George Washington Zombie Slayer (4 page)

   
Chapter 7

Acts of British Parliament

The American Colonies were in an unfortunate position in the year 1765. While most “Americans” regarded themselves as Englishmen, the sad truth was that they lacked the real and true rights of English citizens. Especially objectionable to these colonists was the fact that they were unable to elect representatives to a British Parliament that was authorized to impose taxes upon them.

Thus, American colonists were subject to taxation without representation.

The British Parliament was greedy and hungry for income to support an English government burdened by ever-growing expenses. Certainly, English citizens at home were unwilling to pay higher taxes themselves. And they were unwilling to pay for large numbers of military troops commanded by politically connected officers in patronage positions.

But those same troops, some 10,000 strong, could very easily be viewed as necessary to the
“safety” of the American colonies, which were deemed by Parliament to need “protection.” And the cost of this military protection would fall upon the colonists themselves, who reaped the harvest of safety and security from these unwanted troop deployments. So Parliament decided British troops would be deployed in America, and that the American colonists would pay for them.

George Washington first learned of his new tax obligation while reading his favorite business
publication, the Virginia Slave Owners Quarterly, and he was angry. By an Act of Parliament, a “sugar tax” was to be imposed on every person and business that
produced
sugar products, and upon every person or business that
purchased
sugar products. It was in essence a “double tax,” because it taxed sugar as it was grown and processed, and once again as it was purchased by the consumer.

And not just sugar. The tax was also imposed on honey, chocolates, candies, mints, and lollies (a queer English word for “sweetstuffs,” whatever the hell those were). Additionally, the sugar tax was imposed upon artificial sweeteners like aspartame,
Nutra Sweet, Equal, Splenda, and even Sweet and Low, a company that had produced artificial sweeteners since 1757.

   
              Parliament even went so far as to apply a one cent tax upon “sugary expressions of sweetness” such as when a man referred to his wife as honey, sweetie or sugar.  And a two-cent tax was imposed on the use of the term “Sweetheart.”

As he fumed over his new tax obligations, i
t was at that moment that the slave Reebock entered Washington’s study to announce the arrival of a visitor, who Washington had directed Reebock to bring in.

“The Honorable Benjamin Franklin of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania,” Reebo
ck said.

Franklin walked towards Washington and the two exchanged a firm
, warm handshake, followed by a heartfelt hug and embrace. The two were old friends, although they had not seen each other for several years.

“Benny
, my good friend,” Washington said to his guest.

“It’s g
ood to see you again ‘G,’ ” Franklin replied. “It’s been too long.”

“Please have a seat,”
Washington said, motioning his friend forward.

The two men took a seat in comfortable padded chairs by the f
ireplace and each grabbed a smoking pipe and a glass of whiskey from the tray Reebock held before them.

Benj
amin Franklin was a short, stout, tea-kettle of a man with the top of his balding head ringed by a circumference of long, stringy hair around the sides and back of his head. He wore a long, brown frock coat, which Reebock had taken at the door. He was somewhat advanced in age, as evidenced by the spectacles perched on the end of his nose, although he appeared quite fit. He carried a silver capped oak walking stick in his right hand.

George Washington and Benjamin Franklin
were friends for many years, ever since an incident many years ago in New York City.  History records that the two were carousing with a small group of friends in an alehouse called the Blue Mule’s Nutsack, when some drunken whaling sailors had taken a decidedly un-hetero liking to the curvaceous Franklin with his long hair and fine, silk knickers.

As the drunken assault against Franklin began, the drinking buddies all
ran for the nearest exit. All fled, except George Washington, who stood fast and ready to assist Franklin during the confrontation. Franklin simply grabbed his walking stick and proceeded to give the four sailors a good thrashing, saving himself from a near certain onslaught of moby dick.

 
“I received your open invitation to visit several months ago and happened to be in Virginia this week on …business,” Franklin explained.

“Your business ha
s resulted in my pleasure,” Washington replied.  “It’s my honor to be visited by one of the colonies greatest scientists, inventors and statesmen.”

“And
my
honor, indeed,” Franklin said, “to be so highly thought of by one of Virginia’s finest citizens. But I am no statesman,” Franklin grumbled. “I was just recently defeated in my effort to be elected to the Pennsylvania Assembly.” Franklin said sadly. “Politics is a dirty business.”

“Indeed, so,” Washington agreed. “Was it a difficult contest?”

“My opponent disparaged my character in a most shameful manner,” Franklin said angrily, but gaining some catharsis from discussion of the matter. “He said I was a pawn of the English, and that I had been careless with government funds,” Franklin fumed. “He later alleged I was fucking my maid as well as various prostitutes on the side,” he added. “When he was finished blaspheming me, he had painted me as an irresponsible, lecherous, senile, diseased, corrupt, crack-smoking, child molesting, gambling addict and drunkard.

“A dirty business, indeed,” Washington observed.

“It’s just as well,” Franklin concluded, “for I am content with my printing, my inventions, and my scientific experiments.”

“I have read of your great works and inventions, like your Franklin stove,” Washington admitted.  “And is it true that you have
even invented an artificial breast implant for surgical insertion into a woman’s chest, which will allow her to have larger hooters?”

“Aye, ‘tis true,” said Franklin smiling.
“It was my hope in creating my ‘breast implants’ that I might allow
every
woman to have the benefits of a fulsome bosom for the enjoyment of her husband. But it has met with only limited success,” Franklin confessed. “I have found that, although my artificial implants created a larger and more shapely breast, the solid mahogany hardwood used in the insertion was perhaps too… firm to the touch, and carried with much discomfort by the dutiful wives.”

“Ah,” Washington cringed.

“But my other experiments have met with greater success,” Franklin said proudly. “And I am even now researching and designing experiments with electricity.”

“Truly amazing,” Washington exclaimed.  “Electricity!” he repeated.  “Why, I sometimes feel that the American colonists could tame nature itself, were we not harassed and interfered with.”

“Ah, you mean harassed by the fucking British,” Franklin suggested.

“Aye, Benny
,” Washington exclaimed, handing Franklin his copy of the article regarding the Sugar Tax. “Can you believe this shit? A fucking tax on sugar!”

“I’m afraid that’s old news,” Franklin said sadly. “And I have some even worse news as well. Parliament has also imposed a new
‘Stamp Tax’ upon the American colonies!”

“Oh
, fuck me! “ Washington exclaimed. “I’m almost afraid to ask. Does it tax our postage?”

“Oh it
’s far worse than that,” Franklin reported. “It requires all goods and property and merchandise within the colonies to have a special stamp of British taxation applied directly to each item of property.” Franklin explained. “So all goods, all merchandise, all newspapers and magazines, and all property must now display a properly authorized taxation stamp. And of course,” he added, “there is a small fee charged for each stamp.”

“Oh that’s bullshit!” Washington said. “So we have to buy tax stamps to be affixed to everything we own?”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much what the Stamp Act says,” Franklin admitted.

“British fucktards!
” said George Washington.

“Fuck
tards, indeed,” replied Benjamin Franklin. “The question is G,” Franklin asked, “what are we going to do about it?”

“Well right now,” Washington said, “
I’m stressed, and I’m going to smoke a little of this.”  He grabbed a small clay pipe from the table in front of him and a cellophane bag full of some green herb.  “This is Mount Vernon’s finest Queen Gungi Weed,” Washington said, filling and lighting his pipe, and handing the bag to his friend.

Franklin filled and lit his own pipe and took a long, slow, deep inhalation. “Oh, Christ this is some fine, fine shit,” Franklin co
ncluded. “Weed and booze are proof God loves us.”

And so the two old friends sat in George Washington’s parlor
for an hour, smoking weed and trying to chill out their stress over the fucking British.

 
Chapter 8

Slaves in Conference

The four slaves owned longest by George Washington were Beyonce, Oprah, Denzel and LL Cool J. All had worked at the Ferry Farm plantation when Washington was a young boy, when they were not much older than he. Secretly self-educated but fiercely loyal, these slaves were actually trusted by Washington in a way that most slaves never were.

Oprah and Beyonce, the two main “house” slaves, were in charge of the main house at the Mount Vernon estate, an
d actually supervised over twenty domestic and kitchen slaves.

Denzel and LL Cool J wo
rked the stables and plantation grounds, and supervised over one hundred farm, labor and stable slaves. Although Mr. Kindly was the Slave Overseer, and was technically in charge of all the slaves, he rarely interceded in operational matters at the plantation unless corrective discipline was required. In reality, the four slaves who sat this evening in the basement of the Mount Vernon main house were the slaves who handled the day to day operation of the plantation.

“Several of the crossbeams of the main stable have rotted due in insect infestation and the corrosive effects of water infiltration,” Denzel said. “I
’m really concerned about the structural integrity of the stable roof with the weakened supports, but I pointed out the problem to Mister Washington this morning.”

“Was he very angry?” Oprah asked.

“No, not at all,” Denzel stated. “Why should he be angry?”

“Well he was in a bad mood after breakfast this morning,” Oprah said softly. “
It seemed that he and the Mrs. Washington had that same argument again. She is still not yet pregnant.”

“Of course you know,” Beyonce said, “that Mister Washington had a case of smallpox years ago, which nearly killed him.
And it is well established that an individual with a history of smallpox might have fertility issues, and might even become infertile as a result of the disease.”

“They do not assign blame to each other,”
Oprah said. “But inter-marital conflict is often inevitable when a couple fails to achieve pregnancy and childbirth in this socio-economic climate, where the production of offspring is the main function of the marital union.”

“Well my concern,” LL Cool J began,
“is that Mister Washington has become increasingly stressed in recent weeks and his health seems to be suffering as a result.”

“Well it’s a fact,” Denzel stated, “that psychological stress can have a detrimental effect
on an individual’s physical health, and fertility, especially when the stress is persistent and ongoing.”

“I think the best thing we can do at present,” Oprah said, “is to maintain an effective and efficient support system at the plantation, so as to minimize the stress related to daily operational matters. “ Denzel, LL Cool J and Beyonce all nodded in assent.

At just that moment, Reebok came running into the basement and called for help.

“Mister Washington’s guest Mister Franklin
dropped his weed pipe on the parlor carpet, and it started a small fire!”  Reebok exclaimed.

Jumping back into their slave personas, the four
rushed upstairs. Denzel and LL Cool J ran to the nearby well to fetch buckets of water, while Oprah and Beyonce ran directly into the parlor.  Washington and Franklin were stomping their feet on the burning carpet, kicking up hot embers with each step.

“Lordy
, O’ Sweet Jesus, Lordy be!” Oprah shouted, running into the parlor and waving her arms frantically. “Stop yer stompin, ’Massah George,” Oprah implored. With quick thinking, she grabbed a large vase from the center table and pulled the fresh flowers from the vase, throwing them to the floor. Then she took the vase, filled with water, and emptied the water upon the smoking carpet. In a moment, the perilous crisis of fire was resolved.

“Is you all OK
, Massa George?” Beyonce asked. “And you, Sir?” she asked Franklin.

“Yes, Beyonce, we are fine,
” Washington replied. “Thank you.”

Just then
, Denzel and LL Cool J entered with buckets of water. Oprah told them to pour additional water on the smoking rug, and to roll it up and carry it outside.

“Now you and Missah Franklin need to don
e git outta here while we get to a-cleanin’ up dis here mess!” Beyonce said, shoving both Washington and Franklin out the door of the study. “Go fer a nice walk out by da river,” she suggested.

“I’m so sorry,” Franklin said again to b
oth Washington and the slaves, “for causing you all this trouble.”

“Now y
ou don’t done worry ‘bout dat,” Beyonce said to the two men. “You just clear outta her and we’ll clean up dis here smoky mess.”