“President Hancock!”

“What is it, Jenkins? We’re signing the Declaration of Independence.”

“Is it August 2nd already?’

“Its July the 4th, you nincompoop.”

“Ah. We’re using the children’s story version of events.”

“Of course, Jenkins. We’re Americans.”

“Not yet, sir”

“Jenkins, you scruffy buffoon, what is the meaning of your interruption?

“Well, sir, here’s the thing: are we sure this a good idea?”


“Maybe we’re not ready to be on our own.”

“Balderdash, Jenkins!”

“What if we make terrible decisions, sir? I’m not saying we shouldn’t be an independent country, but perhaps we should wait a little bit.”

“How long is ‘a little bit?'”

“Let’s give it another 300 years.”

“Jenkins, are you a dipsomaniac?”

“No, sir.”

“Enslaved by St. Vitus’ Dance?”

“No, sir.”


“I have no old-timey diseases, sir.”

“Then what in the name of the Father are you on about? We’re signing this declaration today. I brought my special quill with me. Look how big it is.”

“Very big, sir.”

“Plucked it off the ostrich myself.

“It is an enormous quill, President Hancock.”

“Sam Adams brought beer for everyone. Bitter-tasting bullshit, but still: free beer.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Plus, we have to get Ben Franklin out of here. That pervert’s knickers are coming off any second.”


“And they’re off. Jenkins, you are a bothersome little nitwit.”

“Yes, sir. Are you sure we can’t just wait out King George?”

“He doesn’t die until 1820, Jenkins. Have you eve heard of Ye Olde Wikipedia?”

“Sir, maybe we can be a Commonwealth. Like Canada or Australia.”

“Neither of those places exist yet, dummy.”

“Think twice about this, sir.”

“We left the thinking up to Jefferson, Jenkins. Now shut up and help me lift my quill. I’m going to sign my name so large that King George will be able to read it with his testicles! Write that down and tell people I said it, Jenkins.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Maybe clean it up a bit.”

“Will do, sir.”