My dear readers, I write to you from a Parisian cafe, well after my contributions to history's pages have ended, asking for your judgement as to whether criticisms of my past conduct are merited.

I first came out to the penal colony of Van Diemen's Land in 1826, naught but a builder of humble class, although my true interest lay in the humanities and theology. My wife and children later joined me in Hobart Town, and I made a decent profit from my trade.

At this time there was open warfare between the black Aborigine and British settlers of the island, and it dominated the minds of all. It was a most brutal affair, a war of extermination marked by un-Christian atrocity - on the side of the black, from a sense of righteous anger and from desperation, and from the convict and his master a sense of fear and entitlement. Shepherds were ambushed and speared through, or burned alive in their huts, just as black women and children were taken and mutilated and abused by sealing men, their menfolk chained to trees and shot. Even the housing of hundreds of garrison troops across the great frontier did little to stem the tide of violence.

By the year 1830, an island that may once have been home to four thousand natives barely contained seven hundreds, yet bloodthirsty men of England still pressed the honourable governor George Arthur to extirpate these poor heathens. Lamenting the lack of formal treaty with the Vandemonians, the sympathetic Arthur decided upon a military action allegedly inspired by the ancient genius of the Athenians - a great line of men marching across the island end-to-end, in the hope of cornering the surviving natives on remote peninsulas. Enlisting and arming men of all sorts and qualities, this 'black line' was an undertaking of enormous logistical extravagance - yet the cunning blacks evaded the clumsy frontiersmen, and only two were killed and another two captured, with stealthy violence continuing almost immediately after the line was disbanded.

This colossal failure proved the necessity in the governor request for 'a man of good character' to manage a ration station on Bruny Island, its goal being to entice natives in and civilise them through Christian means. I was hired for this task, and it was from this settlement (admittedly a failure, for most of its inhabitants died of pestilence or absconded) that I learned the language and customs of the Vandemonian. I became convinced that I had found my true calling, and proposed to Governor Arthur that I embark on a 'friendly mission' to pacify the blacks of this land. We decided that should any surrender to us, that they should be temporarily relocated to Flinders Island on the Bass Strait, and allowed to live in peace and tradition until such a time as violence had ended and colonists could accept them as neighbours. In this task I was aided by my sons, some convict labourers and a band of trustworthy and deferential blacks.

In the following months I forwent comfort and safety on a holy mission of intercourse with the natives, preaching the goodwill of the colonists and offering escape from extinction. Many chiefs agreed to this offer, and several hundreds left their lands to live at Wybelenna. I fought for the right to administer this island, for only I had the skill and temperament to deal with the Aborigines, whilst the public protested every penny spent on these poor wretches - yet it was all for naught, for the great majority died on the journey to the island, and these survivors lived in isolated misery, dying in droves of disease and heartbreak. I pushed these children of the Lord into marriage, sedentary living, commerical activity and agricultural pursuits, but the blacks could never imitate a European life, and I could not afford to be associated with this failure not of my making.

Although unappreciated by the common settler, many of the gentlemanly class saw the benefit of my activities and wished for me to perform the same duty in the far larger and wealthier colonies of the mainland. I rejected an offer from South Australia, for it did not sufficiently reward my potential impact, whereas an offer as Chief Protector of the Port Phillip District would. Here I saw many atrocities unfolding as well, and endeavoured to end them before they escalated to Vandemonian levels.

This never came to pass, and my time in Victoria was uneventful in comparison. My knowledge of language and customs in Van Diemen's Land served me little outside of that colony, and my black associates from past travels proved to be useless and burdensome to say the least. Much of my work was in building and managing missionary settlements, and journeying across the frontiers of the colonies, and I can proudly proclaim myself the first in a line of many subsequent Chief Protectors, a position extant in all of the significant Australian colonies. By the end of my tenure I had accrued a small fortune for my services, and with this my family returned to London - we now live in Paris, in significant luxury.

However... There are those who would speak ill of my mission. They accuse me of profiting from the destruction of a race, of quickening their end, of being their gaoler and gentle executioner. Of the one hundred and fifty Aborigines to survive the Black War, only 47 survived Wyblenna to return to another settlement on their home island, and many of these were said to live in prisoner-like conditions. This is hardly a fair accusation, as it is well established by learned men that the native is doomed to die - I strived to save them from cruel treatment by conversion to civilised living, but it was a Herculean task that none could have succeeded in.

I am accused of being false in my piety and my commitments, a con man who peddled falsehoods to the Aborigines - yet I maintain that I conveyed all that was said to me by Governor Arthur, and ever acted in good faith and with love. The labyrinthine complexities of colonial politics and treasuries were beyond my control, and any falsehoods came from the changing policies of the authorities and the limitations imposed upon us by the Lord. I eagerly pushed civilisation on to the Aborigines in my charge, but did so only through gentle means for their own betterment, showing them a level of charity hither-to missing from their interactions with British men. My enrichment was only fair payment for a great undertaking that only I had any hope of accomplishing, and my journals contain great stores of knowledge that should educate generations to come.

Of my companions in the Friendly Mission, much is said of the woman Truganini - she is oft said to be the main reason for its successes, having been shrewd in diplomacy and skilled in bushcraft, brave and cunning. She was indeed all of these things and saved me from death on many occasions, and we were indeed quite intimate - but she was naught but a black woman in a dangerous landscape, where few would have paid her positive attention had she not been accompanied by myself, a respectable Christian man with clout. When I left Wybelenna she was one of several loyal followers I brought with me to Port Phillip, but her companions became involved in murder - I vouched for their characters, but their own actions and their blackened skin sealed their fate, and the inadequacies of the law cannot be laid at my feet. If I am to be accused to using this woman for my own purposes, then so too did she, for her own survival and betterment, and in this we both served a humanitarian purpose. When she died, she died in celebrity, the last of that most primitive of peoples, the Tasmanian Aborigine... We embarked on a truly historic mission in the name of the Lord, and it is my belief that, despite the inevitable end of the Vandemonians, it was a remarkable success.

AITA?

Right so I got a bit of a strange question: how did early bullet primers work? And how old are they?

Wikipedia says the oldest primed cartridge was invented in 1866, but it does not go into detail as to how the primer was manufactured and how it functioned. Back in 1866 they probably didnt have the ability to create such chemically complex primers as we do today, so how did they make it so that it... well... primes on impact?

Really curious as to how big of an impact they had on Greece through out their years?

I'm also interested as to what made them rise, fall and grow a legacy that allows the word spartan to be what it is today.

So, I'm a pretty good sculptor and architect. Better than most, anyways. Because I'm so talented, Il Papa has tasked me with building new sacristy and library at San Lorenzo. This is all natural, the Vicar of Christ demands only the best to even approach recreating the glory of the Kingdom of God on Earth. The fact that we were childhood friends has nothing--

Nothing, Pierto! Stop smirking!

--Nothing to do with it. Cazzo, the quality of assistants these days.

In ogni modo, he has all of these projects for me, but he overestimates me. He thinks me some unshaven Samson, for Il Papa appends more requests for papal tombs for himself and Papa Leo, God rest his soul, a crystal cross, a ciborium and a reliquary, ay Merda am I architect or mule? At least a beast of burden would expect food and rest and the sweet release of death once his body failed him. I, for I am of such import to His Holiness, cannot hope for even that. I toil and toil away and yet my assignments only grow, never shrink. I feel like Sisypheus in the deepest pits of Hell.

So finally, when His Holiness sends me another proposal for a fifty-foot bronze statue, I... may... have send him reply that have detailed some more exaggerated, eh how you say, specification. Also, does anyone know how to fit building underneath statue? I pray I not give Il Papa... how you say... any 'bright ideas'.

Am I the Stronzo?

Transcriptor Note: "Ser Buonarroti replied with suggesting a larger seated statue, (eighty) rather than (fifty feet) high, with a barber shop under its rump, a cornucopia for a chimney, a dovecote in the hollow head and bells ringing from the gaping mouth"

He also basically told the Pope to go f*ck himself.

~ Pierto

I (40M) and my wife (51F) have four sons(18, 16, 15, and 7) and three daughters (17, 11, and 8). I also have a son (21M) from a previous relationship. My wife brought substantial property into our marriage, and I want to keep as much of it as possible.

Until recently, my best friend (51?M), business partner and all-around confidante and partner-in-crime, had gotten along great. And then I decided to promote him to become Archbishop of Canterbury, thinking that things would stay the same. He and I would be as thick as thieves, and we could effectively rule England, Normandy, Anjou, Brittany and Aquitaine together, and everything would be great! We had previously been working to acquire more land and income for the English crown by leaving bishoprics vacant and collecting on the revenues, but as soon as he was named Archbishop, was suddenly not on my side anymore. He suddenly wanted secular clerks tried in church courts instead of secular courts, and declared that funds I had given him AS A LOAN were actually GIFTS! This is someone I trusted! I trusted him to educate my son and heir!

I tried to let him off easy. When I summoned the Bishops to Clarendon, I tried to give him a way out, and let him compromise, but he refused. I was forced to point out that his own spending as Chancellor was completely contrary to his current position on clerical spending practices. He was okay with it before I promoted him! And now that I've given him the status and power I thought he wanted, he's using it against me!!!

So anyways, he fled to France because obviously he couldn't defend himself against me. Then he goes and starts excommunicating my other advisers and some of my other bishops! Then he wrote to the Pope and they threatened to place all of England under interdict! Imagine that, no weddings, no absolution, no burials... I couldn't have that, so I had to negotiate with the bloody coward. Then, as he's returning to England, he excommunicates MORE of my Bishops! I was at dinner when I heard, so I said to the room "What miserable drones and traitors have I nurtured and promoted in my household who let their lord be treated with such shameful contempt by a low-born cleric!"

Now, I was just angry. Anybody who knows me, knows that I can get angry and that I say things I don't mean. But four of my knights, some of whom had worked for my late brother (28M), whose marriage to the richest single girl in England had been blocked by this meddlesome priest, went to Canterbury and murdered the Archbishop! I didn't ORDER them to do it. I didn't hold a sword to their throat and make them go do it. But people are saying it's my fault!

Now, three years later, after I did my penance, I thought everything was alright. I met a hot, younger woman (25F) and have been seeing her on the side since my wife is getting on in years and spends most of her time at her summer house in the South with our second son (16M). Now, our eldest (18M) keeps begging me for some estates of his own to govern. But he's irresponsible with money, and would rather fight in tournaments than learn the business of ruling. And my mother always said it was better to keep your falcons begging for scraps than to keep them well fed. So I keep telling him no. His older half-brother (21M) doesn't ask for anything!

But then I hear he's run off to his mother's place, and that they're all on their way to Paris to meet with my eldest son's father-in-law (who also happens to by my wife's ex-husband) to plot a war against me! They say that I have forfeited the crown when I had the Archbishop of Canterbury murdered! Again, I didn't order it. Some of my men captured my wife, and I have her imprisoned to make sure my sons behave, but I hear they're taking up arms against me and several of my nobles are following suit.

Did I put a hit out on my best friend? Is my wife mad about the other woman? Should I have given into my sons' constant requests for money? AITA?

TL;DR: My best friend betrayed me, and I got angry. Some of my men killed him in my name. My wife and sons are rebelling. AITA?

Edit: Oh, I also just got a message saying that the King of Scotland is invading too, great.

Okay so first off. Literally none of this is my fault. First my wife (32F) wanted to go home and see her family. But the King of Italy (38M) (who was also her really controlling father-in-law in her previous marriage) wouldn’t let her. So, my son went south and tried to talk some sense into him. But then he tried to kill my son (completely unjustified.) So, I (50M) did what any good husband and father would do and marched over the Alps and took over Italy. So far so good right? I even let the old King keep his job and title. But then a couple of years later I get a letter from the Pope (25M) telling me that this same Italian guy is bullying him and begging me to come south and take care of things. I’m a good Catholic, guys. Maybe even the best. So, I do what any God-fearing man would do and march south again. I get rid of the old king and take Italy for myself so that none of this nonsense can ever happen again and the Pope crowns me Emperor of the Romans for my trouble (nice!) But then I think there was a breakdown in communications or something. Because in order to properly protect the Pope and take care of things (like he wanted) I evicted a bunch of Papal garrisons from the cities around Rome and replaced them with loyal imperial soldiers. This was completely justified, guys. Those guys couldn’t protect a leaf from a stiff breeze. It had to be done.

Anyway. I start to go home right? Back to my wife and my empire. I’ve got shit to do and screwing around in Italy surprisingly doesn’t really help with the whole ‘ruling the most powerful state in Europe thing.’ And I’m not even out of Italy before I intercept some letters from the Pope to literally all of my enemies asking them to come liberate him from his oppressive Saxon overlord. Wtf Right? This guy is trying to instigate WW -1. I couldn’t stand for it. So, I marched south again and replaced him with a different Pope who wouldn’t plunge Europe into a literal bloodbath centered around me. And while I was at it, I amended some documents so that the Papacy was always subject to the legal Roman Emperor (Who they get to pick, by the way. I really don’t understand why this contract specifically is their biggest problem.)

Problem solved right? The Papacy is safe, World War Negative One is averted, and I can go home. Right?

Wrong.

The moment I get home the (25M) Pope comes back and mutilates a bunch of my supporters and tries to kill the lawfully elected Pope. Like, who does that? And then before I can even put my shoes on (25M) gets caught screwing some guys wife and gets killed for it.

That’s pretty much the end of the story but now all these historians are saying that I started the ‘Dark Age of the Papacy’ and ‘Held the neck of the Vicar of Christ beneath the Saxon boot.’

AITA Guys? Really? All I did was try to help out.

Recently, while entertaining friends, it was revealed that my courtship with my husband was less than orthodox. My friends now think that I'm an asshole for the way that I wooed him.

When I was sixteen, my first husband (Adam) was killed while on Crusade. This news was relayed to me by one of Adam's comrades-at-arms (Robert, 29M) who arrived in Carrick bearing Adam's heart for burial in the family chapel. Although I had been fond of Adam (he was the father of my eldest daughter, after all), and was grieved at the news of his death, I was immediately struck by Robert's appearance and manners. I was, in fact, infatuated: not only was Robert handsome and charming, but as a cousin of the king, he was well-positioned at court and within the realm.

I extended Robert an invitation to stay with me for several days so that he could rest after his journey from the Holy Land and he accepted my hospitality. As I really wanted him to stay with me forever, I instructed my household guard to ensure that Robert was confined to the boundaries of my estate. He was given freedom of the castle and its grounds, though, and I made every effort to be a charming, gracious, and attractive hostess.

After several weeks of chaste companionship, I worked up the courage to propose marriage; either Robert could marry me and become lord of my estate, or, he could remain as my guest indefinitely. He chose to marry me and our first daughter was born nine months after the wedding. In the last fifteen years, we have had eleven children and have enjoyed a largely happy union.

Still, our marriage did cause Robert's cousin, King Alexander III, some consternation. As countess of Carrick in my own right, I was considered an heiress of some importance within the kingdom, a ward of the crown's, and technically, I needed the king's approval to marry again. Yet, as I had married his own cousin, Alexander III could not really object to the match; that said, he fined us heavily before agreeing to allow my new husband the use of my title. By virtue of our marriage, Robert has therefore become the earl of Carrick in addition to the lord of Annandale. He is the administrator of my estate in Carrick, and of my fortune. I am happily the wife of a man that I chose and the mother of many beloved children.

All's well that ends well, right? So, am I really an asshole?

I am a student at South Carolina College, and since matriculation have been bosom friends with Govan Roach. But today in the dining hall I went to grab the delicious looking dish of trout laid before us at the table, and I clearly put my hands on it first, which everyone knows means I have the right to it, yet, despite grasping it second Roach refused to let go and allow me to claim my portion first!

Roach finally let go, but then the impudent puppy had the nerve to accuse me of being the one who had insulted him by not relinquishing my hold, despite so clearly having been the first to grab it! As any gentleman ought to do, I told him simply that he would hear from me shortly.

I have retained another student , Robert Campbell (M19) to serve as my friend in this affair of honor that is now brewing, but I am having some second thoughts. This is a dire matter of honor, and I fear I can not back down lest I lose face with my peers, for Roach’s insult was truly a dire one, and I publicly all but promised him a challenge would be forthcoming. To not do so… surely I would have to leave the school in shame.

But he has also been my closest friend over the past two years of school, and in the end, it was merely a piece of fish.

Should I challenge him, or is there a way I can maintain my honor without taking to the field?

UPDATE: Thank you for the advice everyone. I took it and challenged him. However now I am dead. Unfortunate, but my honor remains in tact so it is really a win in the end, right?

Or when did they start having large logos?

You may think that I lack the gravity,

The sober and somber sincerity

Of our national wit-

But you have to admit

Vergil’s dead, so you’re stuck with me

​

Whatever you heard, last you saw her

I’m a stranger to your granddaughter

If she says otherwise,

I assure you she lies:

I’m a rogue, but never a plotter

​

My crime unwitnessed, the charge untrue

No period set to the sentence due-

Since I’m exiled

To the frosty wild

The asshole, Augustus, is you…

​

Outrage reduces me to prose. I am Publius Ovidius Naso (Ovid, in your uncouth tongue), widely and quite justly famed as the author of the Metamorphoses and other deathless poems. Yet despite my status as a national treasure, the great and gaudy Augustus has banished me to the bitter edge of our not-quite-boundless Empire.

I can think of only two reasons why Augustus would deprive the Romans of their favorite and most gifted poet. First, artistic differences. Some years ago, I published the Art of Love, a winning satire on the mechanics of courtship. Perhaps our prudish princeps – ever a handmaid of conventional morality, and lately a font of laws prodding those otherwise inclined to wed – decided to look askance. Second, an…indiscretion. I shall not now be so unwise as to name it – our noble emperor, after all, is still perfectly capable of having me killed – but I can say that I saw something untoward. Did I witness wayward Julia with one of her paramours? Did I involve myself in a faction promoting this or that prospective heir's claims to the imperial title? Maybe neither, maybe both.

The case can summarized succinctly. Did I corrupt the morals of Rome? Hardly. They were engrossingly deplorable already. Did I indulge in a little light treason? Perhaps…but treason is such an ugly word. I have not granted you, dear readers, the wherewithal to know whether or wherefore I have erred. Yet in the forum you call the internet, as I understand, a want of evidence is no hindrance to impassioned judgement. So tell me, people of this strange republic reddit; tell me, o members of this select colloquy AskHistorians; tell me, with the grace of meter or in the ease of prose, AITA?

I work in the admissions department of a distinguished American university which prides itself on producing young men of character and breeding to take their place in the upper echelons of society. We want to maintain quality in our student body, and it is therefore understandable that we would want to make sure that all accepted students are up to a certain standard.

That brings us to the problem of these students. They are, shall we say, of the Mosaic persuasion. Of course, that is not a problem in and of itself! Certainly there are many clever members of that race. In fact, as recently as 1915 one of our sister institutions, Columbia University, had as many as 40% Jewish students due to their excellence on the university entrance exam.

However, cleverness is not the sole criterion for entry; we are looking for something far more. We look for character, for students who will succeed and excel among our student body. For that purpose we recently implemented an application form; we want to make sure in advance that our students will be able to appreciate and fully enjoy the university experience, after all! We ask for a lot of information about students, like their country of origin, mother's maiden name, and organizations to which they belong, because it gives us a well rounded view of the student so that we can make the right judgment; it just seems best for all concerned. We're also asking these days for a list of extracurricular pastimes which the applicants enjoy doing in their spare time; after all, a student who already plays football or swims will have a far more congenial time than one who has spent his high school experience simply sitting with his head in a book.

Unfortunately, with these new application forms, we have simply tended to find that Jewish students now seem to fall within the lowest grade of applicant. They just would not thrive in such a selective and prestigious institution; they are so often greasy and studious youths, unlike their potential classmates, broad-chested, well-rounded men with whom they would simply share no connection. Coming from the slums of the Lower East Side and the Bronx, they would not fit in. In fact, with all the antagonism that some people these days have toward those of the Mosaic faith, perhaps, with the new quota system that we are considering, we'll be doing these students a favor by not accepting them to our campus; after all, Jews are never accepted to fraternities. Their fellow students so often consider them to lack college spirit, to be physically repulsive with their Semitic features, to be brown-nosers, to raise the academic standard too high. Are we doing these Jewish students a favor by allowing them into an environment in which they will never be accepted?

I believe that by rejecting these students, we are simply encouraging them to go somewhere where they will feel more welcome and which is more suited to the background from which they come and the Semitic tendencies which they have. However, there have been some protests of this approach. AITA?

A few years ago I started writing some liturgical poetry. I'm pretty great at it, if I do say so myself. I've written at least dozens of liturgical poems for several Jewish holidays. They interweave acrostics with references to midrashim and rhyme schemes, they're really works of art.

Now some people are complaining about it. They say that no one actually understands them, and I don't use meter. Some are saying my rhymes are "cheating" because I use the same suffix for lots of words, but I always have the root word end in the same root, I'm just making it rhyme more! I've been accused of doing a disservice to the Jewish people by writing all these poems, because services take a long time now.

As far as I see it, the poetic tradition is really the highest form of worship. If some people don't understand it, they should learn more. That's their problem, not mine. I don't even mind if people use Yannai's poetry instead of mine, even though mine is better. But I can't stand this criticism from people who are both less learned and boors who cannot appreciate poetry.

But I keep getting these angry letters from Babylonia and Spain, and I have a nagging feeling that maybe they're right. Should I have used meter instead? Should I have made my references less obscure? Should I have constrained my brilliance to a few short lines, instead of sprawling poems? AITA?

I want to write a short story in the medieval time period but I want to have to understand the basic mind of low level nobility. What did a Baron do on an average day? What did his wife do? How were the children brought up and educated? Where did they live on average, in cities or villages? How did they interact with their subjects if they had any? If possible how did life differ from nobility of similar status such as in France? An answer or just a source for any one of these such as a diary is greatly appreciated. Thank you.

After years of loyalty, I left my prior employer for our direct competitor due to a series of accusations from former co-workers about my work ethic, seeing peers below me get promoted ahead of me as well as being given a series of what I felt were dead end tasks. I only did so in order to support my family and to work for someone who appreciated my talents. After I made the jump, I provided my new employer with some inside info that ended up being useless anyways. AITA?

I'm stuck here in Jerusalem fighting the Romans in a rebellion that has gone...not great, so far. Huge numbers of refugees are besieged here. Most people here who don't really hate the Romans enough think we should hold out indefinitely, but we hardcore folks can't accept that. I feel like the rebellion is being hamstrung from our own side. My buddy Yohanan suggested that we destroy the grain supplies so this indefinite waiting (which will inevitably end in failure) ends, and everybody has to be on the same page to fight all-out.

WIBTA if I did that, and burned some people's grain, so everybody all-in on a big battle against these imperialists?

Somehow, I feel like maybe my revolutionary cabal wasn't all that responsible for this uprising and that actually a lot more people didn't like the old empire for very different reasons, reasons for which they dislike me and my buddies too. But I'm sure that won't cause any problems for the next 16 years, right?

My grandfather was a great man. A great man, I tell you! A true Manchu who would not for a second consider degrading himself by claiming to be anything like those miserable Nikans, who for all their Arts of War and Analects were hopeless against Manchu steel!

My father, on the other hand, I always objected to, even all those times that I said I approved of his actions. His whole thing of saying 'oh look we're basically culturally Chinese now, so even if we were foreign to begin with we've earned the right to rule China now' was far, far too compromising. Obviously, we were destined to rule China just the way we were! Why do they think the Ming lost that war, long before we supposedly started 'acculturating' to their spineless ways? It's only since my father came to the throne that the Zunghars have started to forget their natural submission, as Mongols, to the imperial throne of the Great Qing!

And that Zeng Jing guy my father spared. What a loser! Writes to a general telling him to revolt, for no other reason than that his ancestor was Yue Fei! Ha! And then my father has the gall to spare this obviously treasonous cur just because he wrote letters saying he had repented. And then publishes all this nonsense about acculturation. So of course I recalled the books and also had Zeng Jing executed.

Worse, he thought it would be a great idea to start appointing officials to replace the tribal chiefs in the indigenous lands. A recipe for disaster, I tell you! Now, yes, maybe I won't do anything to reverse it, but I sure stopped it! By Heaven, what an idiot he was.

And then there's all those bureaucratic reforms he thought would be a good idea. A secret Department of Military Equipment designed to build up supplies without the rest of the bureaucracy knowing? Whatever for? What's the point of these brilliantly-equipped armies if nobody sees them coming!? Secret memorials so officials can communicate with the emperor directly? What do my officials have to hide from each other? Have them read the stuff out in front of everyone!

I repeat, I am the true successor of my grandfather, ever since I shot that bear in front of him on that imperial hunt when I was 10. Yes, I could obviously draw a hunting bow at age 10. And just like my grandfather, I have affirmed that the land taxes need never be raised again, as the empire already has all it needs.

So why does it seem like my dad's old ministers don't like me?

Hello! I am a well-established avant-garde multimedia artist with extensive classical music training. If you're familiar in that field, you'll know who John Cage is; I've collaborated with him in live sessions, for example. I have published books and directed cheeky avant-garde films, and am part of a particular avant-garde movement that has been very much in vogue in the last decade. As a result, I've moved around internationally, having moved from my home country to New York and now London.

Recently, at an art exhibition of my own work, I met J, who seems to be fascinated by avant-garde art, but is a prominent pop musician here in London. We hit it off and we are now an item. There is some awkwardness about this, because it turned out that J was married to C with a child, but that relationship has not been alive for some time, and he is now in the process of getting a divorce from her. We hope to marry soon.

Anyway, J is in a band with P, G, and R, and that's where the problems have started to arise. Recently, J invited me to be present at the recording sessions for their next music release. To some extent I think it makes sense; the music they have been making recently has been going in a relatively experimental direction, and the band is talking about solely using musique concrete techniques to create one of their new songs, something I have some experience in. J is a troubled individual who was raised by his aunt because his father was never present and his mother passed away when he was 13 (hit by a car). I think J has been unhappy with how things are going in his life for some time, and he has tried various drugs in the hope that it will ease his anxiety. While I'm sure he'd appreciate my input in the recording sessions, I think, really, that he most likes me being present in order to ease his anxiety.

However, when I turned up to the recording sessions, mostly quietly sitting there but occasionally making suggestions, it clearly made P, G and R uncomfortable - most notably so P. I think they do not like me. P is J's longest-standing creative collaborator, and they commonly collaborate on songs. P is also, seemingly, the person who is most devoted to the group, who is the one pushing them to do new things; I think J and G are a bit tired of it all, and R is relatively happy-go-lucky and just wants everyone to get along. P has written a song that, I think, is a rebuke to J for ignoring his son a little while he has been excited about his new relationship with me. I understand that maybe creatively the group has a delicate balance, and P believes that my presence gets in the way.

As a result, I've been present at the sessions but not really contributed much, despite my training and inclinations. Am I the asshole for being present at the sessions at my boyfriend's request?

Originally, I was given permission by the Cuban governor to explore westward and begin colonization efforts as a way to help find a route to the Philippines so that Spain could establish a trade route with the Orient. At the last minute, the governor removed my charter because of an old argument from years prior. I wasn't going to let that stop me, so I went ahead and set sail anyway. Knowing this was illegal and could very well land me in chains, the first thing I did when I could establish a colony (which I named Veracruz) was have the new town council appoint me as adelantado. Under Spanish law, a town council can do such things giving me the legal authority to continue with my colonization efforts. And after having sunk so much money into getting ships, men, equipment, and horses, I wasn't about to let this opportunity pass me by. My only hope is that once King Charles sees the amount of riches I have presented to him after conquering these bloodthirsty, cannibalistic, devil-worshiping savages that he will grant me mercy for my small crime of defying the Cuban governor. And because I presented him with such a bountiful land full of riches and potential converts, maybe he'll even let me become the viceroy of this land, this Nueva España

25 years ago, I went to heaven. Yes, me, and not you, because I'm the son of God and you're not. And when I was there, God told me I was his son, and that it was my divinely-inspired mission to cleanse China of demons.

6 years after that, at my cousin's prompting, I read a book that revealed to me that what I saw were no delusions, but a true revelation from the creator of humanity himself! The demons, of course, were the Manchus, those northeastern imps who have defiled our glorious nation for over two centuries! As for what I did in the intervening six years, shut up, smartass.

But since my great revelation, things have not always gone to plan. The men of my home province, Guangdong, rejected me, so I travelled to Guangxi, where the people were willing to listen. But surely, there must be something inherently wrong with those from Guangdong, so whenever the issue of promotion came up, I would always prefer those from Guangxi to those from Guangdong. Should this not be correct in God's eyes?

But worst of all, this guy (35M), let's call him Yang because that was his name, claimed he could channel my father's voice. 'What joy,' I thought! 'No longer must I fall into sickness to speak with the Creator!' And the claim, as it turns out, was true. The Heavenly Father was indeed speaking through this humble coal miner. When God demanded that I receive a beating, I submitted willingly. But since that time, Yang started thinking he deserved more. He wanted titles, honours, he even wanted recognition as the third son of God! Surely, this could not be so, but God's word was his word, and while God spoke I could not disobey. So, for Yang's birthday present, I invited my most trusted subordinates to the capital, and I killed him. And his family. And his followers.

When one of my generals (25M), who was late to the party, objected, I killed his family too, because of course I had to. But, to make it up to him, I decided that the other generals should die as well. Because, I mean, that's what God wants, right?

The weird thing is, I thought these European fellows also believed in God. But, why don't they believe in me? When my armies went to liberate Shanghai, they fired on them! My old teacher, Issachar Roberts, has fled Nanjing and accused my cousin of trying to murder him.

And all the while, these poor, brainwashed fools like Zeng Guofan have sided with the Manchu imps, and formed armies to attack me! It looks as though my kingdom is collapsing. But, God says I'll win, right? All of this was worth it. It has to be. Surely.

I was touring a field hospital recently, and I was feeling so damn proud of all those brave boys lying there, suffering stoically from their wounds earned honorably in battle when I came across a sniveling soldier without a scratch, who insisted he simply couldn’t take it any more! Clearly, he had no business dishonoring such sacred ground with his presence, so I did the only proper thing. Administering a good, hard slap with my glove!

Fear in battle is nothing to be ashamed of, let’s be clear here! But a warrior can master his fears. I’d never seen such an arrant coward before, let alone one taking up a hospital bed needed for those heroic men who were able to overcome their fears, and give up their noble bodies in service against the enemy.

AND GODDAMN IT, IT THEN HAPPENED AGAIN! Only a week later, another soldier claiming his nerves can’t take it. I gave him a piece of my mind and administered the same treatment. A hospital is no place for them. Their sergeants ought to have kicked their asses till they went back to the line, and if not, they need to be tried and shot for desertion!

But now, my goddamn superiors are telling me I was wrong! How can that be? Ike - who, did you know, I still outrank in the Regular Army, and, I’ll have you know, relied on MY fucking notes to get through the General Staff College, and this is how he shows his fucking gratitude!? - has been all up my ass about how “shocking” my behavior is. Ike isn’t a general any more, he’s lost that soldierly spirit. He is a goddamn diplomat now. Wants me to apologize to those crying shits to avoid “controversy”. BULLSHIT! The real controversy is the coddling we’re giving these cowards! The Army isn’t their goddamn mother!

I was saving those boys’ goddamn souls! The doctors may have been unwilling to do what was necessary, but I know what needed to be done. I remember a comrade in the Great War who broke, and no one screwed his head back on right, and he ended up killing himself. A good slap would have restored his senses, I guarantee it! These men were soldiers, shirking their duty. A slap was what was needed to bring back their senses.

Look, I may be a goddamn son-of-a-bitch, but any good soldier should be! Ike just refuses to understand. How the fuck can I apologize for simply doing my goddamn duty as a soldier!? I would hope if I had been in that state, another man would have the common decency to administer the same treatment to me.

And now some hack of a journalist is sniffing about and writing what might as well be fucking Nazi propaganda to destroy the war effort and the public wants me to be sacked. Even the Senate is looking into it. These fucking civilians don’t know what it is like to command soldiers, they don’t know what it takes to lead men into battle. They don’t understand that this is my destiny. I was born a soldier, I have always been a soldier. And now they want to take that away from me because I merely am fulfilling it!

How, I ask you, can literally everyone be wrong about this? How can the entire Army brass, right up to Marshall, not to mention the Congress and President and the entire American public, be such GODDAMN ASSHOLES?