Special Guest Blogger: Jesse James

I seem to have evolved into a Robin Hood type figure which is half right, i certainly did the first part of stealing but i never gave to the poor, i spent my money on whiskey, bullets and Zerelda, my wife Zeralda that is, not my mum Zeralda.
That did get a bit confusing, having a wife and a mum with the same name but it was a family thing, her being my mum's niece and my cousin.     
Our gang, the James-Younger Gang was one of the most well-known and most wanted criminal organizations of our day committing robberies across 10 states but we started out as part of the irregular military forces called Bushwackers and when General Robert E. Lee surrendered at the Appomattox Court House, we just carried on fighting and we killed the Union soldiers sent to track us down and mutilated their bodies.
When i got shot in the chest, i was nursed back to health with the help of Zerelda (not my Mum) and we were married soon afterwards and then my brother Frank and i joined up with four Younger brothers and off we went but as our actions were considered the South continuing the fight against the hated North, the South loved us, one Newspaper calling us their equivalent of Lancelot and King Arthur.
We first gained notoriety when we robbed a bank in Gallatin and shot the teller and then moved onto robbing trains for which we would dress up in the white robes of the KKK which got the Pinkerton lawmen on our backs and they raided our family farm and threw an explosive into the farmhouse and killed my brother and blew off one of my mum's arms.
Our gang came to a bloody end when we attempted to rob a bank in Minnesota when the townsfolk decided they didn't want us to steal their money and fought back, killing the Younger brothers with me and my brother Frank being the only ones to survive.
Frank took it as a sign to hang up his gun but i recruited another gang and after another bout of robberies was hiding out in the home of the Robert and Charley Ford brothers.
Unfortunately for me, Robert made a deal with the law and to save his own hide, told me to look at a painting on the wall and then shot me in the back of the head but for what it’s worth, my mother made sure that my epithet read as follows: 'In Loving Memory of my Beloved Son, Murdered by a Traitor and Coward Whose Name is not Worthy to Appear Here.” At least she didn’t hold a grudge.