What Your Favorite President Says About You

The buck stops here

Washington: You’ve never had an original thought in your life and experience this as moral seriousness. Your favorite food is steak (well-done). You chose your dad as best man and put your hands behind your back while getting sucked off.

Adams: You leave insulting comments on porn videos about the dude’s penis. Women you match with always have a disappointed look on their face when you meet up IRL and then respond three hours after your follow-up text saying they respect your mind but just aren’t feeling it.

Jefferson: You opted out of OneDrive and there’s a CCleaner icon in your taskbar. You regularly consider whether it would break the NAP to take a woman who breaks into your house and attempts to rob you as your basement concubine.

Madison: Your phone brightness is always too low. When you were 14 you created a document in Microsoft Word to collate all of your philosophical stances in one central repository. You made six figures by 24 but at some point in your early 30s got tricked into donating your life savings to an Effective Charity and following a nervous breakdown had to move back in with your parents.

Quincy: Every group chat you’re in develops a side chat in under three weeks. You corrected your girlfriend’s dad about something during Thanksgiving dinner and spent the car ride home trying to convince her that he respected you more for it.

Jackson: There is a hole in your apartment wall you explain in a way that makes it worse. You use AXE Snake Peel body wash. You call men you just met “brother” and fight with your black girlfriend over whether you can Say It while rapping along.

Polk: As a 12-year-old you spent an inordinate amount of time on Cracked.com. Each morning you update a Google Sheet called “Q2 Personal Objectives.” You eat standing over the sink and enjoy listening to Jordan Peterson lectures while taking two-minute breaks between squat sets and ignoring everyone else who wants to use the rack. You always find an excuse to show women your crypto wallet on the first date. All of your exes have bangs.

Lincoln: You get a strong dopaminergic return calling black cashiers “boss,” and maintain that Bill Burr is America’s greatest living humorist. You gladly would have let your fifth grade teacher molest you had they asked.

Grant: You’re subscribed to Atun-Shei Films on YouTube and the Sherman Posting subreddit, though the actual General Sherman definitely would have called you a disgusting servile niggerlover. Your girlfriend’s leg is bigger than yours.

Cleveland: You smell like Cheez-Its and have moderate cystic acne. Your favorite video game is Victoria 2, for which you once programmed a mod that lets you abolish all social programs on Day 1. You used to tutor at your university, and at one point attempted to groom a homeschooled freshman into being your girlfriend.

Teddy: You make $80k / a year in an uncredentialed IT job you take way too seriously. You like to go to brewpubs and order a $30 burger with peanut butter on it and then rag on any dude who orders a less disgusting beer than you *just* loud enough that the girl at the next table over can hear. At least three women have texted you the next day about their Fawning Trauma Response.

Wilson: In preschool you were deeply identitarian about always following the rules, until one day the teacher snapped at you arbitrarily and for the rest of that day you became identitarian about being the Bad Kid—a pattern that would repeat itself in several containers over the course of your life. At some point in your childhood you explained to your mother through ironclad syllogism why it made sense to ruin your six year-old cousin’s birthday.

Coolidge: You find a way to work Linux into every conversation. You filed your taxes on January 3rd, and recently gave your best friend a blender for his birthday. You make every girl you hook up with wash her feet first in your shower. You think Dave Ramsey’s kind of gay but still listen to him religiously.

FDR: Your favorite entertainer is Bo Burnham. Your ethnic conservative girlfriend wants to stay at home and regularly humblebrags about you forcing her to work. On your last business trip you cheated on her with a married middle-aged woman who noticed your Ezra Klein book in the terminal after your shared flight got delayed. In fourth grade you did something you’ve never told anyone about and never will.

Eisenhower: You don’t let people eat in your car, which contains several portable phone chargers and has never had mascara applied within it. You tell your buddies you want to marry a nurse because your mom was one without registering even the slightest Freudian implication. You’re exactly 5’10 and work for an insurance company or credit union.

Kennedy: You’re Catholic in a way that makes girls think you’re haunted until they realize you’re just a closeted homosexual who aestheticizes his pill popping.

Nixon: You have an android phone and overreact when women make fun of it. You keep screenshots of girls expressing attraction to you so they can’t rewrite the story later. At some point you’ve internally weighed the game theoretics of assassinating a senator so more people read your substack. Another part of you often fantasizes about absconding to Vegas to become a professional poker player.

Reagan: You call waitresses “young lady” and own at least one leather jacket that makes you look like a substitute teacher at a casino. Your dad is taller than you. At some point in your life you’ve told a prostitute she’s being unreasonable.

Obama: You’re still complaining about the Great Recession having wiped you out financially despite having been in sophomore year of an English degree at the time. You met your wife on Bumble and your first date was at an escape room she paid for after they declined your credit card. Though you caused your parents to separate as a child, they also reconnected in late midlife trying to figure out what to do with you.

Trump: You own one very expensive object surrounded by trash. You refer to at least one ex-girlfriend as “crazy,” but privately still feel sort of guilty about that one night. You are close friends with several minorities who have personality disorders that prevent them from being accepted by their own people and operatively force them to arbitrage an ability to ratify white racism. You have at least one dark secret that would destroy you if it ever got out and so ambiently support any societal drift towards an ecology that would make its discovery less personally obliterative.