Thoughts On The Dead

Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

Heading To The In-Laws

PLYMOUTH, MASACHUSETTS – 1621

“The Wakkaflakkaflames?”

“The Wampanoag, James.”

“The Wookienoogies?”

“You’re doing it on purpose.”

“I am, Constance. I don’t see why we have to eat with these…savages.”

“They’re our neighbors now.”

“They’re heathens!”

“James, we’re Pilgrims. We think everyone’s a heathen.”

“Well, they are some heathenistic heathens. They heathe it up!”

“The verb form of ‘heathen’ is not ‘heathe.'”

“Don’t correct me in front of the children. Where are the children?”

“Dead.”

“All of them?”

“Yes.”

“We picked an awful time to have kids.”

“The 17th century?”

“The past in general. We should have waited until, oh, 1980 or so.”

“Tactical error on our part. Put on your pants.”

“I don’t want to. Tell me again why we’re eating with these animals.”

“Because they have food, James. Because they’ve figured out how to live in this godforsaken wilderness and we’re gnawing on our shoes for nutrition. Maybe if we’re nice to them, they’ll teach us how to cultivate our crops in this new soil.”

“We know how to farm.”

“We know how to farm in England. How are we doing over here?”

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Some of the fields are a bit sparser than one would prefer.”

“Well, except for the cemetery. That’s getting pretty full.”

“These savages have nothing to teach us, Constance. Once this cold snap is over, we’ll have so much food we won’t know what to do with it.”

“Cold snap?”

“Yes.”

“Do you mean winter?”

“How bad could it be?”

“Squanto said there would be four months of sub-zero temperatures and 20-foot high drifts of snow.”

“I’m not listening to Squanto. He’s a race-baiter.”

“James, we are going to eat with the Indians. We are going to be nice to them. We are going to get them to teach us how to find food.”

“We should have stayed in Holland.”

“They threw us out of Holland, jackass. They threw us out of everywhere, which is why we’re here in the middle of nowhere starving to death. How are your shoes?”

“What? My shoes?”

“Your shoes. What kind of condition are they in?”

“I could probably visit the cobbler.”

“Uh-huh. Do we have a cobbler, James?”

“No.”

“No. What do we have?”

“Preachers, large hats, and dead children.”

“Right. But the Indians have shoes, right?”

“I’m not wearing moccasins. I’d rather go barefoot. Jesus went barefoot.”

“He did not. He wore sandals. He was famous for wearing sandals. Plus–and this is important, James–he lived where it was warm. It’s gonna be 20 below zero in two weeks.”

“The Lord will provide.”

“He did. He sent the Wampanoag.”

“Stop talking back to me or I’ll tell everyone you’re a witch.”

“James, you’re gonna be polite. Period, end.”

“Counter-offer.”

“What?”

“I pretend to be polite, learn all of their ways, and then, when there are more of us, slaughter every last one of them.”

“That’s fine, too.”

“Happy First Thanksgiving, Constance.”

“Why would we call it that?”

“Shut up, witch.”

2 Comments

  1. Aleppo aside…this be your masterpiece.

  2. Luther Von Baconson

    November 24, 2017 at 12:18 pm

    … — …

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