It was a long time ago, well before the era when I started taking the pills my doctor gave me so I could count, read, and see. I failed Kindergarten. I’m not proud of this but you need to know my storytelling skills are suspect. This is a story I will tell at another date. All I’m saying is this: I remember the massacre because I recall reading the brochures and even seeing signs leading me to the gift shop for the “Bowling Green Massacre Battlefield, Gift Shop, and Museum”. If I can find my ticket, I’ll send you a PDF.
Admittedly, the medicine makes my mind hazy. I am sure I was there both before and after the massacre. Though, at this point, I’m not clear whose side I was on. I might have Bowling Green PTSD. Remember, my facts are subject to revision. But this is what I recall. There was a group of Militant Methodist Jihadists working their way across what was then the western United States. Tim Jefferson hadn’t yet purchased Louisiana from France. Kentucky and Ohio were the West Coast. (Or was his name Ted?) Can you imagine it? I believe they were planting apples trees for Walt Disney.
Under the watchful eye of their Mullah, Imam Francis ben Asbury, the militant Methodists launched a jihad to impose their unique form of John Wesleyan Sharia law in these remote regions. First on their list, was to ban “Bullshit” from everyday discourse. In Imam Asbury’s mind, there was too much bullshit running through the hearts, minds, and waters of the local settlers. Many of the settlers thrived on selling bullshit, talking bullshit, eating bullshit, giving bullshit, drinking bullshit, and even recycling bullshit. Bullshit was a huge, big league problem! Yet, the people seemed to love their bullshit.
Eventually, Asbury confronted the most powerful local settler, a big time bullshitter named Sir Owen Crapsalot. Crapsalot had cornered the bullshit market for years, forcing bullshit to become everyone’s favorite pastime. When they weren’t bullshitting each other about hunting or fishing, they bullshited each other about whose local athletic team held sway over another in a recent match. Even sickness, life and death itself, became bullshit. Bullshit controlled their lives. They were obsessed with bullshit. Asbury wondered, “How will we ever defeat bullshit?”
Asbury decided to wage all out war on bullshit. On the morning of February 3, 1632, a militia of 200 militant Methodist anti-bullshitters met the combined forces of Sir Owen Crapsalot and his mighty Bullshit army on Bowling Green field. It was a massacre. When the Bullshit got its shit together, it was strong. The Methodists yelled balderdash, claptrap, hokum, drivel, buncombe, and every synonym for “Bullshit” they could imagine. It was to no avail. The Militant Methodists died that day to cries of bullshit heard all around the field. Such, I am told, is the bullshit legend of the Bowling Green Massacre.