George Washington Zombie Slayer (11 page)

“It is time I headed home,” Jefferson stated.
“Back to Monticello.”

“Certainly not yet!”
Washington implored after being with his friend and teacher for so many months. “Let us breakfast together and discuss---“

“There is nothing to discuss,” Jefferson replied
curtly, as he tied on his last saddlebag.

“But my ninja training?”
Washington said.

“There is no more I can teach you,” Jefferson answered. “You
r skills are now equal to my own. Perhaps even greater.”

Washington was stunned
and honored to hear his Sensei say this.

“Certainly there must be more to learn?” Washington noted
.

“There is
always
more to learn,” Jefferson agreed. “But that is why we are both avid readers, George. We are lifelong learners.”

“I see,” Washington replied, his eyes filling slightly with tears.

“There is something else,” Jefferson said. “I have given it much thought, and it saddens me, but I am sure it is for the best.”

“What’s that?” Washington asked.

“It is not generally known that we are associates,” Jefferson stated. “We have seldom corresponded, and few know that we are friends.”

“That is true,” Washington said.

“I think it is best that, in the future, there be little official communication between us,” Jefferson continued. “I think it best that we conceal our relationship and our association.”

“But,
why?” Washington asked, somewhat stunned by his friend’s suggested disassociation. “Have I angered or dishonored you in some way?”

“No, not at all,” Jefferson replied. “You have been and ever shall be my friend, even though we part company here.” Jefferson reached out and put his hand on Washington’s shoulder. “But in the years to come, you and I shall both continue our covert raids against the British zombie soldiers
, independently.  We will continue to use our ninja skills in the fight against these dark creatures, you from your home in Mount Vernon, and I from Monticello.”

“We shall
continue the fight,” Washington agreed. “But—“

“But if the British should capture or kill one of us,” Jefferson continued, “the other might also be subj
ect to British arrest, by virtue of any known association between us.”

“I see,” Washington replied.

“For the sake of American liberty,” Jefferson continued, “and to preserve our ability to fight for freedom, we shall be strangers to all in the outside world.”

Ge
orge Washington was not an overly emotional man, but he embraced his friend Jefferson now with a hug of sincere, manly, non-homosexual love.  Washington could feel a tear rolling down his cheek as he embraced his friend. Following this emotional moment, Thomas Jefferson put his foot to the stirrup and climbed aboard the saddle of his horse for the long journey back to Monticello.

“You are one of the finest black men I have ever known,” Washington said. Then he stopped himself and corrected what he had just said. “No,” George Washington added. “You are one of the fine
st MEN I have ever known. Of any race.”

“
You make me proud and it has been my honor to train you,” Jefferson said, smiling at George’s revised comment. “You have learned much, my friend. Your skills as a ninja, as a soldier, as a statesman, and as a man, will be much needed in the future.  For I feel that, in the coming years, our conflict with the British must naturally lead to …a Revolutionary War!”

With a final wave good
bye, Jefferson spurred Trigger onward and headed off towards his own little mountain plantation of Monticello. But as he galloped away and parted company, a small tear also rolled down the cheek of Thomas Jefferson.

Chapter 27

The American Colonists are Additionally Fucked With

By the year of Our Lord 1767, the cost of imposing British rule and authority upon the snarky American Colonists was spiraling out of control, and the British government decided to take further action in the imposition of the Townshend Revenue Act. This Act imposed additional duties upon American consumer goods like tea, glass, paper and paint.

Colonists were exceedingly
and additionally outraged by what they called the “screwing tax” provision in the Townshend Revenue Act. It called for colonists to pay a tax for each and every incident of personal sexual contact. Not wanting to neglect any opportunity for revenue, the Act was worded in such a way as to tax nearly every type of copulation and sexual behavior.  Thus, as the Act stated, colonists were “
hereupon and by order of the King, assessed a three-shilling tax for each incident of rogering or general sexual release, to be paid by every person of age, upon the completion of said act with spouse, fiancé, sweetheart, friend, neighbor, maid, wash-woman, gardener, stranger, slave, and including, but not limited to hand, livestock or vegetable produce.”

Benjamin Franklin published a series of newspaper articles mocking and protesting the Townshend Act
Screwing Provision in Philadelphia newspapers using the pen name of a fictitious, bawdy, female prostitute named “Fanny Spied-Upon.” His bristling and mocking tone was regarded by some as treasonous and his articles were even shown to the King as an example of the rebellious attitude of American colonists.

Franklin (As Fanny) wrote:

My name is Fanny Spied-Upon, a name of jest and joke.

But
sure well-named I must have Ben, now taxed for every poke.

And as my arse is
taxable and monitored, to wit,

The
British King may soon decide to tax me for a shit!

It is in the Colonial reaction to the Townshend Act that the American Founding Fathers were born. Throughout the colonies, bold men of courage and conviction rose up and spoke out publicly against British taxational policy. Words which were heretofore only whispered in dark corners and secret meetings were now spoken in public. Words like freedom, tyranny, and even rebellion.

Reaction to the Townshend Act was especially hostile in the Boston, Massachusetts area and “patriotic” Bostonians rose up in public gatherings to vocally protest the new tax levies. John Hancock stated at one such town meeting that he felt the British King “may have his powdered wig on a bit too tightly.” Samuel Adams was more direct in his public comments, saying that “the King can blow me.”

By 1768, British troops moved directly into the City of Boston
as a result of the vehement protestations. The city of Boston was like a spring that was wound too tightly, straining for release. It was like a powder keg, filled with explosive force, and the British arrived to light the match. Boston was like an over-used volcano cliché, churning and building, longing to erupt in a burst of unoriginal literary comparison, ready to spew the hyperbolic lava of anger and resentment.

Chapter 28

The Boston Massacre

And so it came
to pass that by the year 1770, the population of the American colonies was flourishing and growing in size. This applied to both slave and free populations. While the white, free population of Colonial America had swelled to nearly 1,700,000, there were also nearly 500,000 blacks. In Virginia alone, about 35% of the population, or about 170,000 people, were enslaved blacks. Even in New York State, about 12% of the state population, about 25,000 people, were slaves.  And the British felt that this ever-increasing mob of rough-hewn black and white Colonials required careful management and adult supervision.

For George Washington, 1770 was a prosperous time. The Mount Vernon plantation and associated business ventures like weed and booze and wheat made a handsome yearly profit. Marijuana alone was his most profitable crop. Washington did encounter some weed distribution problems caused by conservative politicians who objected to drug sales in the southernmost colonies, until Washington re-categorized weed and hemp sales in those colonies as “Medical Marijuana.” In later months, as it was only available in Georgia and South Carolina by prescription, the volume of marijuana sales in those areas dipped. But as a licensed pharmaceutical, Washington could now charge a premium cost for joints and blunts and actually made larger profits in those states through the sale of weed as a “prescription” drug. And if the marijuana didn’t truly heal rheumatism and aching joints, as the packaging claimed, at least the user cared less about these conditions once high.

Although still lacking a child fathered-forth from his own loins, George was nonetheless pleased in both his personal and family life. George and his stepchildren grew closer with each passing year. George still adored his stepdaughter, young Martha, whom he called Patsy. She seemed to be in better health with the passing of years and had fewer of her epileptic fits. Even young Johnnie, still called Poopy by George, seemed to have fewer of his episodes of spontaneous shitting. The child was most usually feces-free, except when overly excited, like during the unfortunate episode at his most recent birthday party, which all in attendance preferred not to discuss. On the whole, however, the children were maturing and beloved.

Washington, using his ninja skills and training, continued to stage covert operations against the British zombie forces
, as did Jefferson and a handful of other founding fathers. Their actions provided a hindrance to the British military, whose occupying forces grew larger in size and strength.

By the year 1770,
Bostonians, like most American colonists, had endured quite enough of the fucking British.  “Redcoat” soldiers who occupied the city were the targets of regular name-calling and general harassment by the citizenry of Boston. A British soldier on patrol might be shouted at, called names, or even have rocks or stones thrown at him.  A soldier careless enough to leave some personal property unwatched or unattended might find his flintlock, his ammunition or items of clothing stolen by the meddlesome populace. Bostonians even took to emptying their chamber pots out street-side windows on, or directly in front of the patrolling Redcoats.

Previously, i
n 1768, in response to the Townshend Acts, the Massachusetts House of Representatives sent a petition to King George III, urging a repeal of the Acts. The Massachusetts House also sent letters to various other Colonial Assemblies, urging a resistance movement and the boycott of merchants selling affected goods.

In Britain, Lord Hillsborough,
a true asshole and the holder of the newly created position of “Colonial Secretary,” responded to the crisis by ordering American Colonial Governors to dissolve their representative assemblies. He also dispatched the 50-gun warship, the HMS Mitt Romney, which arrived in Boston in May of 1768, bearing additional British troops. In June of that year, the British seized John Hancock’s vessel “Liberty” on the allegation that it had been involved in smuggling.  Then in February 1770, an eleven year old boy named Christopher Seider, the child of German immigrants, was shot and killed by a customs employee during a public protest, an outrage which stoked the now-smoking embers of the rebellion. .

Although seldom recorded by history,
zombies were actually involved in the start of the incident which would be later named “The Boston Massacre.” On the night of March 5, 1770, a young wigmaker’s apprentice named Edward Garrick happened upon a few fully uniformed zombie soldiers that were being marched towards the Customs House on King Street for guard duty. Garrick began to openly mock the zombie troops as “deathly lookin’ pale, creepy Norwegians” and “sickly walkin’ corpses.” Garrick had no idea that these soldiers were truly dead.

A living
British private on duty there, Hugh White, hearing the uniformed zombies being verbally mocked, shouted out to young Garrick that he should be more respectful of the uniform of the British soldier. Garrick responded, saying that, “I am entirely respectful of the uniform, but it’s the cocksuckers wearin’ it that I’m opposed to!” This prompted White to strike Garrick in the head with the butt of his rifle.

The 6 zombie soldiers, aroused by the sight of blood, immediately moved upon Garrick and began to grab and jostle him.
Private White, to his credit, called additional living troops to the scene and saved Garrick from being bitten or devoured. The zombies were ushered quickly and discreetly into the Customs House but a crowd now gathered around the fallen and bleeding Garrick and Private White who had struck him.

British Captain Preston, observing the gathering crowd,
dispatched and an additional six armed “Redcoat” soldiers to the scene of the gathering crowd outside of the Customs House on Kings Street. The crowd grew ugly. They smelled bad. And their dental hygiene was poor as well. But the action that angered the British soldiers was that the crowd began to throw what they called “Freedom Flavored Snow Cones” at the British. Angry colonists would form a pile of tightly packed ice and snow balls on the ground, piss on them, and the hurl the frosted, urine-soaked projectiles at the angry Redcoats.

The Bostonians had
soon worked themselves into a frenzy as additional townsfolk joined the mob. Nannys and negroes, housewives and heralds, maids and merchants, sailors and scofflaws, all joined in the mob surrounding the British soldiers. By this time, the angry townsfolk were flinging anything at hand at the Redcoats. Soon the air was filled with rocks and stones, loose change, small pets, oysters and clams, brick-a brack, jewelry, dwarves, fish and lobster, assorted vegetables, and pee soaked snowballs. After many minutes of such pelting and abuse, one of the British soldiers was struck in the head by a flying dwarf, and knocked to the ground.

Although no order to fire was apparently given, several of t
he British soldiers began shooting into the angry crowd over the next few moments. The soldiers would later testify that they were in fear for their lives. Eleven people were shot, with three being killed instantly, with two more dying within the next day.

The crowd backed off to the adjoining side streets but refused to disperse, until Governor Hutchinson arrived, promising a full inquiry into the matter.
There was no further violence. Though Bostonians were outraged over this bloody attack, it was the public relations battle over blame for the attack that would continue in earnest.

In the days and weeks to come, the
British soldiers involved in the shootings were arrested and indicted for murder. Loyalist publications sprang forth, claiming that the soldiers acted properly, and were merely doing their duty to protect themselves from the violence of a mob assault. Revolutionary publications presented an alternate opinion, claiming nervous soldiers, in reckless disregard of the lives of Colonial Americans, fired well before any real threat existed.

And so what started as a conflict between an unruly mob and some isolated soldiers became a public relations war to assign blame and achieve accountability. And key in this PR war was Paul Revere who, essentially stealing another engravers image, published a dramatic depiction of the massacre that showed rows of British soldiers in parade formation, blasting away at peaceful colonists. Revere’s image became the most widely viewed and accepte
d account of the “massacre.”

Reports of the “massacre” in the streets of Boston spread quickly, though somewhat inaccurately, throughout the thirteen colonies. Although there were
several newspapers in nearly every large colonial city, the accuracy and validity of factual reporting in these publications was always in question. With no modern tools of communication, the transmission of news and information was slow, usually by boat or horseback. Reported facts, figures, witness statements, and official reports would often be biased, less than accurate, or often completely false.

As an avid foxhunter, George Washington’s favorite publication was called “Fox News,” a weekly newspaper which started life as a foxhunting publication but quickly expanded to include news, sports and weather.
  It tended to be a somewhat conservative leaning newspaper, often containing editorials with headlines such as: “Why America Still Needs Witch-Burning” and “Negro Slaves: Are They Truly Even Human?” 

Fox News often excused the inaccuracy of
its own weather forecasts with the editorial defense that, “as French scientist Laurent Lavoisier has not quite perfected the science of meteorology, a detailed and accurate forecast cannot yet be provided. Our weather forecast is our best guess. Please consult Poor Richard’s Almanac until further notice.”

The Fox
News headline of April 1770 was an attention-grabber, boldly declaring: “Hundreds Slain in ‘Boston Massacre’ as Murderous Redcoats Use Civilians for Target Practice!” The Fox News article called the British “fish and chip eating shitheads” and editorialized that, “sadly, the American colonies do not yet have their own liberal President to whom we can assign blame for this tragedy.” The publication later issued a “Fox News Alert” protesting British efforts to dissolve colonial assemblies, stating that “the idea of ordering the dissolution of representative colonial assemblies is as whacky as suggesting that a black man might one day hold political office.”

George Washington, like most individuals in colonial America, was outraged by the events surrounding the Boston Massacre, even after more accurate death totals were subsequently revealed. The very idea that armed British Redcoats could patrol city streets and then recklessly open fine upon unarmed civilians was simply abhorrent. The tide of public opinion was now strongly turning against the British and other colonials loyal to the British monarchy. British rule was becoming intolerable.

“You look as if the weight of the world were upon your shoulders, my husband,” said Martha Washington upon entering the Mount Vernon parlor where her husband sat in his favorite Lazy Boy recliner. She brought him a cup of tea, which he gratefully accepted to warm the chill of this early April morning.  “What troubles you, George?” she asked.

“It is not the weight of the world I feel upon me,” George Washington explained.
“But fear of the coming storm.” George Washington was a lover of metaphor.

“I didn’t hear of any storm,” Martha replied. “Have you been reading those Fox News weather reports again, George? You know that weather forecasting has not yet been invented.”

“No, No,” George replied. “The storm to which I refer is the storm which descends upon the colonies, upon the people. The storm of Revolution.”

There was a long moment of silence while Martha contemplated the meaning of her husband’s words. In her private moments, Martha Washington was frightened
at the possibility of a Revolutionary War, and of the part her husband might play in that conflict. But she also knew that he was a soldier, a statesman and a gentleman, and as such, much was expected of him.

“Do you think it will come to war?” Martha asked.

“I fear that it shall be like a fire in a great forest,” George replied. “One that starts with a few sparks and then grows and grows and grows to become an all-consuming inferno. And who emerges alive from the ashes?  Only the Lord God Almighty can know.”

“My goodness,” Martha exclaimed.

“The British have been heaping more and more abuses upon us. It’s like an underground geyser that is building in pressure,” George explained. “Building and building, growing ever stronger, until at long last it bursts forth into an unstoppable eruption!”

“I see,” Martha replied.

“Like snow upon a high mountain,” Washington explained. “Where it snows and snows, higher and deeper, building ever more snow upon the rocky slope, until at last, the force and weight of snow and ice is too great to bear, and it all comes roaring and crashing down in a powerful avalanche, sweeping away everything before it!”

“Yes,” Martha
Washington replied.

“Imagine, if you will, a long fuse on a really, really big bomb,” George Washington explained. “And that fuse is lit and then it burns and burns, burning slowly, but still burning, burning ever closer to the gunpowder…”

“Yes, I see,” Martha replied.

“And then,” George continued, “When that fuse has reached its end, when the spark becomes one with the powder, and then there is this huge, awesome, MASSIVE explosion, a big whooohhhhssss-BANG type of fireball, and LOUD, a real, you know, ka-BOOM type thing where it just explodes and -“