Sorry, but I can’t respect any politician who doesn’t have the guts to declare himself emperor for life.
Aged bronze really brings out my beautiful eyes.
Some have called Marcus Junius Brutus a defender of the Republic, a tragic and noble hero who paid the ultimate price for his brave actions on the Ides of March, when he and his fellow conspirators assassinated my uncle, Julius Caesar.
Please. He was opportunistic, traitorous dickhead whose entire career was based on switching sides when it suited his best interests. This is a guy who aligned himself with Pompey during the Civil War. That would be the same Pompey who killed Brutus’s own father during the rebellion of Lepidus.
When the shit finally hit the fan, and Caesar ultimately kicked everyone asses, Brutus humbly accepted the pardon that Caesar so generously bestowed upon him, and returned to Rome. How did he repay my great uncle and adopted father? With an act so heinous and cowardly that it can only be defined the most literal interpretation of backstabbing ever recorded.
Let’s just say that in the end, history has been much kinder to Brutus than I was. The Battle of Philippi was just about the sweetest revenge I ever tasted. Today, when people hear my name, they think of Rome’s Golden Age – while his name merely conjures up images of a bearded villain from Popeye cartoons. Oh snap!
What can I say, we didn’t have sharks in Rome.
Because it’s named after the greatest emperor of all.
During his lifetime George Washington was frequently compared to the ancient Roman dictator Cincinnatus for willingly relinquishing an enormous amount of power following the defeat of the British in the Revolutionary War (hence the above sculpture by Giuseppe Ceracchi). And while I certainly never gave up an ounce of authority during my rule, it turns out that Washington and I had a lot more in common than you might think.
We have both been referred to as the father of our countries.
We both owned slaves.
We both had bad teeth.
We both had dickheads for stepsons.
We both look magnificent on coins.
We both enjoyed long walks on the beach.
I told the Greeks the very same thing over 2,000 years ago. Unfortunately they were content to watch a bunch of naked guys throwing discs and sprinting.
Wife number three, Livia Drusilla. Or as I liked to call her, Sugar Tits. It’s been speculated by some historians that she poisoned me in 14 A.D. Maybe she did. But hey, I was 77 years old and had ruled Rome for over 40 glorious decades. Besides, it beats the embarrassment being publicly assassinated by your own troops/senators like so many of the dumbasses that followed me. Either way, I still love ya babe.