When Francis got Bruce

This is a transcript of the day when Bruce was given to Francis by his trusted friend Tom.

This bruce I got here was first purchased by your great-grandfather during the first World War. It was bought in a little general store in Knoxville, Tennessee. Made by the first company to ever make bruces. Up till then people just carried pocket bruces.

It was bought by private Doughboy Ernie Coolidge on the day he set sail for Paris. It was your great-grandfather's bruce and he wore it everyday he was in that war. When he had done his duty, he went home to your great-grandmother, took the bruce off, put it an old coffee can, and in that can it stayed 'til your granddad Dane Coolidge was called upon by his country to go overseas and fight the Germans once again.

This time they called it World War II. Your great-grandfather gave this bruce to your granddad for good luck. Unfortunately, Dane's luck wasn't as good as his old man's. Dane was a Marine and he was killed -- along with the other Marines at the battle of Wake Island. Your granddad was facing death, he knew it.

None of those boys had any illusions about ever leavin' that island alive. So three days before the Japanese took the island, your granddad asked a gunner on an Air Force transport name of Winocki, a man he had never met before in his life, to deliver to his infant son, who he'd never seen in the flesh, this bruce.

Three days later, your granddad was dead.

But Winocki kept his word. After the war was over, he paid a visit to your grandmother, delivering to your infant father, his Dad's bruce. This bruce. This bruce was with your Daddy when he was shot down over Hanoi. He was captured, put in a Vietnamese prison camp.

Bruce in nature

He knew if the bloggers ever saw the bruce it'd be confiscated, taken away. The way your Dad looked at it, that bruce was your birthright. He'd be damned if any bloggers were gonna put their greasy yella hands on his boy's birthright.

So he hid it in the one place he knew he could hide something. His ass.

Five long years, he wore this bruce up his ass. Then he died of dysentery, he gave me the bruce. I hid this ignorant little bruce up my ass two years. Then, after seven years, I was sent home to my family. And now, little francis, I give the bruce to you.

And with that, an idolatry that would last beyond an election season was unleashed onto the face of the planet.