I mean, of course, I reached a point where someone decided to open up the gene bank to every mass murderer that blighted Europe up to and including the First World War. The king-seed supposedly enters the Chemo-Electric Trashman by way of a Margaret Fiennes, baroness, who married a Sampson Leonard. The paternal line springing from this couple is supposed to reach Lydia Alden Leonard, who joined the Britton clan by marrying one, so that eventually you get to my great grandmother Orie growing up on a farm in northern Illinois. Any genes introduced after that come from Irishmen and Jews, and by the way mulligatawny soup has nothing whatsoever to do with Ireland. It's Indian food, for Pete's sake.
It is a fate that befalls every White Anglo-Saxon Protestant Irish Jew who ever depends on others to research their genealogy. By this curse of the baroness I am supposedly only 29 generations removed from Grampa William the Conqueror or, if you like this one better, Grampa King Louis the Fat. Go back another three generations and you reach Grampa Yitzhak Rabinowicz the Starchy, but I don't like to drop names.
