Et Tu, Caesar?

As promised, we've left the sepsis-soaked and amputation-crazed era of the Civil War for a more cosmopolitan setup here on the newly minted set of History Bros.  A chaise lounge was generously provided by Rooms To Go.  Are they still in business?  Yes?  I haven't seen a commercial in, like, over a decade.  Alright, well, it is a white pleather chaise lounge, so they can't be doing that well.  But, we're not complaining, because currently sitting on that eyesore of a couch is none other than Gaius Julius Caesar.  The famed general, statesmen, writer and eventual dictator was one of the main catalysts for the fall of the Roman Republic and the rise of the Roman Empire.  He is, ironically, eating a caesar salad.

HB: OK, you're just begging for it.  Why the caesar salad?

JC: Diet.  Turns out drinking 8 Michelob Ultras every night will create a classic case of beer belly.

HB: You are the ancient version of a frat boy.

JC: I had my days, trying to sustain that lifestyle way after my prime.  I was that guy who used to be an athletic general, but was completely oblivious to the aging process and inevitable weight gain.  Michelob!  I still have a few friends I can't get through to.  The response is always the same: "I played D1 in Roman Legion, I still deserve respect.  No, I'm not balding.  I'm also not taking off my helmet."

HB: I get it.  I hate to break it to you, but just like the Michelob myth, that salad is absolutely terrible for you.  It's all in the dressing.

JC: Damnit!

JC: But, it's salad.  It was on the healthy starters menu at John Barleycorn.

HB:  John Barleycorn?

JC: I didn't say I was fully over my phase!  Did you even know that I played D1 Legion...  Ok, I here myself.  I'm trying.

HB: I bet it's tough, man.  But, still, toga parties?

JC: I wear one every day, so it's not something novel.

HB: That was less fun than I expected.  Jeep Wrangler named a model after the river you famously crossed - a point of no return.  Jeep Wrangler Rubicon!  Hot or not?

JC: Not.  It's an embarrassing.

HB: You can...totally...unzip the top.  Get a breeze.

JC: It's an awful, awful car.  I'd rather have a Geo Tracker.

HB: Good point, Julie.  At least you could play the hipster irony card with that one.  The Rubicon, there's no way around that stigma.  You're the guy who owns a Wrangler.  And guess what?  It rained last night and you forgot to put the top back on.  Your fuzzy dice smell like wet dog and your copy of Alanis Morissette's Jagged Little Pill is ruined.

HB: Alright, serious question.  Did you really utter the words "Et Tu, Brute," or is this just Shakespeare taking artistic liberties?

JC: All honesty, I didn't even say a word.  I passed out in about a minute, then bled out a minute later.  I vomited because it hurt so f'ing much.  That was the closest I cam to speaking.

HB: Grudge against Brutus?

JC: No, I'm actually happy for him.  Well, I knew he was becoming "different" after he started talking about social justice, volunteering, blah blah.  The real sign was his choice to focus on non-profit management in business school.  All the legionnaires and senators went into finance, but this was, like, different different.  Ya know?  But, he's got three kids now and has a decent job as an educational administrator.  He has happiness.  Most of us never saw that.  I have an Infiniti and an empty heart I feel with caesar dressing.  God, is that really narcissistic?

HB: It is.  Stop eating yourself.  But, that's very noble of you to say.  Still, the stabbing?

JC: Yes!  They all could've easily shot me.  That's just a surprise.  Sure, it hurts, but you don't see it coming over and over again.  Holy shit I'm about to get stabbed!  Oh my god, this other senator has a knife too!  Where's he going to put that one?!  Oh, Jesus, my hip?!  C'mon! A clean shot to the head would've been appreciated.

HB: Who wore the Caesar cut better - you or ER Clooney?

JC:  Clooney.

HB:  Julie, I want to sincerely thank you for coming on the show.  Go eat some quinoa.

Homeless Horace

Today we take a break from KP duty, ditch the soldiers and sit down with a more intellectual sort: Mr. Horace Greeley.  Founder and editor of the venerable New York Tribune, Greeley was a fervent abolitionist and Radical Republican, often using his paper as a mouthpiece for the party and the dissemination of his ideals.  Born to poor parents to New Hampshire, Greeley went all Silicon Valley, left school at the age of 14 and sought fortune in editing and journalism - an inextricable piece to his more liberal politics.  At the request of Mr. Greeley, I've submitted myself to Earl Grey as the man is snobbish about the taste and wastefulness of my Keurig machine.  It tastes like someone shoved a cigar butt in my mouth...and I just burnt my tongue.  Great.  Let's go!

CWB:  Is my tongue bleeding?

HG:  No, sir.  Shipshape.

CWB:  Well, I won't be able to taste my Trader Joe's channa masala later on today, plus I'll get that flaky feeling a few days later.  The Keurig is out of sight, Mr. Greeley!

HG:  Doctor Greeley.

CWB:  You don't have your doctorate.

HG:  Fair point.

CWB:  In fact, I'm surprised you even have a job you dropout deadbeat.  I'm sorry, the Earl Grey has frayed the last of my nerves.

HG:  Understandable.  Well, to be candid, I actually don't hold a job at the current moment.  You know, print journalism.

CWB:  Booming, I hear.

HG:  Ah, sarcasm, the escape of the poor-witted.

CWB:  Shut up.  I already really don't like you.  But, we have forty-five minutes left in the slot and I already paid for the time.  Uhhh.

HG:  Well, I do freelance from time to time as a blogger for AOL.

CWB:  Ha!  Blogging.  About what?

HG:  Well, I like to poke holes in momentous historical events and twist them in a most devilish way, and what you have is satire.  AOL seems to like it.

CWB:  Oh.

HG:  Hmm.

HG:  Where's the recycling bin?

CWB:  Give it.  We generally just throw it in this yellow bag that waste management supposedly sorts from regular trash.  Guess what?  I don't think they do that.  I wouldn't.

HG:  Just like the well-oiled machinations of the corrupt Democratic Party!

CWB:  Doctor, I don't control waste management.  If you want, there's a Jamba Juice down the road, so be my quest.

CWB: And, he actually left.  Taking a quick break.

-

HG:  It is balmy out, sir.  Apologies, but the Jamba Juice didn't have recycling either, so I plodded a bit further until I came upon a delicious new yogurt store.  Kind folks gladly accepted my refuse.

CWB:  Fro-yo?  Yeah, can't stop that train.

HG:  Actually, it was an all-warm Greek yogurt bar with varying complicated infusions like rhubarb and loganberry.

CWB:  Gross.  I am not helping you if you got salmonella from that bacteria trap of a terrible idea gone worse.

HG:  More sugar for the tea?

CWB:  Equal?

HG:  Will not.

CWB:  Of course.

CWB:  I am completely out of ammo.  I have no idea what to discuss with you.  I'm going to throw out a ton of ideas, so please stop me when something you happen to know anything about pops up.  I am not mentioning tea.

CWB:  True Detective, Game of Thrones, Andrew Dice Clay, Sound of Music, The Colbert Report, Angry Birds, Slinkies, Hot Topic, Korn, Lebron James, Malaysia, Corey Feldman, Mardi Gras, Dustin Hoffman, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Dracula, Count Chocula, NASCAR, Vampire Diaries, alt-rock, sunscreen, Lowe's, Starbucks, Rudy...

HG: No to all, sir.

CWB:  Greeley, please answer this honestly.  Do you own a computer, TV or a Walkman?

HG:  What?

CWB:  Have you even left the house until today?  He's shaking his head.  Wait, how do you even write for AOL?

HG:  I dictate.

CWB:  Horace, I actually feel bad for you.  Do you even own a house?  He's shaking his head again.

CWB.  Uhhhhhh.  Alright, I'm going to leave a key and blanket on the desk after I leave today, okay?  Best I can do.  Just like in Rudy.  Right, you haven't seen that.  Do you want some hot yogurt?  Alright folks, I apologize for the disaster of a show, but I now have a philanthropical mission in my life.

CWB:  Only one topping, okay?
 

The Little Mac

Civil War Bros is back from vacation in Tallahassee, Florida, at the beautiful and underrated La Quinta Inn.  After a much needed respite, we meet with one of Lincoln's replaced generals: the meticulous George B. McClellan.  His brief tenure as general-in-chief of the Union Army, covering only 5 months in 1861 and 1862, left him with a slight chip on his shoulder.  Something he's exhibiting right now, as I see him parking his 1991 Toyota Tercel in the studio's only handicapped spot.  Harry from the Lou Gehrig's Disease foundation, with whom we share office space, will certainly not be pleased.  All that aside, let's chat with "Little Mac."

CWB:  Mac, nice to have you here today.  I'll keep it short so you don't get towed.

GM:  There's literally no one else in the parking lot.

CWB:  It's the principle, George.

CWB:  Alright, so, you're middle name is Brinton.

GM:  It is.

CWB:  Sounds like a faucet brand.

GM:  It does.

CWB:  The nickname "Little Mac," how do you feel about that?

GM:  Used to bother me a bit, but soon realized how my height and size played to my advantage when it came to shoe supplies.

CWB:  What size shoe do you wear?

GM:  Six.

CWB:  Is that even possible?

GM:  Yes, and while the other generals bumbled about for shoes during trying days, I received no infections because of an endless supply of sixes.

CWB:  I'm assuming all is proportional.

GM:  I have a large penis!

CWB:  You came right out of the gates with that one, and I'm sure it is.  Penises aside, what happened with the Peninsular Campaign?  Most say you were too timid and rigid in your approach, often leaving large portions of your army unused.

GM:  I exercised what I believed to be the necessary caution.  Was I over wary?  Sometimes.  Do I regret it?  No.  Am I asking a lot of rhetorical questions?  Yes.  Do I need to ask one more because I have OCD and need to do things in multiples of four?  Yes.  OK.

CWB:  You have OCD?!  So do I!  Quick, OCD-off.  Ten bucks says mine is milder than yours.  I'm putting out four pennies, emblazoned with your favorite man there, Lincoln, and all but one are heads up.  I can wait.

GM:  Waiting.

CWB:  Lincoln fired you.

GM:  Fuck, alright, I need to turn it.  Please get those off the desk.

CWB:  Ten dollars, Mac.

GM:  I can tell your OCD is less numerically oriented, seems unfair.  Plus you're wearing that SARS mask.

CWB:  I don't know what you brought in here!

CWB:  Stones of Beatles?

GM:  Rush.

CWB:  Ugh.  Alright, follow-up.  Nirvana or Green Day?

GM:  Rancid.

CWB:  Georgie, don't be that guy.

CWB:  You decided to run against Lincoln in the 1864 presidential election.  In hindsight, did that seem like an idiotic move?  I mean, the man is generally regarded as our greatest president.

GM:  At the time, I thought I had a chance.  He was unpopular and his approval ratings were abysmal.

CWB:  Daniel Day-Lewis portrayed him in the movie Lincoln.  Daniel Day-Lewis doesn't just play anyone.  He either plays God or Lincoln.  Side note: was the voice a little too muppety?

GM:  It was actually extremely close.  I'd even have gone as far as to say that it needed to be more whiny.

CWB:  Easy Lil' Mac, this is America.  Arby's and Lincoln.  You are not on two pieces of US currency.

CWB:  One more about Lincoln.  Thaddeus Stevens, played wonderfully by aging Texan Tommy Lee Jones, in bed with his black housemaid, true or false?

GM:  True.

CWB:  I knew it!

CWB:  Georgie, thank you for stopping by...and your car windows are being shattered by an enraged Harry.  McClellan is now unsheathing is sidearm, running outside, and I am calling the police.