As a red-blooded American of generations stretching to yore (yes, even to the Mayflower, doubly-so. There is even a genealogy published on the Duke surname entitled Double Cousins, relating that relationship on that boat), it makes my teeth grind to work amongst the descendants of the Loyalists who fled from the Shot Heard ‘Round the World to reside in Canada, in defiance of God’s Will for the manifestation to the world, once and for all, of the inalienable rights of Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness. Every Fourth of July (a.k.a., Independence Day), I am reminded by many of my close friends who are Royalists that insurrection is illegitimate, and quoting St. Paul, the Apostle to us Gentiles, sent by Christ himself, ungodly.

And so I quote the Declaration of Independence, pausing especially over each item of the list of grievances against The Tyrant, with the implied question underlying that recitation, “Are you really invoking the Holy Apostle against free people under his God to redress wrongs done by such vile and capricious tyrannical behaviour?” (One uses the English spelling in order to concede rhetorical points [a gambit, I know] toward the end of converting the ungodly; all things to all people, as The Apostle says)

It so happens that the lore of my family includes an explanation for the surname: when the Plantagenets were displaced from their rightful claim to the English throne, my ancestors were likewise disenfranchised of their ancestral lands and exiled. Therefore they took the surname Duke in defiance of the usurper Tudors, murderers and rapscallions all. We fought against the horrible consequences of this regicide, that is, the onset of the House of Hanover, invited to the throne because the Tudors had failed in its kingship so miserably for so long, blaspheming God by invoking His name in laying claim to Divine Right, even more so when they abandoned the One True and Holy Catholic Faith for the expediency of adultery (and other crimes against nature), even while eschewing the important reforms demanded by Luther and his followers.

Thus we fought, in the body of Charles Duke, against George III, under the Fleur-de-lis of the Catholic King of France. For which valor we were rewarded by the Constitutional Congress of the United States with lands stretching from Virginia around the Appalachian Mountains into Western Georgia, which we held, as its merchant pioneers until Sherman’s March to the Sea, when we were again disenfranchised, this time for our sins against humanity (which crime I am ashamed to name here).

Therefore, I have an affinity for the Irish, especially with regard to their identity as ever-pugilistic resisters of the English throne. The House of Hanover merely continued the vice of the House of Tudor, which is conscription of its subjects to fight its unjust and tyrannical wars against the free peoples of the earth. My best pals in the Buffalo region are a group of Irish fellas who play Irish folk music with traditional instruments as the band Crikwater. After listening to some of the more rebellious bardic offerings, and fueled with the delicious elixir made by the good folks at Guinness, one is overcome by the desire to reclaim lost ancestral lands by any means necessary.

When that day comes wherein the Plantagenets are restored to the throne of England and my ancestral lands are restored to me, along with my titles and all the rights and privileges pertaining thereunto, I will reconsider the benefits of monarchy. Until that day, I will, every Fourth of July, aim my bottle rockets (which are illegal in New York State) across the Niagara River at the statue of General Brock (who was killed by a plucky bunch of American drunks who were bored one chilly morning), firing them at his memory and in defiance of the usurper Queen of England.