Millard Fillmore

We were staying at the Drake Hotel

for our fourteenth anniversary,

which seemed like a romantic idea to me,

but of course, my husband was unimpressed.

He fell asleep watching TV,

but at 3:00 a.m., I was wide awake.

I wandered down the hallway,

barefoot, wearing an old t-shirt and shorts,

searching for a vending machine,

when I encountered Millard Fillmore.

Yes, the President Millard Fillmore,

about whom, I’m sure, you know nothing.

Part of the reason you can’t remember

anything about Millard Fillmore

is that he discovered how to travel through time,

and he keeps changing things accidentally.

Anyway, I ran into Millard Fillmore,

and by way of introduction, he handed me

a bloody Chinese star and told me

there was no time to lose.

There was an old wooden treasure chest,

hidden somewhere in the building,

and we needed to find it

before Sigmund Freud could.

The father of modern psychology

was at one point a close companion of President Fillmore

on his time-traveling journeys

but was now Fillmore’s sworn enemy forever more.

“Be very careful, young lady,” Millard cautioned.

“He can read minds.”

“Wow,” I replied, “I thought that was all symbolic.”

Suddenly, a well-dressed Viennese gentleman

with a closely trimmed white beard

appeared at the end of the corridor.

He was holding a small chest

made of rotting wood in both hands.

“We’re too late!” the President cried in despair.

I threw my Chinese star at the psychoanalyst.

He used the power of transmogrification

to turn it into a large banana,

which fell flaccidly and disappointingly on the floor.

Millard charged bravely at Sigmund,

his former ally, now his nemesis,

but tripped over the limp, bruised banana at his feet,

and anyway, that’s why we call it a Freudian slip.