Yup. July 11 1804. That was the date that I shot the Hell out of that traitorous bastard, Alexander Hamilton. Normally, I make a big to-do out the day and regale everyone with collorfull ancedotes and tall tales about the events of that morning.
However, since I'm still working on the laptop, I'm just going to hit the highlights.
Hamilton: full of suck and ground up oyster shells.
So I shot his scurvy a$$. Then I sent him a nice bottle of Maderia. Then I beat a murder rap and finished up the term as V.P. of the United States.
Not a bad days work if you ask me.
Oh...and as an epilogue I arranged for Hamiltons son to get shot with the same pair of pistols his old man used against me. You know...to obliterate his genetic strain from the face of the Earth.
And there you go. Why all of America should celebrate July 11th with booze, gunpowder and big tittied wenches bearing platters of ale.