I’d Make a Better Husband than a Founding Father

 

If I ever became president, my head would be cut off at Mount Rushmore and strung from Washington’s nose like a Boggier. I would be too nice. I think Old Abe would be respectful; but Teddy Roosevelt would whisper under his breadth about how his stick was bigger.

I would wave at Thomas Jefferson as he wrote Liberty and Justice for all using one of his slaves’ back as a table. He’d get aggressive at my consideration for his personal well being and he’d end up stabbing several holes into the document with his quill pen.

I’d wave good mourning and probably get the stink eye from George Washington as he stumbled out of one of his brothels.

I’d have to marry an ugly woman, to keep the house of representatives from trying to build a revolving door around my wife.

I’d be committed only to my wife, loyal and humble towards what this life provided and try to live a life in peace and harmony with nature. Paul Revere would ride through the countryside claiming that I’m gay until I took him to court for defamation of character. I’d protest my Androgyny claiming that anything besides balance is homosexuality before running off to claim my innocence with Paul Reveres wife.

I guess you could say, I’m kinda like the Hindu God Shiva. I’m mostly easy going- relax, playing some sitar and enjoying the bliss of divine wisdom- until- somebody tries to take advantage of my kindness or use it as a weakness- than I go all Bodishivata before knocking Ben’s bifocals off his face. But more likely, I’d cross his path and taste his glove after wishing him a good mourning.

I’d be in a dual too the death after being pressured by Samuel Adams and John Hancock to drink some beers and smoke some of their homegrown Cannabis- than get sent off into the line of fire with a dissembled pistol and a damn near fresh empty jug of homemade moonshine and opium peach cider.

If I was lucky. I would be kept hidden in the past, left in the shadows from the Rock Star Founding Fathers. I’d still be a bad ass. I simply wouldn’t get any credit for it. I’d talk about trying something new- have my ideas spun into negatives- and forced to stand in the corner facing the wall with my dunce cap.

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