However, the Moron's Almanac has hundreds of British subscribers, and I have no desire to alienate them with the righteous Anglophobic rant that served as the first draft of this Almanac.  In this second draft I have therefore elected to include, in parallel to my righteous Anglophobic rant, a little British history...  specifically, that of Henry VIII.   To ensure its integrity, I have taken the added step of writing it sober.

Persons wishing to avoid one or the other narrative may amuse themselves by reading only every other paragraph.

In 1774, representatives from each of the thirteen colonies convened in Philadelphia to complain.  This was The First Continental Congress.  Upon registering their various complaints, they returned home.

Henry VIII assumed the English throne in 1509, an energetic young man of seventeen.   He immediately decided to have a male heir, and as this became the enduring theme of his reign, he came to be known as The Son King.

One of the colonists' primary complaints was that British cabbies working in the colonies refused to unionize.  This was called "Taxis without Representation," and became the issue that ultimately pushed the simmering discontent of the colonies into outright hostility.  Sensing the volatility of the situtation, British troops advanced toward Concord in April of 1775, forcing Paul Revere to ride his horse (see Vol. 5, No. 7).

Henry was a devout Catholic, and in the early part of his reign he earned the nickname "Defender of the Faith."  His first wife, whom he'd married before taking the throne, was Catherine of Aragon, who earned the nickname "Catherine of Aragon."  Catherine was an excellent queen until she didn't have a son, at which point she became bad.

The first shot that rang out at the battle of Concord was so loud that its sound travelled all the way around the world.  As a result, the British heard it behind them instead of in front of them.  This resulted in the fog of war.  Neither the British nor the Colonists were prepared for fog, so the War was postponed.

By the 1530s Henry realized his wife was a bad queen.  He was now about forty years old.  He therefore purchased a convertible carriage and determined to change his wife.  While the convertible caused no problems, the changing of wives required the official permission of the Pope, who refused to grant a divorce.  Henry divorced her anyway, and on July 11, 1533, the Catholic Church seceded from the Church of England in retaliation.

In May of 1775, representatives once again convened in Philadelphia to complain about the taxis, the fog, etc.  This was the Second Continental Congress.  Unlike the previous Congress, however, this one tried to work out a deal with Britain's King George.   This was difficult, as King George was insane.

The Pope having withdrawn, Henry made himself the head of the Church of England.   Because he was still the Defender of the Faith, he wrote the Act of Supremacy. This Act proved that the Church of England was better than the Catholic Church, that King Henry VIII was better than any lousy old Pope, and that a Single White King was back in the market.

In June of 1775, the Colonists developed a Continental Army and a Continental Currency, operating on the assumption that an insane king would be easier to deal with if they had a lot of money and guns.

Sir Thomas More had been the Lord Chancellor of England, and knew Henry as well as any man alive.  He therefore refused to swear to the Act of Supremacy, and on July 6, 1535, became Sir Thomas Less.

In May of 1776, the Americans learned that the King had been hiring German mercenaries to come kill them.

At this point in his career, Henry began marrying and divorcing women on a regular basis.  The divorce process was expedited now that Papal authority was no longer a consideration.  In fact, Henry turned the entire process into a game: his wives would be blindfolded and asked to produce a male heir.  It came to be known as "Bluff King Hal," and several centuries later it served as the inspiration for the popular French game, "Hungry Hungry Guillotine."  British readers may now skip to the end of this article.

In June of 1776 the Colonists finally decided that instead of working something out with the British, it would be easier just to kill them.

On June 7, Richard Henry Lee of Virginia read a resolution to the Continental Congress.   The essence of his resolution was that King George and Great Britain could kiss his hairy old American ass.  The Congress appreciated Lee's sentiments, and subsequently formed a committee to write a note to King George in which it would be made plain why it had become necessary to start killing the British.

The committee was chaired by Thomas Jefferson. Its four other members were John Adams, Benjamin Franklin, and two guys you never heard of.

The Declaration of Independence wasn't a very long document, but young Thomas Jefferson was trying so hard to impress all the other guys at the Second Continental Congress he overwrote it, using an archaic style of English that is best understood in translation.   Here is the official Moron's Almanac translation of the Declaration, in its entirety:

These were what political scientists refer to as fightin' words.

On July 4, 1776, the Declaration was presented to the Congress.  Nine of the thirteen colonies voted to adopt it.   Pennsylvania and South Carolina voted against it (we know where you live).   Delaware couldn't make up its mind, and New York abstained.  Copies of the Declaration were distributed the next day (photocopiers were much slower back then).   On July 8 it was read aloud in Philadelphia's Independence Square.

The document wasn't fully signed until August, but as soon as it was, Americans began killing the British in earnest.  By February of 1783 they had killed enough of them that Spain, Sweden, Denmark and Russia officially acknowledged the United States of America as an independent nation.

In honor of our Independence, we blow things up, roast dead animals over hot coals, and drink cold, sudsy beverages that inhibit our ability to think.

And to hell with the Beatles and Stones.

These Weeks in History

Exactly 650 years ago this week, on June 28, 1349, the Serbs were overwhelmingly defeated by the Ottomans in the Battle of Kosovo.  Not since the Loveseat Invasion of Gaul had a European people been so devastated by eastern furniture.  It was a defeat the Serbs would not soon forget.

On June 28 of 1914, the Austrian Archduck was touring Serbia with his wife, the Mallard Sophie.  The purpose of his tour was to get Serbia to calm down, it having become extremely irritable for reasons known only to itself, possibly having to do with Austria's occupation of the region and persecution of Serbs.  (Either that or gas.)

In the course of their tour, the Archduck and the Mallard Sophie became lost and stopped to ask for directions from a young boy on the side of the road.  The conversation went something like this:

"Say, lad, I'm the Austrian Archduck Franz Ferdinand, heir to the Habsburg throne, and this is my wife, the Mallard Sophie.  We seem to be lost.  If I don't find my way back I might never have the chance to take the Austrian throne and continue, if not heighten, the ruthless and relentless persecution of the Serbian peoples.  Could you give us a hand?"

[Gunfire.]

The boy was Gavrilo Princip, and he had just started World War I.  The war ended exactly five years later, on June 28, 1919, with the signing of the Treaty of Versailles.  The Treaty of Versailles is best known for having caused the second World War.

On July 2, 1964, President Johnson signed the Civil Rights Act, prohibiting racial discrimination.  America remains a paragon of racial harmony to this very day.

Healthy Living Notebook

The Fourth of July is a glorious summer celebration of liberty and independence.   Surrounded by good friends in the luxurious verdure of early July, it's all too easy to become light-hearted and careless.  As a result, each year at this time millions of Americans die terrible fiery deaths at their barbecues.  And many of those who escape the deathtrap of those terrace tinderboxes will die equally wretched deaths while participating in firecracker horseplay.

The Healthy Living Notebook reminds its readers that observance of a very simple safety tip could make the difference between a happy holiday barbecue among friends and a lethal conflagration of human flesh.

Remember: where there's smoke, there's fire.  Where there's fire, there's death.   And where there's death--well, that's a lousy place to be.

Trivia Solution: The deadly blaze was started by (c) incompetent fire-eaters.   Give yourself fifty points for a correct answer.  Deduct twenty-five if you didn't pick it because it seemed too obvious.  Give yourself sixty points if you thought it was (b) ignited elephant methane, because you deserve to be rewarded for your mental imagery.  If you thought it was (e) a firecracker because of the date's proximity to the Fourth of July, stop trying to reason your way through these things.   Bonus: the first talking feature was The Lights of New York.  Give yourself one hundred points regardless of your answer.  Wonder what you're going to do with all those points.  Let your attention wander. No, no, not that far.   Come back.  Good.  Give yourself another fifty points.  Now stop.

Farming Tip