As with Henry VIII week, I humbly accept the honor of bringing you the first installment of our latest theme week. And by that I mean I just sort of forcefully insisted that I write the first post. Because listen, we’re here to honor our dads in the most roundabout way possible: by honoring America’s dads. And eleven score and fifteen years ago, our Founding Fathers, much like me in my quest to write this post, “forcefully insisted” that Britain suck it. Someone should make a movie musical about it, no?
I don’t want to have too much of a PREAMBLE here in this INAUGURAL post (HAHAHAH presidential humor’s the BEST), but I know you’ve got some questions.
Auntie MRG, who will your post be about? Which glorious founder of our dear nation have you chosen to honor by recounting their debauchery? Wait, wait, don’t tell me….it’s Jefferson, isn’t it! That guy and his poor ethical choices! No? Really? Okay, uhhhhhhh……I guess Ben Franklin had syphilis?
NO, you guys! I mean, yes, TJ and dear sweet Ben are the most high profile colonial deviants, but today I’m writing about everyone’s favorite Secretary of the Treasury, Alexander Hamilton!!!!!!!!!!1
I get it. I know. You’re having trouble remembering (or pretending you remember) who that is. Here’s a hint: Pull out your wallet. Take out the smallest bill you can use to get two beers at a bar where you don’t stick to the floor and/or drink out of plastic cups. If you’re clutching a ten spot in your little paw, you’re holding a mini portrait of young Alex. Familiar yet? Aside from the money, I think I only knew he existed because:
1) I’ve seen (and will refer to) this roughly 3294 times.
2) My dad used to be a high school history teacher and dinner talk often landed on important historical figures, always American, always male. He bought me a Presidents of the United States placemat that I used for years. I’m more convinced every day that Ron Swanson and my dad share DNA.
3) I’m just going to say it. Alex was a TOTAL DREAMBOAT. Like, truly hot. Pull out your ten again and look at those wise, kind eyes. He could lay duties on my imports, if you know what I’m saying. (I don’t know what I’m saying, please tell me?)
You may also be familiar with Al because he was killed by Aaron Burr, one of history’s greatest asshats (second only to Andrew Jackson, but that’s another story) in a duel. This story of scandal happened before that, but if you’d like some light shed on that little (actually really, truly consequential in terms of the political structure of the early constitutional government, but who gives a shit) historical event, look here and here.
Okay darlings, that’s plenty of context. Here’s what (or WHO) went down.
So dear Alex, total stud that he was, was married to a li’l hottie named Elizabeth who was a member of the richest family in New York. This was a sweet deal for Al, who was a bastard child who grew up in the Carribbean and somehow went from orphan zero to money-controlling hero. And with great power comes great fuckability, so Al did what any male politician, ever would do: he starting banging someone who wasn’t Mrs. Hamilton.
It’s 1791, and Alex is in Philly doing some important shit, who really cares, when this 23-year-old slampiece approaches him (which is a BIG BIG BFD in the eighteenth century, lovelies) and says, “OMIGOD good sir, like my husband just abandoned me and my daughter and I really need to get to New York and I don’t have any doubloons left and I’m like really scared because this city smells and people keep throwing batteries at me and I just wanna go home!” And Al was like “Hey bitch, shh, you’re hot. I got this.” And he was so concerned (turned on) about her safety (by her big boobs) that he decided that he just HAD to hand-deliver the carriage fare to her that night. I think we all know that Big A got his D a little W that night.
Later, Al said, “I took the bill out of my pocket and gave it to her — Some conversation ensued from which it was quickly apparent that something other than pecuniary consolation would be acceptable.”
“Something other than pecuniary consolation?” I’ve never heard a euphemism so delicious.
Anyway, the lady’s name was Maria Reynolds (first name pronounced like this, not like this), and she and Al boned for the next three years. Maria’s husband James knew about it, too. And he wasn’t an asshole. He knew that letting his lady get some from a very powerful government official could have some nice effects for his own career. So he just sort of let it happen. Also, Al was paying Mr. Reynolds for the privlege of sleeping with Maria. Isn’t familial prostitution HILARIOUS??!?!
Then the shit hit the fan. James Reynolds was the post-revolutionary version of a conman, and during the late 1790s, he got himself involved in a couple jobs that went wrong and would make a prominent politician look pretty fucking bad if they were involved. And in order to save his ass, he implicated ol’ Hammie, knowing that he could blackmail his wife’s lovah if he refused by turning their love letters over to James Monroe, who was the Congressional investigator of the case (and one of the most underrated Presidents, which I only know because I made a PowerPoint about him in AP US History).
But Al, smarty pants that he was, was like, “Yeah, James Monroe, I’ve been bangin this bitch for three years. She’s hot. Here are our letters. They’re hot too. Come at me.” The letters cleared Hammie’s name of the con, but James Monroe was BFFz with a tall-glass-of-water redhead named Thomas Jefferson who fucking HATED Alexander Hamilton. Like HATED. Monroe blabbed about the affair to TJ, who promptly spread all kinds of nasty nasty rumors about Al’s private life. This all CLIMAXED (lolz sex haha) in 1797, when some bitchass printer decided he was bored and that he should print a pamphlet containing all of Al and Maria’s love letters. Interestingly, this same printer also spread news of TJ’s affair with Sally Hemmings. You might have heard of it, I don’t know maybe not it’s not like boning one of your slaves was a big deal and certainly not having six illegitimate children with her I mean REALLY. Anyway, someone needed to slap that printer in the face, hard. Or get him a copy of any episode of any season of any series in the Real Housewives franchise, because this guy was STARVED for drama.
ALMOST FORGOT TO TELL YOU!!! A year prior to this shitstorm, Maria had divorced her husband (good for you, sister, he was a motherfucker), AND GUESS FUCKING WHO HER LAWYER WAS. GUESS. GUESS. DID YOU GUESS?
Happy father’s day, dads. Iloveyouimmamissyou.