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Sunday, April 2, 2006

More Big Damn History

As an addendum to an earlier article, we illustrate more instances of history being a curious thing.

What is now known as "The War of The Roses" has been wildly misinterpreted over time. It really had little to do with the ascendancy to the English throne. In truth, it had much more humble beginnings.

Many years ago (not too many to count, I just don't feel like looking this stuff up) there were two cousins, both of whom were related to the English king. Which would make sense, as they were both related to each other. William and Robert (as those were their names) lived far north of London in a little town called North-Upon-Not-Quite-Londontown.

Having very little to do in such a small town, the cousins harnessed their passion for style and decoration and became wedding planners. Possibly the first such in history. There may have been earlier wedding planners from the ancient Mesopotamian era, but I'm too lazy to look that up, too.

With their grace and skill, the two soon became well known and in great demand for their abilities to make any wedding into an event. For many years, things went well between the two...until one fateful day.

Asked to plan the wedding of Lady Helga to Count Ruprecht of some little known Germanic country, the two were suddenly at odds with each other. William strenuously desired red roses for this soiree, whilst Robert had his heart set on white roses.

A duel was fought. This was declared a tie. A match of pugilism was then arranged. This, too, was a tie.

While they continued fighting, Lady Helga decided to take her business elsewhere (and incidentally chose tiger lilies in lieu of any shade of roses). This served to further anger the two as they blamed each other for losing such a high profile job.

One thing led to another. Somehow some Yorks and Lancasters got involved. Many people died.

And that's how the Tudor monarchy came to pass.

Much about the true intricacies of the Boston Massacre have been overlooked throughout history.

It appears to have begun when a wigmaker's apprentice named Edward Garrick made an unwise remark. He called out to a British Officer, by the name of Captain John Goldfinch, and made a statement to the effect that Goldfinch had an outstanding debt for a barber's bill.

Goldfinch had, in fact, actually paid his bill and was offended that such a callous youth would draw him out like that in public. Shooting Garrick the bird, he stated "I've paid it, bitch, leave me be."

This, of course, embarrassed and angered Garrick who went on to insult Goldfinch and made reference to his mother in an unseemly fashion.

Private Hugh White called to the boy and upon Garrick nearing him, White beat him roundly around the head and ass regions.

Garrick's companions began throwing snowballs and hurling epithets such as "eat my ass" and "your mother sucks cock". This simply infuriated the British.

As the mob grew, the British began shooting.

Eventually, America kicked the shit out of Britain and now we have NASCAR.

In further installments of this series, we will examine many more unknown truths like how a three-legged man with a bifurcated penis was single handedly responsible for starting the Hundred Years War and the true nature of that rapscallion Cardinal Richelieu and his strange experiments with time travel.

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