LowbrowSeptember 29, 2011 at 4:45 am

Ben Franklin Sex Diary: I Hope They Serve Ale In Hell

Also available as a book on tape

Long before Tucker Max graced us with his literary prowess, one of our Founding Fathers penned stories of his legendary romps and sexploits in colonial America. We are proud to present the coveted excerpts from Benjamin Franklin’s recently discovered sex diaries.

March 2,
John and I always joked that the Lady Adams was undomesticated, but she proved it last night. Leaving the pub, we unsuccessfully attempted to hail a horse and buggy, but when the rain began, we ended up stumbling into an abandoned barn. The Lady began to remove her clothing, and when she removed her corset, I commented, “I do believeth I just jizzed in my knickers, Abigail.” The stage was set. Adams ended up taking backseat to me (which ironically entailed Abigail getting backseated), and we placed her between my kite and his key. She was so untamed that John and I wound up grabbing each other’s hands for support in the motion of a high five above her head. Yes, Diary, the original Eiffel Tower. Can you believe he ended up marrying that whore?
March 2

April 23,
Betsy Ross flashed a cheeky bit of ankle today at Ye Olde Smokey Joseph’s. Hoping she is DTF (Down To Fornicate).
April 23

May 1,
Spring is sprung! The maidens shall be more scantily clad and randy due to warm weather. Huzzah!
May 1

May 5,
Saw Betsy again today by Independence Hall. My warm salutations (read: solicitations) were greeted with a frosty demeanor. This whole “playing hard to attain” grows quite wearisome. I’m a founding father, for fuck’s sake!
May 5

August 10,
Yielded awkward questions about the intentions for my new University from Jefferson. Well, one can’t exactly put in the mission statement that one founded a University with hope of attracting lascivious coeds, now can one?
August 10

August 24,
Button popped off my waistcoat during a particularly heated encounter with one of the bar wenches at Ye Olde Smokey Joseph’s. Must make up a clever story to throw the Missis off the trail. Maybe I’ll tell her what Georgie told Martha when she suspected he was canoodling with Phyllis Wheatley. What a sly dog he is.
August 24

September 1,
I was having my customary tea at the Jefferson residence when their young son dashed in. My, what a tan little lad! As the boy ran out, the servant–woman, Miss Hemings, entered. Great eagles of liberty, what a dirty wench! What I wouldn’t have done to stuffeth my ball into that one’s cannon shoot! I’d heard it said that Jefferson had tappeth that fine buttock, but I did not know it to be true. Seeing him eyeing her as well, I proffered my foot in the customary way underneath the table. Jefferson responded in kind. And so it was decided. Afternoon delighteth a la menage a trois.
September 1

Coitally Yours,

Big Ben

 
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