Historical Pulp Fiction

"My good man, tell me again about the snuff houses."

It was Thomas Jefferson who made this request to Benjamin Franklin, who was in the midst of eagerly imparting the details of his journey to France upon his good friend as they made their way by hansom carriage to a local inn. The particular journey they were making at the moment was not of a leisurely nature, yet their jolly banter could easily lead an uninformed individual to believe that it was. No, this outing was strictly business, despite the friendly conversation.

"Specifically what facts would you like me to impart upon you?" asked Franklin.

"I would be correct in assuming that snuff is of a lawful nature in France, yes?"

"Well," said Franklin, "You would do well to understand that it is only a lawful substance in that land to a certain end. One cannot simply utilize the powder in public. Members of high society in France consider if much more proper to make use of snuff in one's home or certain designated locations. "

"And those are what one may refer to as Snuff Houses?" inquired Jefferson.

"Correct, my brother. The following are considered to be of a nature deemed lawful by the government of France: The purhase of snuff, the possession of snuff, and, if you are the liscenced owner of a snuff house, deemed worthy by the very crown of France, God save the King, you may even vend the substance at your own leisure. Transportation of the powder is also lawful, however that is a moot point brother, because, and harken well unto this, agents of law enforcement under the crown are unequipped with the right to search your person."

Jefferson responded to this news very enthusiastically. "Amazing! Simply fascinating, old boy. These tidings doth make me feel much inclined to pay a visit to these lands in short order."

"I do not doubt that, my friend," said Franklin warmly, "I feel quite certain that you would derive great pleasure in such travels." There was a brief reflective pause in the conversation. "However, dost thou knoweth what may well be the most fascinating aspect of tredding the far off soil of the European continent?"

"Do tell me, old friend, do tell."

"'Tis the small things, brother. Much is the same in Europe as in the colonies, however there are minisicule variations in everyday life over yonder which are nonetheless quite noteworthy."

"Would thoust leave me without a specific example with which to fortify thy claim?" asked Jefferson.

"I would not dare such an injustice, my brother!" responded Franklin, "Allow me to explain: Did you know that it is considered socially acceptable to embibe alcoholic spirits whilst viewing the finest of French theatre? And in no small amount either! Why, entire kegs of ale are made available up in the most expensive balconies! And in Paris, where the King himself resides, you may easily purchase the finest liquors from the lowliest of street vendors! Dost thou know how the local Parisian butchers refer to a quarter pound slab of beef?

"Why, do you mean to say that they do not refer to it as such?" Jefferson's curiosity was brought out further.

"No, their methods of weight measurement differ in such a way from ours that facilitating an estimate of mass in that manner would be nay impossible."

"Then how, pray tell, do they address such a cut of meat?"

"The French refer to it as a Royale le Slab."

"Royale le Slab..." mimicked Jefferson, trying the strange new vernacular on for size.

"Correct!"

"And how do they refer to a head cheese?" inquired Jefferson.

"For all intents and purposes, a head cheese is refered to as a head cheese, however in France it is more commonly called le head cheese."

"Le head cheese." Jefferson chuckled heartily, "What term do they use for rump roast?"

"I donno, I didn't eat any pig's ass. But art thou aware of what they put on fried potatoes instead of tomato paste?"

"What, per se?"

"Cod liver oil, my good man."

"Cod liver oil? My God, the savages!"

"I have witnessed it personally on several occasions. They dowse their potatoes in the oil much like a witch is dowsed in a lake by angry villagers!"

***

The hansom arrived outside the inn, lurching to a stop. Jefferson and Franklin stepped out, stretching their legs and walking around to the compartment in back. Opening it, they each removed a flintlock pistol, and immediately begin priming them with black powder and balls.

"I dare say, we should be utilizing rapiers for this occasion," said Jefferson.

"How many men do you postulate are waiting upstairs?" asked Franklin.

"Perhaps three or four."

"Doth that include our man?"

"I cannot say for certain." In spite of the apparent ambiguity of the impending situation, Jefferson still seemed relatively calm.

"So, the presense of five men is entirely percievable?"

"'Tis not out of the question, I suppose."

"Then I entirely agree with you, we should be carrying rapiers." conceeded Jefferson.

Jefferson and Franklin then concealed their pistols and proceeded over the threshold, entering the inn. They immediately went upstairs, and knocked on the door of the room in which their business resided. The portal was opened by Marvinius, their man. Two other men were also visible. One sat at a small table, supping on a quarter pound slab of beef. The other lay on a sofa, as if stricken with the pox. Franklin noted with distate that this man clearly did not take to the habbit of early to bed, early to rise.

"Greetings, youths. How doth you fair on this fine spring morn?" said Jefferson, strolling into the room casually and without menace, with Franklin right behind him. The young men did not answer. "I'm sorry, perhaps I am currently in the midst of a pipe dream. I do believe I just presented you with an inquirery pertaining to your well being."

"We fair adequately." said the man at the table, apprehensively. At this point, Franklin begin to walk around to the back of the room.

"Are you aware of who we are, young man?" asked Jefferson. The man at the table shook his head.

"No."

Jefferson informed him, "We are associates of your brother in arms, General George Washington. You do recall George Washington, yes?"

There was no response from either of the two men. Jefferson eyed the man at the table.

"Allow me to postulate. You would be Benedict Arnold, correct?"

"I am he." said Arnold.

"I assumed as much. You do remember your comrade in arms, George Washington, don't you Mr. Arnold?"

"I do."

"Most excellent, my good man. I do say, it appears my associate Mr. Franklin and I have interrupted your breakfasting. My most sincere appologies. What is this you happen to be consuming?"

"Slabs of beef." answered Arnold.

"Slabs of beef, ah yes, the foundation of any nutritious breaking of fast. May I ask what kind of beef?"

"Longhorn, I believe."

"Ah, but my curiosity lies in its origin. Did thou recieve this bounty from MacDonald the Butcher? Or perhaps Jack the Butcher or Wendy the Butcher?"

"Nay, we purchased this meat from Big Kahuna the Butcher."

"Ah, of course! The butcher from the islands! I've harkened to much jubilation regarding the quality of his stock. However, I have yet to induldge in his produce. Is what I've heard true?"

"His cuts are of high quality indeed, good sir." said Arnold.

"Would you be offended if I were to induldge in a sampling of yours?" asked Jefferson.

"By no means. Please help yourself."

Jefferson picked up the slab of beef, getting grease and oil all over his hands. This was a major deficiency of Slabs of Beef, and Jefferson briefly considered the necessity for a cleaner way to do this. Still, he took a bite and savored the flavor.

"I do say! This slab of beef is simply delectable! I say, Benjamin!" Jefferson called over to Franklin, who was hovering about on the opposite side of the room, "Have you ever savored meat from the stock of Kahuna the Butcher?"

"I'm afraid not, Thomas." said Franklin.

"Then come come old man, have a bite. This is cause for celebration to my palette."

"I am currently not in the mood to consume foodstuffs." he replied.

"Well then," said Jefferson, "If you bare any sort of predilection for slabs of beef, I highly recommend you try this particular brand. My wife, unfortunately, is only prone to the consumption of vegetables and fruits, and this policy of hers sadly carries over to me by default. Which does remind me... Benedict, my good man, would you happen to know how the French refer to a slab of beef?"

"I would not, I'm afraid." said Arnold.

"Will you please enlighten our friend, Mr. Franklin?" requested Jefferson.

"It is commonly refered to as "Royale le Slab," said Franklin.

"Indeed," said Jefferson, "Do you have an notion as to why this is, Mr. Arnold?"

After a brief moment of pensive thought, Benedict Arnold responded, "Would it be because their methods of weight measurement differ in such a way from ours that facilitating an estimate of mass in that manner would be nay impossible?"

"Yes, wonderful, Mr. Arnold!" said Jefferson happilly, "I find your intellectual capacity most impressive." Suddenly, Jefferson took notice of the goblet sitting on the table. "What elixer doth yonder goblet hold?"

"It be well water, sir."

"Ah. I am sorry but I must ask again. Would you be offended if I were to imbibe some of this most refreshing beverage? I am hoping that it may purge some of the remainder of the beef from my mouth."

"Be my guest." Said Arnold. Indeed, Jefferson drank briefly from the cup, then turned abruptly towards the lazy looking man on the cot, who had yet to say anything.

"You there, sir, with the strange quoff, are you aware of why we are currently in your presence?"

"Indeed," said the man on the cot with the bad hair cut.

"Then would you please be so kind as to inform my good friend Mr. Franklin as to where our effects are so craftily stowed away?"

Marvinius decided to answer instead, "They are in the chiffonier."

"I don't believe I recall asking you, sir," said Jefferson, clearly miffed. He turned back to the man on the cot, "Please proceed."

"Your effects are in the chiffonier, the uppermost drawer." said the man. Franklin proceeded to open the dresser, removing an iron lock box. He placed it on top of the dresser, and opened it, peering inside, transfixed by what he saw.

"Are all the contents present and in satifactory condition?" asked Jefferson, who was too far away to see them himself.

"Very much so," said Franklin, coming out of his trance as he closed the case.

"Excuse me," asked Benedict Arnold suddenly, "may I inquire as to your name, sir? As I understand it, the man with the case is none other than the esteemed Benjamin Franklin, but I do not recall hearing your moniker."

"My name would be Jamestown, and you are not likely to escape the winter of your discontent which is about to unfold upon you." replied Jefferson.

"Please, listen good sir," said Benedict, "I'd like to deliver my sincerest apologies on behalf of myself and my colleagues regarding the unacceptable manner in which events occured between ourselves and General Washington. When the war began, I assure you we only had the best intentions-"

A deafening crack resonated through the room as the flintlock pistol went off. The man on the cot was dead. Jefferson held the smoking gun. "My most sincere apologies as well, Mr. Arnold. I do believe I have interrupted your thought process. Do not hesitate to carry on with what you were saying. I seem to recall it had something to do with 'best intentions.'" He began the somewhat lengthy process of reloading the weapon. Arnold seemed at a loss for words.

"Is something wrong, good sir?" asked Jefferson, "Ah, I see, you must have finished making your statement. Would it bother you if I took the floor now? I thought not. Allow me to inquire, sir, how would you best describe the appearence of General George Washington?" Arnold still seemed incapable of speach, so Jefferson savagely, yet with a certain elegance, bashed the table out of the way, spilling food and drink everywhere.

"From what country do you hail?" said Jefferson, yelling now.

"Whateth?" said Arnold.

"I am not familiar with the country of Whateth! I find this most peculiar. Do the gentry speak olde English in the realm of Whateth?"

Benedict Arnold could only think to utilize the one word remaining in his vocabulary to respond.

"Whateth?"

"English, you silly prat!" screamed Jefferson, "Can you vocalize in plain English?"

"Ay," said Arnold

"Very well, then please, describe to me the appearence of General George Washington!"

"Whateth?"

Jefferson positioned his freshly reloaded flintlock directly over Arnold's left temple. "Please, sir, I implore you, say 'Whateth' again. I challenge you directly sir, say 'whateth' once more, please!" Arnold was trembling uncontrollably. "Now. Describe, to the best of your earthly ability, the appearence of General George Washington!"

"W-w-well," stammered Benedict Arnold, "He wears a powdered wig..."

"Continue..." urged Jefferson.

"He- he's got wooden teeth..."

"Does he look like a bitch?" said Jefferson.

"Whateth?"

Jefferson shot a lead ball into Arnold's shoulder.

"Does General George Washington, commander of the Continental Army, look like a collie bitch?"

"Nay!" yelped Arnold.

"Then why, I wonder, why in the name of God's green earth, are you trying to perform intercourse with him like he was a collie bitch?"

"I have done no such thing! Well, not with Washington anyway." Said Arnold.

"You see, Mr. Arnold, I believe that statement to be false. You did indeed. Have you ever perused the pages of the Holy Bible, Mr. Arnold?"

"Ay."

"Well, that's of little importance, because I am not in the mood to quote from it. Besides, Mr. Arnold, I am a proponent of seperation between matters of church and state. I do however, have committed to memory the contents of a document, a document I wrote not too long ago, just before the war started, in fact. Here's something of an exerpt." Jefferson's voice gradually began rising to more grandiose levels as he proceeded to recite the following:

"When in the course of human events it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them to another and to assume among the powers of the earth, the seperate and equal station to which the Law's of Nature and Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should... they should... they... ah hell, let's just shoot him already."

Thomas Jefferson and Benjamin Franklin both emptied their flintlock pistols into Benedict Arnold, who's blood curdling scream could be heard for miles.