For some reason that I can't put my finger on I've been in a rather nostalgic mood lately. I've been looking at old pictures, high school yearbooks, and the size 1 Levi's that I will never, ever be able to wear again unless denim socks suddenly come into fashion. I've contemplated my family history and examined letters and trinkets that have been passed down through the generations. I'm guessing all of this means that either 1) I have a wicked case of PMS and am looking for reasons to cry or b) I'm going to die at any moment.
Throughout the course of this geneological introspection I've reacquainted myself with some of my more colorful ancestors. There was poor old great-great-whatever grandmother who got thoroughly hosed during the Salem Witch Trials and ended up being a very unfortunate statistic. There was my great-mumble-great grandfather, a captain of the Missouri troops in the Mexican American War, a man whose regal picture was inscribed with Died a Glorious Death, a man who I was sure perished in tragic fashion while defending the Alamo or something as glamorous, because Oh My God he died a glorious death! Glorious! I found out later that the poor bastard died of chronic diarrhea. No less a hero, but slightly less "glorious," I'd say.
There was also some goof who was a rather scandalous member of the British House of Lords. I have no idea what the qualifications are for such a position, and while I could research it I would rather spend my time smoking cigarettes. You guys are on your own here. Anyway, considering what's been written about him I'm pretty sure the requirements couldn't have been particularly stringent. He never really accomplished much in the capacity of legislator or representative, but this fool sure did manage to make his mark. According to newspaper clippings that I've read, one day he made his big grand goddamn entrance in the House of Lords carried on one of those fancy stretcher things (I don't know what they're called, but think Egyptian) carried by four "Nubian" gentlemen, eating grapes and wearing "nothing but a blue powdered wig." Fucker was carried into the House of Lords eating fruit naked with blue hair. God.
This is the stock from which I come, you guys. Normally I wouldn't give Mr. Nudie Blue Hair Grape Lover a second thought since it happened a couple hundred years ago, but after a few tequila slammers I'd probably do the naked, grape-eating, blue-wigged thing too. The moron thread runs deep and thick through my family tapestry. That is one of the reasons why I will never procreate. I'm doing it for all of mankind, y'all. Some genes shouldn't be passed on.
Your children will thank me.
Throughout the course of this geneological introspection I've reacquainted myself with some of my more colorful ancestors. There was poor old great-great-whatever grandmother who got thoroughly hosed during the Salem Witch Trials and ended up being a very unfortunate statistic. There was my great-mumble-great grandfather, a captain of the Missouri troops in the Mexican American War, a man whose regal picture was inscribed with Died a Glorious Death, a man who I was sure perished in tragic fashion while defending the Alamo or something as glamorous, because Oh My God he died a glorious death! Glorious! I found out later that the poor bastard died of chronic diarrhea. No less a hero, but slightly less "glorious," I'd say.
There was also some goof who was a rather scandalous member of the British House of Lords. I have no idea what the qualifications are for such a position, and while I could research it I would rather spend my time smoking cigarettes. You guys are on your own here. Anyway, considering what's been written about him I'm pretty sure the requirements couldn't have been particularly stringent. He never really accomplished much in the capacity of legislator or representative, but this fool sure did manage to make his mark. According to newspaper clippings that I've read, one day he made his big grand goddamn entrance in the House of Lords carried on one of those fancy stretcher things (I don't know what they're called, but think Egyptian) carried by four "Nubian" gentlemen, eating grapes and wearing "nothing but a blue powdered wig." Fucker was carried into the House of Lords eating fruit naked with blue hair. God.
This is the stock from which I come, you guys. Normally I wouldn't give Mr. Nudie Blue Hair Grape Lover a second thought since it happened a couple hundred years ago, but after a few tequila slammers I'd probably do the naked, grape-eating, blue-wigged thing too. The moron thread runs deep and thick through my family tapestry. That is one of the reasons why I will never procreate. I'm doing it for all of mankind, y'all. Some genes shouldn't be passed on.
Your children will thank me.
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