Duh, Duchess

History Bros’ guest this week is the youngest daughter of the last tsar of Russia, Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna! Most famously known for her fictionalized escape by Disney and his goof troop, Anastasia was just a girl in a teenage wasteland. A Russian teenage wasteland.

This week’s episode is brought to you by the 2004 Honda Accord. The 2004 Honda Accord, perfect for a teenage girl in an Iraqi war world. Honda Accord. Safe. Mediocre. Honda Accord. 2004.

Anastasia, take it away:

Hey, old guy, thanks for…

Whatever.

So, look. Brad said he’s going to prom with Olga, but I know Brad doesn’t even like Olga. It’s a just a pity prom invite. Yeah, she blossomed early, but that’s so far gone now. We’re not still in 7^th grade, Olga! Let it go.

Do you have Wifi here? Doesn’t matter. Turning off wifi and using cellular… Daddyovich is going to be pissed, but whatever.

Look. Chad likes Olga and she knows it, but the Brad thing has totally warped her mind. She can’t do better than Chad. I don’t know if they’ll get married or whatever, but she can’t do better than Chad. It’s messing with her mind. Stop living in 7^th grade already. It’s so long ago!

And look. Vince has been giving me eyes during gym. Ew. But I wouldn’t say no. But he’s also in a friend-zone. Because he fucking likes Olga! And I have to hear about it during softball. Every. Damn. Day.

Look, Vince, it’s not 7^th grade anymore! Olga, it’s our junior year, we’re not kids anymore. Get over it!

Look, it’s not 7^th grade. Anymore. Carter!

I’m just go alone and have fun with frooonds. Wish I were dead anyway. I’m gonna haunt the shit outta Lenin.

Hamilton on Hamilton

Still sold out across cities in America, Hamilton continues to deliver and delight audiences. History Bros welcomes back longtime friend and gunshot victim, Alexander Hamilton, to address some of the misunderstandings and assumptions perpetuated by the show.

As always, History Bros is sponsored by a reliable but outdated car model. This week’s model is the Nissan Sentra: Nissan Sentra, we’ll see you at the Avis economy lot.

Alex, take it away!



Thanks, History Bros. Nissan Sentra. Wonderful ride from O’Hare International Airport. No complaints. Stopped at Portillo’s, because that’s what you’re supposed to do when in Chicago, I guess. I’d compare it to the Nissan Sentra - reliable and unassuming. I get it. Put fuel in and keep going. Cool.

So, first off, I still haven’t seen my own goddamn show because I never win the lottery. Granted, I was super on top of it for half a year, then I started forgetting to enter even though my work colleagues at John Hancock Financial (yes, I’m in my fifth as an agent with John Hancock Financial) would keep talking about it...just didn’t care anymore. Thought the prices would go down. “Oh, I’ll wait a few more years, when the prices are lower.” Still hasn’t happened. Still waiting. I think I’m just waiting for someone to ask me. And then you have these people, like Ben Franklin, who’s seen it 7 times. 7 times! How many times do you need to see a show!? Yeah, I saw Cats a lot, but capped out at 3. Great show, great show, but not worth 7 tickets…

Whatever.

A lot of people still think I’m Puerto Rican. No. I’m a white dude who was born at a Sandals Resort in St. Kitts and Nevis. I heard Lin Manuel Miranda did a great job - still haven’t seen it, Ben! - heard he did a great job, but just because he’s Puerto Rican doesn’t mean I’m Puerto Rican. Don’t get me wrong, I think Puerto Ricans should have the right to vote in presidential elections, they’ve definitely gotten the shaft. You know who was a great Puerto Rican? Roberto Clemente. What an arm! His life ended too early, way too early. That! That I get it! 3,000 hit club…. Clemente. Anyway, yeah, I grew up on buffets at the Sandals Resort in St Kitts and Nevis. And I can tell you one thing: there is a limit to how much buffet prime rib you can eat. There’s a limit. God, great fucking arm on Clemente.

What else? Oh, yeah, I didn’t throw away my shot! I was trying to murder that motherfucker Burr before he murdered me. Guy was a piece of shit. You know he maced me before I shot? That’s the dirty rat he is, pulling that Cobra Kai shit on me. 8...9..10..turn and blinded by Burr’s fucking tiny can of mace. I throw my gun toward him in frustration and then he shoots me. And of course I don’t die right away. Of course. I think he did that on purpose. He’s vindictive! I heard Lin Manuel made him look like shit, so kudos to him, but again, still haven’t seen it. Ben, are you going for an 8th time?

Guy’s not even tried for murder! Burr murders me and he gets off! Ok, political pariah, but I would assume so if you f’ing murder someone!

Damnit.

Ok, to sum up. Nissan Sentra and Portillo’s: meh. I’m not Puerto Rican, but that sweet, sweet arm of Clemente is Puerto Rican. Burr’s a dick. I was maced. Ben Franklin is a dick, too, but he wouldn’t mace anyone during a duel.

Do you validate parking?

Ain't No Party Like a Whig Party

History Bros, the periodical of note, would like to endorse the Whig Party and Henry Clay for our nation’s upcoming midterms. Compromise is needed more than ever at this moment of crisis, of political divide, of apathy, and of mobocracy! Tyranny has infiltrated this grand nation and I will not sit idly by while “The King” sweeps up those poor souls who believe his demagogic rhetoric while only serving himself. My grandfather didn’t fight the British loyalists and their stiff cronies to see this great nation unravel to ratty threads!

I, of course, am speaking of King Andrew Jackson. Old Hickory? More like Old Trickery! That devilish trickster hick has soiled this American democracy, along with the dirty Irish, as we can all agree.

What do we support? Modernization, banking and economic protectionism. We need to protect the minority interests and the burgeoning middle class! Many claims have been leveled against us that we rub shoulders with the fiscal elite – untrue, untrue, sirs! We rub elbows with all people – except the potato-eating Irish! We are willing to roll up are sleeves and get dirty with our hard-working merchant brethren.

Manifest Destiny? What a sham! We have plenty of land for all our peoples, and we will only instigate unnecessary wars if we encroach further upon the continent. Lyin’ Tricky Hickory has removed our Indian brethren to Okie-homie when all they wanted was a little tract of land for their dance parties. We understand them; we roll up our sleeves with them! The IRISH! Why are they here? Damnit!

I digress. I’m angry. And I am ready to greatly compromise with my foes this coming midterm because we are living in a tumultuous and revolutionary time that will likely never repeat itself again. Go to the polls my property-owning brothers and cast a vote against Crooked Hickory, that mud-farmer who will roll up HIS sleeves with the sleeveless Irish!

Don the Blue and Buff of the Whig Party and get out the vote! Stand like a rock, but like a compromising rock – so, like, a pebble. A tiny rock unwilling but willing to compromise! Does this make sense? Ok. Rock the vote!

Who are we!? Whig Party! Who are we!? The Blue and Buff! Is buff a color!? Yes!?

Ok! Compromise, defeat tyranny, but support some elitist views, slavery --- mmm, we’re not going to talk about that now, but we will get to it!

I have a feeling this new and dynamic party will live for millennia! Whig Whig Whig Whig! Party! Whig out!

What in Sam Hill?

Today’s episode is brought to you by Texas A&M University. Texas A&M, at the forefront of the cutting-edge industries of agriculture and mining, is one of the leading educators and proponents of crop rotation. Do you look like fracking and football? Fuck yeah, you do! Come on down to Texas A&M and join the festivities at the annual Frack Fest. Kids admitted for free! Bob for oil, get your face painted with oil and take an ol’ timey photo in oil!

Speaking of Texas, our guest today is one of history’s preeminent Texans: Sam Houston. Leader of the early Texas Republic and later governor of the state, Sam Houston stunned fans with his pro-Unionist views and repudiation of the Confederacy at the outset of the American Civil War. What a maverick!

HB: Sam, first off, nice bow tie. What is that, two feet in width?

SH: Goddamn right!

HB:  High five!

Both: Crop rotation!

HB: Sam, what are you doing these days? Political career is dead because of your Unionist treachery.

SH: I like to think I came out on top…

HB: Whoa ho! High five!

Both: Crop rotation!

SH: Nah, I’m still in Texas, surprisingly. Just opened an eco-friendly, locally sourced brisket joint called What in Sam Hill?

HB: How are the tips?

SH: Mind blowing.

HB: And I gotta ask, are you living in…Houston?

SH: No, fuck that place. I was pro-Unionist, I’m an f’ing  honorary Cherokee, so I’m not really welcome in most of Texas.

HB: So you live in…

SH: Austin! The only place I can call home now, is Austin. That’s where I set up What in Sam Hill?, I played SXSW with my Duran Duran cover band last year and I’m keeping Austin weird.

HB: Let’s keep it weird with, one, two, three…

Both: Crop rotation!

Martin Van Baller

Special History Bros episode, featuring my longtime pal, past guest and frat brother, Martin Van Buren! The Little Magician. The Dutch Oven. Count Von Puss. We met at Open Dike night in Amsterdam during his year abroad, while I was still a pledge at Sigma Rho Stroopie.

This episode is brought to you by Van Buren Wooden Shoes: more comfortable than your run-of-the-mill wooden shoe, but still not comfortable. Handcrafted by Martin’s insanely high mother, Diejter Van Buren, these shoes come in avant-garde shapes that may or may not fit. No returns.

HB: Little Dutch Boy, how are you?

MVB: I’m good! After the presidency I’ve been taking it easy, shootin’ some hoops in upstate New York and helping mother with her shoe company.

HB: Yeah, she gave me decagonal shoes in what I can best describe as a women’s size 3.

MVB: We’ll trade ‘em in. We’re working on her policy of no returns.

HB: I love the way they look, I just can’t wear them. And you! That’s all you wore when we played basketball.

MVB: That’s what I was used to. Remember when I dunked over Big Ben Rasnowitz during intramural finals!?

HB: Most people don’t know this, but you could ball. You lost a shoe and still threw down over Big Ben Rasnowtiz. And you’re what, five foot…one?

MVB: Yeah, 5’1”. I think it’s my competitive Dutch spirit. I go for it – I go for the slams.

HB: You didn’t make your junior high speed skating team because you were too short, right?

MVB: Didn’t make it. Heart broken…heart broken, because it’s the Dutch national sport. So, I took my Van Buren clogs and started shooting some hoops with some of the outcast Dutch bad boys of the New York Dutch community.

HB: You’re such a baller. Hey, how’s Rick “The Brick” DeFrenzio doing? I haven’t seen him since undergrad?

MVB: Oh my god, you didn’t hear? He was murdered by the Prussians in the territories.

HB: I never heard about it!

MVB: It was a small service, small service. Fight broke out against some of the Prussians in attendance.

HB: Damn! Well, you were closer to him. I get it.

HB: Alright, for old time’s sake I’ve installed a hoop out in the driveway. You think you can dunk on a standard ten-foot hoop?

MVB: Put me on the fucking spot.  Ok, ok.

HB: He’s slippin’ on the clogs. Running. Oh jesus, he’s taking off from behind the free throw line!

MVB: Waffles!!!!

HB: Oh jesus, he hit his head on the backboard. He’s bleeding. Marty, let’s get you inside.

Cato the Clutz

Today’s episode of History Bros is brought to you by pedometers.  Hey Baby Boomer Moms and Grandmas! Need to get your steps in but don’t trust the government with that FitBit Obama invented, tracking your steps AND your money? Pedometer just straps to your nondescript all-white shoes and counts your steps without giving away your location in rural Indiana. Pedometer!

Speaking of pedometers, our guest had to walk everywhere in ancient Rome. No cars! Huh!? Cato, famed orator, politician and critic of Julius “Hot Salad” Caesar, is here today.

HB: Cato the Elder, so glad to have you!

C: The younger…

HB: I’m so sorry.

C: It’s ok. I’m closing in on 50.

HB: You look fantastic!

C: It’s all that walking!

HB: So, no cars at all?

C: No, nothing!

HB: That’s nuts!

HB: Oh, I wanted to ask you this: did OJ do it?

C: Yes.

HB: Cool. 1995.

HB: Cato, you despised Julius Caesar so much that you committed suicide in response to his growing power. A little dramatic?

C: Yeah, in hindsight it was dramatic. I even did a terrible job at it.

HB: No, don’t tell me…

C: I did! I fell off my bed with my entrails halfway out of my abdomen. What a klutz!

HB: Ohhhh, that’s so embarrassing!

C: And then my Greek eunuch slave/cook comes in with 20 banana cream pies, slips on my entrails and the pies fall all over my shocked family!

HB: Butterfingers!

C: I didn’t know if it was because of my entrails or the 20 banana cream pies that my family was so shocked! But, yeah, then I died.

HB: You’re a funny man Cato.

C: Caesar, of course, gets assassinated in the most severe way possible. No slapstick, no humor.

HB: I don’t respect a man like that.

C: At least do a double take toward Brutus.

HB: Yeah, like wide-eyed: “You, huh?” “Oh hell nurrrr!”

HB: And we’ll close with a question I like to ask my guests: last movie watched?

C: Big Momma’s House 2

HB: Good man.

C: Oh, what, what!? My hand’s in your paper shredder!

HB: Cato!