The Pilgrim's Diary
July 16, 1622: Upon the Occasion of a Bachelor Party.

Our young Jonathan the Cobbler hast for this last year been engaged to yon maiden of ye Mayflower colony (with all the horny reprobates in THIS village, the term “maiden” meaneth nought, as doubtless such a title hath ye same chance of surviving beyond ye age of thirteen years as ye fartte in ye whirlwind). 

Last night wast Jonathan’s Bachellor Party, it being ye eve of the wedding. Tomorrow, he shall be married, so good Lord, let the man have one last bit of frolick before donning ye wedding ring, or as that good-for-nothing rascal John Alden referreth to it, ye “Golden Shackle”.

First, we men each explained to our Wyves this Party would most certainly NOT be a Debauched Saturnalia of Depravity (as have been virtually every one of the preceding parties in ye May-Flower Colony). No chugging strong drink from ye Meade Trumpet, no fyghting, no horney anticks, and most of all, no Whorres.  

Twould be a quiet occasion of gentility, good Manners, and gentlemanly restraint. I told myne Wyfe we would have a few meads at the local Sport Taverne, reading aloud ye Gospels. Mayhaps Standish wouldst telleth a few Jokkes, supervised the entire Tyme as it were by ye honorable Edgar the Vicar of Plymouth. We husbands would be back home by ten of the clock, sober, with ye barn-doors closed tight and ye Stallions in ye barn-stalls.  

Ha-ha. She believeth it.  

We then proceedethed post-haste to yon sleazy side of ye Indian Village , drinking strong spirits all ye way. Myne randy old cohort, Myles Standish having arranged ye party, ye can bet yon arse t’would be quite a bloweth-out to remembereth.

After passing ye Large Indian guards at ye doors, we entereth ye small Councill-Hutte. Twas smoky with tabaco and there twas ye lowd Indian musick playing. Ye hutte wast rocking.  The savages had fashioned three small platforms as stages, ‘round which they had positioned ye seats. Yon comely squaw “Cinnamon” (named after ye East Indian spyce?) was on one of ye small platte-forms; yon “Princess Camel Toe” on another; and ye “Heidi Peace Pipe” on the third platte-form. Trewly, squaws with excellent naymes and boddies to match. 

Ye die-hard partiers were all in attendance. Squanto was there, as well as Samoset, and his drinking buddy Massasoit of the Wampanoags, as wast ye gnarled old cocke-tugger, John Alden. Ye Sherriff wast there and showed his Badge to getteth us all in with ye Common Law Enforcement Discounte, to our great delight. Ye Vicar, of course (we joketh about him having his own table at this place, and twas not a joke. He does!)  

And ye Village Pervert, our beloved Governor William Bradford, who was asked upon being recognized to please do not touch the squaws.

Myles Standish brought two visiting friends: his scurrilous sailor mates from ye Jamestown Colony, ye old bugger John Rolfe and ye well-known Partyer, Captain John Smith.   

Twould be a great party, all told. Mine only downfall: Ye Macho Flagon special. Ye great flaggon of strong mead only 5 pence until ye Three A.M. I did treate mineself to ye way too many of them. This spirit did urgeth me into many unseemly behaviors with ye Indian wenches, and ye many hurried trips to ye out-house. 

During one of mine frequent urinations, as I stood bracing mineself with ye hand on ye wall and the other direckting mine Fyre-Hose at ye Privy hole, rascally Standish - doing same off to the right of me - Standish did sayeth “Ye do not buyeth ye mead, ye only renteth it!” To which I mustered ye laugh, being quite drunk and everything seemeth hilarious.   

Although in ye cold, harsh, payneful light of day, mayhaps on ye first telling of that old saw perhaps twas inkling funny, but as of today in 1622, tis too shopworn a phrase to squeeze yet but a forced and feeble chuckle.  Like ye soft toole of ye honorable Lord Daws, bless his heart, this old joke is no longer up to ye job at hand.  Upon hearing someone proceeding into it, a great feeling of ennui claims oneself, which lasts until tis once again over and done.   Until the next tired telling of it.  

Twould be a better world were Standish the last to uttereth this hoary old axiom.

But it did not spoyl the party. The dancing Indian girls were too wonderful to behold. Having had some chance to talk with ye savage Cinnamon while she untieth mine neck-tie with her toes, twas nice to know she is working on ye advanced education in ye astronomical arts. This fact causeth me to hand her ye tip twice as large as before, when I hadde assumed she was naught more than ye low-brow skanky Slutte-whorre.  

Later, upon sobering up, I pondered where in this God-forsaken wilderness a large-breasted Indian squaw couldst persew such learning, there being only one school in Plymouth, it advancing only to ye second grade and teaching only Wryting and Theology, and icing on ye cake, ye wild Indians are not allowed.  But ye horse was out of the barn by then and a large pile of my Pounds with her. Methinks I may have been misled. Or mayhaps not. She seemeth smart enough, and hast even figured a way to tie ye Cherry Stem with her tongue alone.

But ye Highlight of ye show wast ye Pocahontas, all the way from ye Jamestown Collony, truly ye greatest Party Towne in ye New World . Ye only one, actually, there only being two townes, swinging Jamestown and dull old Plymouth.   

Pocahontas wast ye Head-liner act, and arrived on ye stage to the great fanfare of her theme song, “Squaws, Squaws, Squaws”.   Twas a raucously loud tune, and played by ye motley crew of wild-haired Indians, indeed. Dressed like ye Pilgrim wench, Pocahontas proceedeth to strip off her clothing in ye hypnotic fashion. All were enrapt watching.   

Swinging thus from ye brass pole, she exposethed her two perky Indian gourds, and then to my shocketh bared areas of ye women’s lower firmaments heretofore unbeknownst to me.  Mine own wife being painfully shy and wholly unfamiliar with ye operation of ye Razor, I have never seen such a thing in all its glory. It remindeth me of a flower – a weird, fryghtening flower. Yet without ye concealment of ye wild and overgrown Bushe, twas a flower I wouldst quite enjoy to pluck!

Crusty old John Rolfe of Jamestown, in his cups, brayed out at Pocahontas she should be called Poke-a-Hot-Arse. No doubt she hast heard this ye thousands of times over. Yet as he yelled it while brandishing two gold crowns, Pocahontas did laugh heartily as she pocketeth ye cache. Then she proceedeth to accidentally kick over his entire Macho Flagon of mead, which spilleth its icy contents into Rolfe’s lap. 

When she kicketh his drink over for the third time, though, seemeth not an accident any more. After that he kept his mouth shut and his flagon off the stage. She clearly thinketh him an arse-hole. 

Pocahontas being ye national Celebrity, I payd her later for ye Lappe-Dance for Jonathan our young Bachelor. Quite ye steamy affair this dance. During which due to his bachelor status Jonathan twas offered ye Hand-Labour as well, but with ye belly full of drinke, canst I remember how that turned out. I was outeth of it.

Many of us did get very drunk and most vomited several tymes outside ye door, especially ye Governor William Bradford, who hast since then sworn off ye strong drink.  Captain John Smith blameth his own ailment on his mixing of ye meade, ye brandy and ye Scottish whiskey. I said wouldst any man swallow a gallon of each as Smith did, one will get sick, verily, regardless of ye mixture. Standish being an exception, being a man who can outdrink ye Devill himself, and many times has, having outdrunk even noted toss-pot John Rolfe. 

I draggeth mineself home with the dawn and into bed, bleary-eyed, tired and sick. Too soon, I awoketh in ye great pain. Mine wife wast standing over me with ye Evil Disapproving Grimace on her face.

Worse, she brandished ye deadly weapon: a long list of household chores such as chopping wood; shoveling out the Privy hole; churning butter; patching ye roof; milking ye cows; splitting logs for ye fence; planting ye corn; washing ye clothing; hunting, skinning and cleaning ye small game; grinding ye grain; making bread; brewing ye beer; sewing ye fish-nets; etc.  I told her that is all her work to do, and justly so – she dost not even haveth a job!

My wife then toldeth me of a Jamestown Colony Wyfe whose husband taketh out ye garbage each week, hoping such example would sway me. This I see surely as a man doing a woman’s work. No good can come of such non-Biblical practices, only Evil. If such a man trewly exists, he is a traitor to all that is good about this land. Or at least he is pathetically Pussy-Whypped.

Thus I was forced to remindeth her of mine sole Manly Chore, which is providing her with ye Sexual Rompes, at my discretion of course. Then I generously offereth to do my duty for her immediately and deliver her a stout rodgering, were she merely to bend over ye bed-stead. My kindly offer must have touched her heart, because she crumpled up ye list of chores and swiftly went to do her work, leaving me in peace.   

I stayed in ye bedde as long as I could, until time for ye Vespers, not being one to break ye Common Law and risk ye Mandatory Death Penalty for missing Church.Yon later that day did I check mine purse. Finding mine stash strangely low, I counteth mine moneys. I had naught but three pence left of the many pounds I had carried into the Indian squaw clubbe! In spite of my precautions not to spend it, it was gone! 

Ye explanation as to where it went? Prior to ye party, I had ye fear I might give ye dancing squaws ye pounds instead of ye pence. I thus cleverly put mine pound coins into one pocket, and mine pence into ye other.  Being roundly dodgered by ye Stronge Drink, though, I mixethed up mine pockets. No wonder yon women treated me so regally throughout ye nighte. Liken unto our Royal Highness King James.   Except with ye Huge Boner as mine Royal Scepter.   

Damn it!  We small band of Pilgrims came to this wild land to worshipp our Lorde in peace, sharing ye bread of communion, not to bloweth our dough on ye thieving strippers! Shitte.   And fockety-fock! 

Oh, well. It all went to a good cause.  At least I can comforteth myself with that thought. I hope ye Cinnamon will useth mine monies well in her educational persuits.

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