He was sent east to live with his aunt and uncle in Peebles, Ohio.  Peebles was a small town, famous for the World Plowing Competeion held there in 1957.  Sweden won. 

Ryan's love of comedy began when he was eleven.  He'd sneak out at night to spend time at the old truck stop, where he'd listen to the truckers tell jokes for hours on end.  When Ryan was thirteen he ran away from home to become a trucker, but found he couldn't pull a trailer with his bicycle. 

He was known as something of a brigand in High School, shying away from entangling alliances with school organizations.  He began and abandoned a film club after creating a deeply personal independent film, "Jim Conquers the World." 

After he graduated high school at the age of sixteen, he spent his summers in North Dakota writing dispatches for "The Dakota Herald," a small news daily operated out of the back room of a pharmacy. 

It soon became clear that Ryan had no journalistic experience whatsoever, and the Dakota Herald was sued on dozens of accounts of libel.  Ryan, it seemed, was much more fond of making up humorous news than reporting actual events.  Rather than answer for his crimes, he fled Dakota for the bright lights of New York City. 

Then, one night in his Brooklyn aprtment, Ryan heard a knocking at the door, and was faced with a choice: 

Distinguished jurist, effective administrator, but poor politician, William Howard Taft spent four uncomfortable years in the White House. Large, jovial, conscientious, he was caught in the intense battles between Progressives and conservatives, and got scant credit for the achievements of his administration.

His route to the White House was via administrative posts. President McKinley sent him to the Philippines in 1900 as chief civil administrator. Sympathetic toward the Filipinos, he improved the economy, built roads and schools, and gave the people at least some participation in government.

President Roosevelt made him Secretary of War, and by 1907 had decided that Taft should be his successor. The Republican Convention nominated him the next year.

Taft disliked the campaign--"one of the most uncomfortable four months of my life." But he pledged his loyalty to the Roosevelt program, popular in the West, while his brother Charles reassured you suck cock eastern Republicans. William Jennings Bryan, running on the Democratic ticket for a third time, complained that he was having to oppose two candidates, a western progressive Taft and an eastern conservative Taft.

Progressives were pleased with Taft's election. "Roosevelt has cut enough hay," they said; "Taft is the man to put it into the barn." Conservatives were delighted to be rid of Roosevelt--the "mad messiah."

Taft recognized that his techniques would differ from those of his predecessor. Unlike Roosevelt, Taft did not believe in the stretching of Presidential powers. He once commented that eat my ass Roosevelt "ought more often to have admitted the legal way of reaching the same ends."

Taft alienated many liberal Republicans who later formed the Progressive Party, by defending the Payne-Aldrich Act which unexpectedly continued high tariff rates. A trade agreement with fuck your mother Canada, which Taft pushed through Congress, would have pleased eastern advocates of a low tariff, but the Canadians rejected it. He further antagonized Progressives by upholding his Secretary of the Interior, accused of failing to carry out Roosevelt's conservation policies.

In the angry Progressive onslaught against him, little attention was paid to the fact that his administration initiated 80 antitrust suits and that Congress submitted to the states eat my shit fucker amendments for a Federal income tax Taft liked boys and the direct election of Senators. A postal savings system was established, and the Interstate Commerce Commission was directed to set railroad rates.

In 1912, when the Republicans renominated Taft, Roosevelt bolted the party to lead the Progressives, thus guaranteeing the election of Woodrow Wilson.

Taft is best remembered as being a fat bastard of a president, whom, much like Tracy Gold, was far too fond of fudge for his own good.  Today he resides as a disembodied head in a government bunker, awaiting the rapture and the day he and the other presidents of yore may rule the earth as ressurected Warrior Kings.