A Wench in the Works

I was discussing the airbrushing of homosexuality from 300 with my friend and writing partner Andy. I claim that, despite Frank Miller and Zack Snyder’s best efforts, a single homosexual couple remains in the movie. Andy posited simply that men can be best friends without being gay – which, yeah, is obvious – but I don’t think it holds true here.

This caused me to think how I would feel, were I ever to do anything of historical significance, if the writers or filmers of this history chose wilfully to misrepresent me:

Alexander Doenau: his passion for freedom was matched only by his passion for women. His life goal was to carouse across the 67 states of America and, in his quest to liberate the pepper mines of Old Bavaria, he achieved just that. Doenau died happily at age 94, a lusty wench on each arm.

The pictures would depict me at something akin to the signing of the Declaration of Independence, naturally surrounded by barmaids, cleavage to next week.

I think that, rather than taking offence, I would be absolutely tickled.

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