In Celebration of Charlotte Corday

You killed Marat.

He was rather blah.*









*Valetudinarians with skin conditions make terrifying revolutionaries. Especially if they are allowed to marinade in bathtubs all day, whilst penning agit-prop tracts calling for heads to roll.

Marat was annoying, a hate automaton. Insane people like M. are heeded in insane times. Charlotte Corday had the good fortune (and the bad timing) to have been born sane in an insane time. She provided the only appropriate medical care possible for a man like Marat. She even made a house call.**

And he didn't even have to get out of his warm tub.

Then he had another schlub immortalize him and depict him as Christ (David).

The French Revolution was a great period for schlubs.

The Revolutionary French calendar is very cool, though.

I think we should adopt that.

I want a month named Thermidor (I think that was August).

But they deleted Sunday, the little heathens.




**How did Charlotte Corday get into Marat's dwelling, you might ask? Well, the HISTORY CHANNEL informs us that the rabid dog had an open door policy for all revolution-friendly citizens.

And Ms. Corday gained admittance to his bathchamber (rather gauche of Marat to entertain thusly, non?) by pretending to have a list of people Marat could denounce.

She was bringing him his favorite treat: denunciation cookies.

Marat could never resist denunciation cookies.

If only someone could have made some with Depakote sprinkles on them!

So Ms. Corday was swiftly admitted and she swiftly dispatched him, saying "NO MORE DENUNCIATION COOKIES FOR YOU. YOU'VE MADE QUITE THE PIG OF YOURSELF ALREADY. AND NOW LOOK! YOU'VE GOTTEN BLOOD ON MY PRETTY RIBBONS."

She didn't even say "Sic Semper Tyrannis!" or anything pompous like that.

Not even when they executed her.

She is the patron saint of all Neighborhood Watches.