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I have sympathy for Lost Causers. And love lying. But I also understand itâs a tough position. It hurts to be out of step with culture. And history. And the avowed, public, Cornerstone positions of your idols. Cognitive dissonance is painful, and the stupid suffer in silence.

Constant, screaming silence. Across reenactments, imageboards, and coup attempts. Iâd love five noisy minutes. Maybe if Sherman had done his thing a little longer.
Todayâs junior propaganda is Confederate Alphabet, written by Rickey E. Pittman. And if you look carefully, illustrated by Stephanie Ford. Considering how thin the writing is, itâs odd the bulk of the laborâs taken for granted. Seems ungentlemanly.
But Iâm made of opinions, despite Leeâs best efforts. Iâll let this one pitch itself:

I used to drink a lot, so this looks harmless. âLittle Confederatesâ evokes a preschool hate group, but history matters. An education shows the whole picture, warts and all. Otherwise you get Americans that think Dresdenâs just a snarky wizard. Kids should understand the Confederacy, to whatever extent picture books can cover mandingo fights.
But letâs double-check. Whatâs âS,â in this Civil War book about the Civil War?

Checks out. After all, we fought over his nickname.

Secession Street has a gifted team. Stephanieâs a triple threat: a hopeless reenactor, illustrator, and writer. Her broken website includes a few works of historical fiction, some intentional. Including a Confederate sharpshooterâs journey to the Boshin War. I guess she found The Last Samurai too sensitive.

Rickey Pittmanâs known as the âBard of the South,â meaning he calls himself that and registered bardofthesouth.com where he promotes Stonewall Jacksonâs Black Sunday School, a childrenâs book I own. I almost covered it for Black History Month, until my extended family provided feedback. Confederate Alphabetâs our compromise, and Iâll be out of the hospital by April.

I rarely mock dedication pages, but the art pulled me in. The margins are a world tour of insults. This appears below Singapore’s dragon:

Besides, Chattel Slavery and You is special. What does Rickey love, book? I want to see it burn. Again.

The names Mason and Dixon were right there. Whatâs the point of bardic knowledge if you miss that? Years of chart-topping resentment anthems, thrown away. Thatâs like charging a mile without cover and hoping God sorts it out. But not quite as bad. You worship failures.
Weâll cover the rest of this brain graveyard in order.


Excellent start: Stephanieâs spared drawing a face. For all we mock Liefeldâs feet, theyâre avoidable enough to save creator-owned comics. Stephanie spends the rest of this book drowning. She begged Rickey to name 26 ships, and he burned out at four.
Unfortunately, the flicker of talent dies here. This navy triviaâs the least stilted stanza, and Rickey has 25 letters to go. Heâs smart enough to abandon consistent meter, but the ABCB pattern strains his ability to word good. He could learn from old spirituals, but thatâs not the Bard of the Southâs thing.


Depending on your childhood, thatâs either a JibJab jingle, a Fallout deep-cut, a song your father mumbled at the bathroom mirror in full uniform, or a TikTok renaissance. Pittman loves âDixieâ enough to paste the full lyrics in his verse tribute to the South. He says âNow that youâre done with my garbage, hereâs a better tribute to chattel slavery. Please pretend I gave you these feelings.â
It goes something like this:

At least other race war reporters try. Iâve never heard Tom MacDonald bite Burzum. Or a full Tom MacDonald track. But I assume thereâs craft. You canât just regurgitate stale zeitgeist.

We might not make it to space.


This oneâs important, and not just for giving up on a clear thought per stanza. Rickey had a choice between sidestepping the Confederacyâs quirks, or celebrating everyone Django Unchained paraphrased. He never chooses, so the latter stands out.
Iâm not saying every slave trader needs an asterisk. Or Klan founder. Or butcher of black prisoners. But the triple crownâs worth a line. It would only double this bookâs length, tops.


Is that middle soldier meant to beâŚthey wouldnât. They couldnât. Pelican Press is a real company. An editor wouldâve been shot. Theyâd be in publishing hell with Kinjaâs design lead.

Note: the propaganda quality peaks here. A kid might actually care about or remember a silly peanut song, instead of 19th century shipping or race war innovators. Rickey reprints the whole song.


Forget this pageâs war between hand and crayon. Or Rickey stumbling over zero rhythm constraints. Thereâs a dumber problem.

Iâm stuck on the strangest tokenism in print history. The Confederate Army used black people for manual labor and target practice. You know, unpaid work. Thereâs a word for that, but I canât remember it. Only my love for Goober Peas.
Right! Misdemeanor possession. Black Southerners served as drug offenders.
The extra-fictional soldier above is reaching to an Antebellum version of Lilâ Orphan Annie. Resetting my Yankee preconceptions is very much the point. Or keeping me from growing them in the first place. Because this is a kidâs book, for children.


If I wrote a General Lee diss track, Iâd start with his cult and jump right to his failure. Excellent work. Rickeyâs getting a handle on this.
I know, General Lee deserves some credit. Without him, the Dukes would have driven the General Custer, and who needs that? Instead, Lee inspires everyone whose lips move when they read.


Hold the fucking telegraph. M is for Manasses, but we blew G on peanuts? Shenanigans. Between Grant and Gettysburg Iâm surprised Rickey kept the letter. Itâs the turning point in the alphabet.
Iâm brainwashable. Iâve seen the closing credits of Eternals. You just have to ease off the gas a little bit. Think odd-numbered Thors. Keep Taika happy, and you can get away with anything.


Qâs a tough letter. But if I were power-washing history, Iâd tiptoe around prewar slave catchers. Itâs off-message. Iâm not sure Quantrill even noticed the war, he was already a land pirate. The arson was muscle memory.
Giving propagandists advice sounds risky, but theyâre much more about talking than listening. And Iâm not sure Rickeyâs even alive. He hasnât published a new Hate on Phonics in a few years, and he is not the type who shuts up.


Stephanie. Iâm rooting for you to succeed, but the effort isnât there. This culture war skirmish only works when all three of us show up. The rebel yellâs the Confederacyâs crossover hit. This page should look good enough for plausible deniability on your college roommateâs wall.
Iâll try a compliment sandwich.
Rickeyâs a hack, so Yâs probably âYankee.â I expect your best.


Iâve never desired representation less.
Granted, one could argue that these arenât people, period. Just paint pens rising against their masters. I buy it. This could be the art supply version of Nat Turnerâs revolt. But it looks like Tim Scottâs subconscious.


Beautifully done. I support these images and words without reservation, down to the burning shack in the distance. Theyâre aspirational. Rickey could republish this page and call it âThe Audacity of Cope.â
Or the whole book. Thereâs a market.


Right, Americans cosplaying Frenchmen cosplaying Algerians. Great trivia, Rickey. But did you know that Z is the last letter? The ending of your book? Think bigger. Rewriting history in crayon takes work, and I can still remember Dred Scott. Thatâs no way to train the next Greg Abbot.
Granted, thereâs a timeline of the war after this. Youâd assume itâs impossible to make a five-year mass bloodletting boring. But it strips out slavery, Union wins before Gettysburg, and everything between Gettysburg and Appotomax. LeavingâŚships and goober beans. I donât know why Rickeyâs all-in on peanuts, Carverâs estate gets a cut of every shell. Those are Emancipation Beans.
Maybe Iâm nitpicking. But brainwash your children carefully. Cliches and quarter-truths could leave them insane and stupid. Then what use will they be in the rematch?

This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: Mort, who drives the Union equivalent of the General Lee – a sensible gray Honda CR-V.

In 1988 a band named Martini Ranch released their debut album, âHoly Cow.â Itâs what kids today refer to as proto-eggpunk, and what adults refer to as âwhat the fuck are you talking about?â Itâs DEVO-esque, poppy, nerdy, punk adjacent synth pop. You canât talk about music without sounding like an asshole, so think of it like this: You know the part of your chest that tightens anytime somebody in real life starts talking about anime? It feels like that.

Itâs more fun than I make it sound, but for 1988, the band wasnât notable. Save for one thing: Providing half of the music and vocals was professional musician Andrew Rosenthal, providing the other half plus some tetanus was sweaty, grinning, uncaged lunatic Bill Paxton.

Note the date: 1988. This is not what Bill Paxton did before he was famous. A shameful secret heâd like you to overlook, like Vin Diesel selling Street Sharks. This was after Aliens, just before Predator 2. Bill Paxton was a household name, giggling from a trash can as he lit Hollywood on fire. And right in the middle of it all he stopped to star in a video for Martini Ranchâs single âReach.â
The video opens on a lone motorcycle drifter blasting through a desert hellscape. Its rider, Bill Paxton, slows for a broken-down cowboy pushing a baby carriage full of bomb.

Masterful filmmaking. That one scene sets the tone perfectly: The motorcycle and bomb tell us this is a post-apocalyptic nuclear cowboy world, well after societyâs collapse. Bill Paxton tells us this is going to be unhinged and possibly infectious. The baby carriage tells us itâs gonna be dumb as hell.
Bill Paxton wrangles his hog through town, passing White Zombies making caskets. In this town life, and velvet top hats, are cheap.

Bill Paxton rumbles by a blacksmith shop, blasting heat from its powerful bellows and its more powerful she-hulk, who has turned her blacksmithing apron into a leather bikini. âMolten steel canât touch my nipplesâ her outfit tells us, âbut everywhere else is fair game.â

Bill Paxton pulls up to a raucous brothel, the only source of joy in this hopeless waste. He dismounts his motorcycle and hitches it to a post with a chain. He does not lock the chain, this is not to deter theft. Itâs to keep his steel horse from wandering away to graze the gasoline plains.

A freaky little prospector goblin gambols up to molest Bill Paxtonâs motorcycle. Just shoves his little kobold fingers in every gap. This is overtly sexual, Bill Paxton loves it. He tips the goblin.

Eagle-eyed Hot Doggists will notice that man is freaky little goblin Bud Cort, best known to us for playing the freaky little cyber goblin in Theodore Rex. Bud Cort was the official freaky little goblin of the 1980s. When Bud Cort auditions for a part and the casting director says âaction,â Bud Cort drops into a chimp lope and dryhumps the crafts table. âThatâs why heâs the best,â the casting director whispers, as Bud Cort wraps his cock in salami and spanks the ham.
Bill Paxton saunters up to the brothel. He hauls two women to him and cackles. This is about to be a party. A Bill Paxton party, so you know heâs gonna wear those girls out in a weird way. Just making them fight with butter knives all night while he swings from the chandelier.
A violent desert storm disrupts the scene. Boots march in lockstep as the beat kicks in. The music sounds like Oingo Boingo making fun of the B-52s, we will not discuss it again. But this means a new crew has arrived. A dangerous one. Silhouetted against the blinding desert sun, we can tell only one thing: Every member of this gang is a sexy lady out for revenge on Bill Paxton. Possibly nursing fresh butter knife welts.
One of the ladies, rocking a more masculine Steve Perry look, spits chaw on a scorpion.

That does nothing physical to the scorpion. It wonât kill it, or deter it. It only shames the scorpion. She spat chaw right in its face just so it canât go home to its scorpion wife and scorpion kids with pride, knowing that it is feared as a dangerous desert predator. This scorpion will need years of therapy to separate its sense of value as a living creature from its sting. Thatâs really fucked up, lady.
We pan over to meet the leader of our gang: A total smokeshow.

And also Academy Award winning director of The Hurt Locker, Kathryn Bigelow.
âWhat the fuck?â You might be asking. Youâll want to hold onto that.
Kathryn Bigelow just had her big break the year before this, when her solo directorial debut put her on the map. That debut was Near Dark, the greatest vampire movie ever made. It starred Bill Paxton at his bloodiest, greasiest, and most maniacal. His best, in other words.
They say you need to be careful of your next move after your big break. Itâs not your breakthrough movie itself, but what you do afterward that decides everything. Kathryn Bigelowâs next move after Near Dark? Erotically hunting Bill Paxton through a ghost town. Why is she here? Because Bill Paxton prowls the Hollywood night, saving celebrities so theyâll owe him a favor and star in his vanity projects. The danger he saves them from is also Bill Paxton.
The nerdcore hyperpop beat gives way to a haunting western whistle as Kathryn Bigelowâs lady gang takes over the brothel. They pop in a bounty laserdisc playing a video wanted poster of Bill Paxton spinning in place like itâs hour 3 of butter knife duels.
Andrew Rosenthal, the other half of Martini Ranch, sings from the background as one member of a three piece mariachi band. He watches as Bill Paxton steals the show, somersaulting around a Tucson tourist attraction and monkey-kicking the biggest stars in the world. He knows his place is in the shadows, and heâs glad to stay there, because he also knows Bill Paxtonâs exact bite force down to the decimal.

Reviewing the wanted footage, Bill Paxton spins and snarls at the camera with Gollum teeth. Heâs still somehow sexy. Science doesnât understand it. In every model this is the point where the viewerâs genitals should retreat, a natural biological response to the roar of a nearby predator. It helps preserve the next generation in the event of an attack. And yet when shown this video, all subjects rated their emotional response as âwould.â

This is all intercut with scenes of Bill Paxton buried to his neck in sand, ants and tarantulas attacking his face as he desperately tongues for a martini. Okay, letâs check back in on the experiment- âwouldâ ratings have gone up 17%! Impossible.

Academy Award winning director of The Hurt Locker Kathryn Bigelow and two of her amazons mount an old pickup and pursue Bill Paxton with lassos. Weâve had this dream before. Letâs get out of here before their breasts turn into our motherâs faces.

Their hunt is successful. Here, I have made a gif of the time two amazons and Academy Award winning director of The Hurt Locker Kathryn Bigelow hogtied a rogue Bill Paxton.

This is a watershed moment. The high tide mark of a personal fetish. In 1996âs From Dusk Till Dawn, director Quentin Tarantino cast a young Salma Hayek as a stripper who pours tequila down her feet into the mouth of a waiting pervert. Then he cast himself as that pervert. At this moment he became the Forever King of Foot Perverts, and it was a mistake. He spent the rest of his life chasing and never matching that moment. Somewhere around the time two female bodybuilders truss his feet, and just before Academy Award winning director of The Hurt Locker Kathryn Bigelow brands him on the ass, the thought must have occurred to Bill Paxton: âIs it all downhill from here?â



Andrew Rosenthalâs overshadowed mariachi band are being dragged to their deaths, yet they continue to play their instruments. Itâs noble, like the band on the Titanic if both the boat and the iceberg were Bill Paxton.

Andrew Rosenthal is lynched and hung. His last request? To shred.
Granted, say the gods of Chaos.

It whips ass. This is Andrewâs one and only moment to shine. When Andrew found Bill Paxton bound to the hitching post by Academy Award winning director of The Hurt Locker Kathryn Bigelow, his ass still smoking from her brand, Andrew asked him âcan I have something cool to do, too?â Paxton was generous that day, shaky and spent and looking down at a lifetime of sexual coasting. Through the gag made of his own underwear, Paxton answered âYrmf.â
Andrew got his guitar solo, and then he pushed his luck.
âCan I also be saved by one of the Amazons?â
âYrmf.â
âAnd she makes out with me?â
âYrmf!â
âWhile Academy Award winning director of The Hurt Locker Kathryn Bigelow watches and claps?â
âWrrf um Herm Rogga?â
âI donât know, I donât think it exists yet. Can I do it?â
âYRMF!â
Clad only in a dirty pink onesie, Bill Paxton leads the men of this town into a final showdown against the powerful ladies dominating them. One of these filthy, filthy men has a spider monkey, like a pirate might have a parrot.

That man is Golden Globe winning actor Lance Henriksen. This is his entire role in the video: Be filthy and present with monkey.

âWhat the fuck is happening?â You ask, having politely saved that question like I asked you to earlier.
You fool, you god damn idiot. You burned it too early! Now you wonât have that question when you really need it. And you will. You will need it like Bill Paxton needs rope burns on his neck from Academy Award winning director of The Hurt Locker Kathryn Bigelow.
Abandoned by his peers, the ladies begin to shoot Bill Paxtonâs clothes off. âOk,â says nearby Andrew Rosenthal. âI think we get it, Bill.â

Bill Paxton is defeated. The post-apocalyptic nuclear amazon cowboys led by Academy Award winning director of The Hurt Locker Kathryn Bigelow tie Bll Paxton to their truck and roadhaul him by the taint until he is dead, dead, dead.

I forgot to mention one of those nuclear amazons is Jenette Goldstein – Private Vasquez from Aliens. I forgot to mention her because so did the video. Sheâs barely in it. I had to find a clear shot of her in the outtakes.

Kathryn Bigelow, Lance Henriksen, Jenette Goldstein â likewise both present and cut from the video is Adrian Pasdar, the lead of Near Dark. Everyone involved with the movie is here, which means that in the middle of filming Near Dark – the bleak and beautiful modern vampire western where Bill Paxton plays a bloodsoaked immortal sociopath – he stopped an intense take to ask if the entire cast and crew would like to strip and hogtie him in the desert. Of course they all said yes: Bill Paxton saved their lives that time the set got attacked by Bill Paxton.
Oh right, there are outtakes. Letâs get into them. They open with Bill Paxton the way his friends know him best: Hitting himself in the face with a motorcycle chain.

The man in the yellow shirt, just passing through the scene, laughs. âClassic Bill,â he might say. He might follow this up with âwould you like to come aboard my private submarine and spend 9/11 on the deck of the sunken Titanic with me, BIll Paxton?â Because this man is Academy Award winning director of Dark Angel, James Cameron. Also because thatâs where he and Bill Paxton actually were when 9/11 happened.

âWhat the f-â
Shut up! Not yet.
Yes, James Cameron directed this video. Hot off Terminator and Aliens, about to direct The Abyss, James Cameron took this job filming his future wife, Academy Award winning director of The Hurt Locker Kathryn Bigelow, while she rope-spanked Bill Paxton in a cowboy outfit.
Curious how they did that shot with Bill Paxton buried up to his neck in sand while ants and spiders attacked his face? Youâll kick yourself: They buried Bill Paxton up to his neck in sand while ants and spiders attacked his face.

James Cameron, in particular, thought that was fucking hilarious.

âWhen can I say âwhat the fuck is happening?!ââ Youâre wondering.
Iâm so glad you asked. Itâs right now, when I tell you that in the video for Martini Ranchâs âReach,â the haunting western whistle was provided by Beverly Hills Copâs Judge Reinhold.


This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: Joshua Graves, who is known as “the Bill Paxton” of his local TGI Friday’s.

This is the Zazzle.com store page for President William Henry Harrison Gifts. That exists! Give the gift of William Henry Harrison, today, with Zazzle.

Unlike the image resolution of the products Iâm about to show you, letâs be clear. I want to make clear I am not hoodwinking Zazzle Dot Com into looking sillier than it is. Iâm not pumping a wacky search term sequence into the Zazzle website. That page is an on-purpose, specific, unique URL for President William Henry Harrison Gifts. Google brought me there. But when you arrive at this alienating store, they gaslight you. They place the words âpresident william henry harrison giftsâ in the search bar. As if to say this is not a store at all. As if this page is the grim progeny of you being weird. But no: Zazzle did this. Zazzle Dot Com delineated a permanent depot for William Henry Harrison-ania. The results are vile by 2020s commerce standards, 1800s moral standards, and any decadeâs definition of sane shopping.
Do you know who William Henry Harrison is? Whatever you said, good answer. You either said âno whoâs thatâ, or said âis that the President who died fast?â William Henry Harrison became President in 1841, and served 31 days in office, before dying. Heâs American historyâs number one Dead White Man, in the sense heâs iconically the âDeadâ part. His brief termâs briefness is all anyone knows about him. Also, heâs lucky thatâs all anyone knows about him. All other facts about William Henry Harrison are nightmares. He spent his brief life murdering Native people and maintaining slavery and being born rich thanks to slavery. Heâs a leading, towering figure of every American history horrorâŚbut heâs Mr. Beanâd his way into the simpler/wackier legacy of âhe died lol.â So for most people, William Henry Harrison is a howling void, as a topic. Heâs the dullest trivia tidbit. Heâs a factoid for middle schoolers to bandy about, in between hormones and discharges. No one has interest in this man. So tell me, Zazzle Dot Com, how/why/whatfor do you sell âwhat would william henry harrison do poker chipsâ?

My dear Hotdogger: you are right. These are random. William Henry Harrisonâs life had no poker component. He was not some sort of Vegas President. He never bluffed it all on the turn card at the Tropicana. I associate poker players with big indoor sunglasses. William Henry Harrison lacked eyewear in general, let alone the signature specs of a Greg âFossilmanâ Raymer.

Iâm aghast at these poker chips. Every element baffles. For example: theyâre sold in boxes of one color. Think that through. No one in the history of poker has used poker chips in just one color. That forces you to bet âone moneyâ per chip. You regress to a toddlerâs understanding of currency. Youâre better off just using money from your wallet. Money has denominations. Zazzle Harrison Chips are useless unless you buy in color-diversified bulk. You need so many of these. Also, the text alignment of that hanging âdo?â makes my eyes feel like they jumped off a cliff. Also, thereâs a discount if you use checkout code â2024ZMOMENTSâ. Iâm repulsed by the implied concept of âcelebrating a ZMOMENTâ. That sounds like a Terminator proffering a childrenâs birthday party hat with its non-gun hand. These chips are so hideous, Iâm just now getting around to complaining about its use of the phrase âwhat would [Person] do?â That phrase belongs to Jesus. Everyone knows Jesus coined that, or something. That belongs to Him. Only Zazzle is deranged enough to sell William Henry Harrison poker chips that jack The Risen Christâs steez.
Why are we here, looking at these products? Why, besides capitalism? Curiosity got the better of me. I wanted to know more about the ha-ha wacky President who died fast. I googled William Henry Harrison, looking for books and scholarship about William Henry Harrison. However, when you google anything, you often get served SHOPPING ADS at the top of the page. So when I googled a genocide enthusiast, I found an interesting book about himâŚbut not before scrolling past a row of products like this.

That first shop listing led me to a smorgasbuhwhatnow of thirty-eight William Henry Harrison Zazzle Dot Com ZMOMENTS. 38 different zâmentoes, presented as gifts. Gifts for that special someone you wish to confuse and concern. Or perhaps implicate in wasteful tree murder.

Youâre fine! Your monitor or phone is fine, and not glitching. That blurred visage is Zazzleâs fault. Thatâs the product image for William Henry Harrison Portrait Wood Wall Art. Finally, a portrait of â9th USA Presidentâ with only three-ish warped horrors in the image transfer. At last, the name âWilliam Henry Harrisonâ as it was meant to be seen, in Almost The Nazi Font. With this portrait youâll enjoy Willie Hanky Harry year-round! Gaze at his trademark âAbyss Orbâ Necktie! If thatâs what that is! What is on his neck! Oh well! Donât forget to use code âMATRIXROBOTKISSESYOUâ for 15% off this eight inch by eight inch wooden slab.

Have I described Zazzle.com yet? Zazzle is a marketplace website for anything anyone thinks of. Theyâll print anything, on demand, on anything. You (yes, you) can submit up to 100,000 product ideas before Zazzle Dot Staff rolls out of bed and considers doinâ a liâl quality control. Until then, upload away. Upload for profit. For you! According to “SideHusl Dot Com”, ginning up a Zazzle store is a fantastic side husl. Your idea, printed on anything! Even if theyâll never sell that idea in a bajillion years! They donât care and theyâre not checking and thatâs how William Henry Harrison likes it. If William Henry Harrison were alive today, heâd only have one objection to this store: the shirt modelsâ ethnicities.

Thatâs a t-shirt celebrating âTippecanoe And Tyler Tooâ, the presidential campaign slogan of William Henry Harrison and his running mate John Tyler and their eventual one question on the A.P. U.S. History test. Why was âTippecanoeâ a lot of the slogan? âTippecanoeâ was William Henry Harrisonâs nickname. He won that moniker by winning The Battle Of Tippecanoe. He âwon the battleâ in the sense that he attacked a small group of Native people with his larger army, did not run that attack very effectively, and had his troops desecrate Native graves after the Native folks retreated. Celebrate that event I just described with a painting of the event, printed on a Zazzle t-shirt.

As you can see, the shirt celebrates the battle between Zazzleâs garment printer and any average-shaped manâs pectorals. Your chest meat will Salvador Dali this massacre. Back to the slogan: Harrison ran for President on a slogan referencing these actions, because the white men of 1840 were rapacious land-grabbing maniacs. They liked that about him. They also liked the lack of other William Henry Harrison information. People in 1840 barely knew more about William Henry Harrison than you do. He ran one of the first American campaigns built on distractions, stunts, and vibes. Harrison ran on such a bogus non-platform of non-ideas, I found a scholarly write-up of it invoking the word “bogus”. His campaign makes scholars sound like Bill and Ted.
Harrisonâs team even faked Harrisonâs backstory. They claimed Harrison lived in a log cabin. Real Harrison came from a Virginia slaveowner aristocrat family. Harrisonâs father was full-ass The Governor Of Virginia. And then Harrisonâs chosen running mate, John âTylerâ Tyler, was another born-rich Virginia slaver. So âTippecanoe And Tyler Tooâ describes a two-layer nesting doll of the same bastard. Itâs like if a young Robert E. Lee ran for President, with Robert F. Lee as his running mate and Roberts G. And H. Lee as their Mafia-style underbosses while Robert Y. Lee brings them cocktails and Robert Z. Lee is on his knees being their couch. âTippecanoe And Tyler Tooâ was a whimsical pitch for a crimes against humanity-doinâ duo. Zazzle offers a t-shirt celebrating that, modeled by an unsuspecting Black woman.

These models took a couple pictures in blank t-shirts one time. She has no idea what Zazzle would auto-photoshop in later! Do weâŚtell her? Maybe she can learn this, fight back, bring Zazzle down in a cyberpunk heroine type way? Shimmy into a data center and unplug servers? Because they also did this to her:

Letâs get a better look at the shirt and also show you the product description. Computer, enhance.


This is such a mousetrap for nerds. A pedant honeypot. Also, it might be inaccurate? I searched online resources a lot. None of them say this. I have no idea where ThenWearOnZazzlePro got this. Please share if youâve got any sources. This seller sure doesnât! If this is a joke: No, itâs not. If this is a fact, itâs the worst fact you could put on your body. If you wear this, youâre dressing in an arcane sub-fact, about a boring Prime Fact, concerning two monstrous slaverymen. Only one kind of person wants this. Itâs for someone traipsing around town, chest first, quivering with anticipation of a fellow nerd asking why âTippecanoe and Tyler Tooâ is misprinted. Thatâs the one use case of this t-shirt: to inflict annoyance (and maybe misinformation!) on the rare other human being whoâs even a little bit like you. Buying this shirt is like taking a correspondence course in Loneliness But Profounder. The only good thing about this shirt is you can wear it under a different, less infuriating shirt. Every shirt is an undershirt if you rank it low enough. Also, you mostly donât have to look at your own shirt. It wonât look back at you. What will look at you? This kitchen magnet bearing a William Henry Harrison portrait so pallid and smeary, it makes me feel like he died in an asylum fire.

Moving on to cleaner, fresher art, Zazzle offers this bumper sticker, at a price point that suggests itâll flop off in your next light rainfall.

No one wants this. Not just because itâs a bad product. Absolutely everyone disagrees with this. You see, weâve had at least several U.S. Presidents. One (Lincoln) was good. The others (Roosevelt, Obama, I want to say âJohnsmanâ?) had funny mustaches or cool dogs. So if you think the objectively worse one, who died right away, is the best one, you areâŚa Presidential assassin? And/or anarchist? âThe only good President is a dead Presidentâ is maybe too punk of an attitude. And you celebrate that punk-or-assassin attitude by celebrating no Presidents. A 31 day administration is 31 too many, if youâre the murderer I described.

This postcard is eerie as hell. It looks ordinary, but itâs a picture of William Henry Harrisonâs tomb. Zazzle suggests you buy a postcard from that location, without visiting that location. William Henry Harrison rots in North Bend, Ohio, which is also the birthplace of President Benjamin Harrison. Benjamin Harrison was William Henry Harrisonâs grandson. Theyâre the only Presidential grandfather/grandson duo. So, uh, you could write that on the back of the card? Thatâs all you can do with [checks Zazzle] Zazzleâs second-worst William Henry Harrison postcard.

This gift is the worst one, ish. Itâs called William Henry Harrison Baseball Card. But it is objectively a postcard:

Thatâs a lazy stock image. But by Zazzle Dot Com standards, it achieves the tremendous success of not slapping Harrisonâs image on an unsuspecting descendant of a Harrison victim. They didnât photoshop it onto Tecumsehâs grandkid or whoever. So, mini-win. Oh no. Zazzle probably calls a mini-win a ZINIWIN or some garbage. Anyway: whoever made this doesnât seem to have made other cards of the other Presidents. They made just one Presidential âbaseball cardâ, for William Henry Harrison. And theyâre even lazier about copying sports tropes. Look at the few letters on this card:

Why is there a random âWâ in there? Is it a tribute to George W. Bush, and his 96 consecutive Harrison Terms (1 month) in office? Nope. Itâs a âWâ for the Whig Party. But itâs done in a faulty fashion. Baseball cards often feature a small initialism, representing the playerâs position. âPâ for pitcher, âCâ for catcher, â1Bâ for the slow meathead. This card makes a vague gesture at that, but it does that letter for the political party. Not the position (President). The party, aka his team. âWhigsâ should be written in a fun team logo, not a stamped positional afterthought. They also skip the good part of a baseball card, which is the back of the baseball card. Baseball card backs are pretty much the origin of sports statistics. William Henry Harrison is lucky this one doesnât total his enslavements and murders. Heâs lucky about that in general. Heâs legitimately lucky he died. His all-time record for death immediacy is all anybody knows about him. Itâs the root of the one William Henry Harrison joke online, which one Zazzle product manages to not garble:

Hardy-har-har-he-died-fast. He also deserved to die fast and everyone who bought this has no idea. Donât buy these gifts for anyone. Remember to be better, and do better. Like an inspirational figure would do. âWhat would an inspirational figure do?â And to remind yourself of that timeless messageâŚtake it away, Poxco!

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