Townhall Historical Documents

[DesertFox]

An amazing array of historical documents:

http://www.townhall.com/documents/

[Wyatt_Junker]

Lemmee lechya in onna lil' secret. Sometimes when I get tossed, I start in on preambles and such or I'll get kinda Lincolnesque:

"Four score and seven years ago (hic)our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation(hic), conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition(hic) that all men are created equal...and shit like that right there."

And when I get real good-n-drunk, then I pretend I'm an esquire and fit my vocabulary with tons o' wherewiths and where art thous. I might even break out my high-collar'd puffy shirt with lattice-like swashbuckle cuffs and pound an imaginary podium. Then, I'll get out my pilgrim shoes with sidebuckle and matching bodice and stumble into the garage and paint my face red with a Magic Marker HiLiter Pen and shout obscenities at my cat.

Its my own lil' personal, self esteem booster kit.

And now I know where to go to get more verbal ammo when I'm high as a kite.

[DesertFox]

You gotsa powdered wig, Wyatt? You cain't do a decent -- or even indecent -- impersonation of a Founder without no powdered wig, dude.

And boils. On the face. Open, running boils with yucky white-yeller stuff oozing out. No fewer than one nor more than three -- in those days if you had more than three boils on yer face they threw you in the stocks before burning you at the stake-n-ail.

And baggy trousers. None of these form-fitting pantaloons, boyo. And none of the modern saggy baggies where yer arse shows. No, these have to start out as form-fitting, and then get streeeeeeetched over the years from continual use day in and day out. By the time they get properly baggy they stand in the corner on their own. The sweat in them's so old and nasty that cholera germans can't survive there. Rabies virus flee the county. No AIDS applicants even need apply.

[Wyatt_Junker]

And v.d., and gangrene limbs, and gum rot, and nerve damage, and interminable scratching, and a mental demon, and soggy toe, and anemia, and racing heart, and palpatations, and insanity due to familial relations(rich blood), and furry tongue, and welded fingers, and an assignment to the attic, and ratciocinations, and hideous tumor, and lead poisoning, and lazy drifting eye...

I think it was all caused by the pretty, bejewled snuff boxes. G Washington laying a nice line into the crook of his wrist and playing bloodhound, as his eyes rolled up into his head like slot machine pomegranates, and his toes curled like ivory husks as he knelt on the purple, royal hassock.

The dude never brushed his molars. And he stuck his peter into foul wimmin who never bathed. A sordid existence. Buckets full of shit tossed from third story balconettes onto the cobblestone below, which fortunately acted as a kind of miniature trestle keeping you slightly aloft from the trickle. Steam and wet piles. The plague; an apocalyptic Biblical jockey with the build of Calista Flockhart barfing up cream puffs.

Even B. Franklin, played with childrens' toys in wet weather. Boy was mad. It'd be like a homeless vagrant with an END IS NEAR sign playin' wit his yoyo in a hurricane. Or like solving a Rubic's Cube, calmly, during an earthquake. Benny had such focus. A hobbyist with a lightning fetish.

Knickerbock-wearin' preppies, with ruffled shirts and exaggerated cuffs like curtains. Big pimp-like doily collars like some kind of 1970's nightclub doorman. Beehive wigs like the B-52's. Drinking tea with your pinky in a perfect erection. Syphillis like the common cold. Insanity a close cousin. Rubbing bleach onto your skin like Jacko so that you can get that hip, translucent look going, and then off to the local bloodletter to get a nice drain.

To be an FF, the credentials were quite high I can assure you.