“... In 1816, Whitaker led a platoon of 30 men deep into Seminole Territory. Of course, this was a mistake; Whitaker’s orders had been to secure candy mountain, which, at the time, was occupied by a small group of vigilante yokels armed only with pitchforks and what President James Madison would describe in his memoirs as ‘A fucking killer ass sweet tooth.’
Whitaker’s men were said to have corrected Whitaker on this blunder several times, some of them doing so as they were being hatcheted to death by angry Seminoles. “General,” they’d say, bleeding to death. “I’m pretty sure we’re supposed to be at candy mountain, fighting yokels. Not in Florida, fighting these stabby fellows here.”
But Whitaker, always a stalwart man--and, it should be noted, in the depths of a four-year ether binge--would just wander off, whistling dixie, huffing on “Tanya,” his favorite ether rag, and yelling, “Man, I loooove ether!”
When Whitaker finally came down for a few hours, he realized his mistake and in a panic, hid behind a tree.
‘To properly understand Whitaker’s life--and certainly his death--one must consider the sheer immensity of his buttocks,’ says Buckly C. Jackson, a professor of history at Cambridge Community College in Hoboken. ‘That ass was what Black Rob might describe as ‘like whoa.’ Like two Christmas hams, and this is a conservative image I’m painting, shoved into a pair of standard issue union trousers. It must’ve been quite a sight indeed.’
As it turned out, it would also be Whitaker’s undoing.
With around half of his platoon dead, and half hiding in trees, covering their eyes with their hands, the Indians noticed Whitaker’s buttocks jutting out from behind a tree. They captured the general, and demanded that he either surrender his men, or be pelted with pebbles until he was dead. Naturally, he chose to surrender his men.
‘There’s one,’ he’d say. ‘There’s another.’ ‘See that bush there. It’s not really a bush. Shoot it. See?’
Whitaker had escaped death, and was invited into the Seminoles’ casino to take in some drinking, gambling and a variety show hosted by Robert Goulet.
However, back on the ether, Whitaker made his final mistake when he bet his car on a hand of No Limit Texas Hold ‘Em.
He lost the hand, and when payment was demanded, told the Indians, 'It’s 1816, dumbass. I don’t have a car.'
Incensed by Whitaker’s ruse, the Seminoles hanged him, changed their minds, hatcheted at him for a while, and hanged him again. Over lunch, they decided that hatcheting was the way to go, went back out to the makeshift gallows and cut him down. Then he was hatcheted to death and, though already dead, hanged again.
On his tombstone, Whitaker’s last words are immortalized: 'Geez, make up your mind you filthy redskins.'"
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