Martin Van Buren, Scourge of The Earth!

Look at the way he glares at me,
the wicked smile on his lips!
I was right to hate him!

And now it's time for another story, and not one of those stupid children's stories about good samaritans or dead cats. This one's a real story, so you'd be smart if you got these damned kiddies away from me! Anyway, the year was 1836, or something like that. Brave Sir Jackson had just died and I was in mourning. The country was in mourning; all but one man. The bastard, I should've known! It was the sideburns that gave him away! That and the fiery glow of evil that often eminated from his tiny satan-eyes. Martin Van Buren was my arch rival, more dastardly in his cunning even more than the arch-bishop of Cantebury! It all started out simply enough. I was at a dinner at the white-house and I was at the head of the table, opposite Van Buren. Twas a long table, and often food items had to be passed. Well, I was well into my dinner when the bastard spoke. "Please, if you'd be so kind good sir, may you pass down to me the gravy-tourrine?" I was infuriated! It was then I rose to my feet and prepared for battle. Grasping my table-mates scimitar, I rose my arms into the air and mounted the table. I ran along the table towards the cur, eyes wide with fear and terror, and almost detatched the head from the body, but the unfortunate placement of the secretary of state's soup bowl left me entangled and I had to flee. It was then our bitter rivalry began.