How I Imagine the Drafting of the Declaration of Independence Would Have Gone If the Founders Had Been Eating Buffalo Chicken Pizza

THOMAS JEFFERSON: Pizza’s here!

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN: What’s on this? Is this blue cheese?

JOHN ADAMS: Can I have a piece with less blue cheese on it?

JEFFERSON: Just pick it off.

ADAMS: Can someone help me cut my slice into smaller pieces?

JEFFERSON: Sure, John.

ADAMS: It’s so spicy!

JEFFERSON: Don’t be a wimp, John. You said you liked buffalo sauce.

ADAMS: This one just has, like, more buffalo sauce than I normally get.

JEFFERSON: Well, you guys said, “Surprise us!” so there you go. We should have just gotten pepperoni.

FRANKLIN: No, it’s fine. I’m pepperonied out. I ate so much charcuterie in France.

JEFFERSON: Great, more France stories. Can we get back to drafting this statement justifying our claim to independence from Great Britain?

FRANKLIN: Yeah, but can someone pass the ranch first?

(John Adams is covered head to toe in ranch dressing.)

ADAMS: I spilled the ranch. Can I have a napkin?

JEFFERSON: Just stay over there and don’t get anything on this draft. I’m serious, John. I don’t want to have to make another copy of this. Listen, we need to compile a list of our grievances against the British crown so we can explain in this public statement of sorts the reasons for declaring independence, should Congress so decide in the coming months. So, what are you guys thinking?

ADAMS: Mention that the tea taxes are egregious… also, the tea is too spicy.

JEFFERSON: Jesus Christ, John.

FRANKLIN: We should mention that their women aren’t as pretty as French women.

(Jefferson puts down his quill, sighs deeply, rubs his temples, and takes a bite of loaded buffalo chicken pizza.)

JEFFERSON: Mmm, this pizza is yummy. Should we save some for Roger Sherman and Robert Livingston? Where are those two anyway? They were selected for this committee to draft the Declaration and are supposed to be here.

FRANKLIN: I think they went for falafel.

JEFFERSON: Great. Well, then I guess history will largely forget them. Okay, what else besides the spicy tea and homely women? Maybe someone has a thought about how we might start this Declaration…

FRANKLIN (talking with his mouth full of pizza): I’m thinking something like, “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and—shit… I dropped chicken on my trousers… uh, and the pursuit of happiness”—(burps)—or something like that.

JEFFERSON: That’s actually quite eloquent. Thank you for that, Ben.

FRANKLIN: Yeah, sweet. Hey, all of our names are going on this, right? It would be nice to get some credit for being holed up in this hot assembly hall all summer. Also, I feel like this Declaration thing could help me get my face on our currency, and I really want to pay for things using paper that has my face on it.

JEFFERSON: Okay, sure. We’ll make room for everyone to sign the Declaration… even though I’m the one who was picked to write this because of that pamphlet I wrote a couple of years ago. Do you guys remember A Summary View of the Rights of British America?

ADAMS: I don’t think I read that one. Argumentative literature scares me.

FRANKLIN: Yeah, no, I was in France, probably, and they mostly just have newspapers in French, which I can totally read.

JEFFERSON: No, that’s cool. I think it sold a bunch of copies or whatever. It doesn’t matter—what does matter is that we all understand that by drafting this Declaration and signing it, we’ll be committing high treason, which is punishable by death. Everyone appreciates the gravity of this situation, right?

(John Adams is covered in buffalo sauce and has started crying quietly.)

ADAMS: My tummy hurts.

FRANKLIN: To be honest, Tommy, I wasn’t listening. Also, I could use a beer.

JEFFERSON: Fine. Ben, please take John with you. I will finish this myself.

(Jefferson takes another bite of pizza and drops a piece of buffalo chicken on the Declaration draft.)

JEFFERSON: Son of a bitch. We should have just gotten pepperoni.