Is that a stick of dynamite in your breeches, or are you just happy to see me?

The Brits have their quirks. JAF, LHB, and myself were fortunate/unfortunate enough to experience some of these firsthand, namely 8 PM shop closings, poor indoor heating systems, beef or shrimp flavored snack foods, a nationwide love of meerkats, and lots of hetero guy-on-guy dancing. Lots.

These are the conspirators. They probably danced up on each other a lot, as the Brit men like to do.

But I think that one of their quirkiest quirks has to be Guy Fawkes Day/Night, which to you ignorant masses (ie. those of you who haven’t seen V For Vendetta) (which you should really see, if not for the dystopian excellence, then at least for ol’ Natty Portman‘s shit-tastic Brit accent) is the holiday that commemorates the Gunpowder Plot of 1605, in which a bunch of pissy Catholics tried to blow up the King but were foiled when ol’ Guy was caught in the basement of Parliament with like a shit-ton of dynamite in his pants. Or probably actually just in boxes or something. So now people celebrate by making and burning effigies of Guy or other shitty political figures. This is a holiday of thanksgiving for the foiling of a plot to blow shit up that is and has always been celebrated by blowing shit up. That’s logic I can get behind.

Aaaaaaaaaand this holiday is always celebrated on NOVEMBER FIFTH! Which is fucking TODAY! There are a lot of things we get very, very wrong here at For Shame, but topicality is not one of them. And don’t you forget it.

So we HAD to do a Guy Fawkes post. But here’s the problem. These dudes were Catholic. And I know you’re thinking that that doesn’t necessarily preclude the secks, but they were like, REAL Catholics. So the scandal was hard to come by. But know who was one of the scandalousest, homosexualest royals around? The guy they tried to blow up, JAMES THE FIRST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1

James I. Plumed hat: check. Satin waistcoat: check. Sassy hand-on-hip: check. FABULOSITY: CHECK.

And hey, you might be feeling a little sympathy for young Jim, you know, because people tried really hard to explode him. BUT DON’T. Boyfren had so much of the sex. So much. With so many partners, both lords and ladies. There was one sovereign slampiece, however, who had a special place in Jim’s heart/the royal bed, and that’s who we’ll focus on today.

So after the whole “let’s turn the King into royal confetti” plan failed, Big Jim looked at his life and saw that he needed to assert his badassness, so he embarked on a pederastic kind of thing with a 20-years-older Frenchman and a couple of more conventional lady affairs. But he felt like the remaining Catholics, who had formed a guilt-spreading, rosary-clutching, abstinence-loving underground movement, just weren’t getting it. “Hmmm,” he thought. “What’s the only thing the Catholics hate more than me? I know, GAY SEX. Looks like I’m playing for Team Dicks from now on!” And he subsequently began to bone this 17-year-old named Robert Carr, until the little bitch threatened to blackmail Jim. Needless to say, he was not having any of that, and he had Bobby and his wife executed.

Now I don’t know if any of you have had your lovers executed (I know I have!) (no I haven’t) (I probably shouldn’t make jokes in which I implicate myself in a murder plot, right?) (please don’t have me arrested), but it’s a time. Lots of emotions to be had.  And what better way to pick up the pieces than by CHOOSING A HOTTER, SMARTER, LESS BITCHY SLAMPIECE to replace the one you’ve recently bumped off? The answer is none. None better way. So Jim set his sights on George Villiers, 1st Duke of Buckingham (whom I will naturally refer to as Buck for the rest of this post). Buck was a catch if ever there was one; he could dance (Broadway tap numbers only), sing (primarily Cher songs), fence (the white uniforms were FABULOUS), and probably bedazzle the shit out of a jerkin if you needed him to.

Buck made ladyhair, a lacy collar, and a feathery moustache WERQ.

So it came as no surprise when, in 1615, Jim knighted Buck with his sword and probably definitely with his penis. And soon these two were fucking in love. James referred to him as his “sweet child and wife,” he had a special passage built between their bedrooms at Apethorpe Hall (a poorly named royal residence) for more efficient boning, and made him a Gentleman of the Bedchamber (IN MORE WAYS THAN ONE, AM I RIGHT?!?!!) and eventually a Duke. Which was a big fucking deal, apparently; he ended up being the highest-ranking Brit outside of the royal family. And hey, this wasn’t one sided, either. Buck was so into Jim. He once wrote the king saying, “I naturally so love your person, and adore all your other parts, which are more than ever one man had.” MEANING HE LOVED JAMES’ BIG DICK, YOU GUYS.

And even Anne of Denmark, Jim’s beard, was smitten with Buck. They picked out silks and wigs and stockings and ribbons and shit together, probably watched rom-coms and got mani-pedis. You know, totally historically verifiable fun girl-and-her-best-gay activities.

That's right, LHB. I have found Guy Fawkes clip art. Even I'm impressed.

And when James got dysentery and died in 1625, Buck was fucking there at his bedside. And then Buck may or may not have eventually seduced Jim’s son Charles, who succeeded his father as king. Which makes Buck seem a lot less sweet and a lot more terrible. But whatever. Shit was real between Jim and Buck, and that’s all that matters. And during Jim’s reign, Protestantism became so fucking popular, so, you know, gay/religious mission accomplished.

So listen here, male readers. Next time you need to simultaneously quash an underground religious uprising and assert your own ecclesiastical agenda upon the nation of which you are king, grab the nearest hottie and bone him. BOOM, Catholic resistance eliminated.

And then just burn shit to celebrate.


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