleashed because no one told him it wasn’t a sound use of G. Gordon Liddy’s time to hunt down naked photos of George McGovern.