Colonial Campaigns Club (CCC)

(The Tavern Door opens and the Young Ensign in a hunting shirt with rifle steps inside. He coolly surveys the room to see if the Nattily Attired One is present. Since an outrageous wig does not obstruct the ceiling and the room is minus the fragrance found only in certain cat houses around London’s more disreputable districts, it is obvious that the Natty One is off partaking in one of his more unsavory pastimes. It is fortunate that he is not in considering the last time the two met in the tavern. There is unfinished business to be taken care of. Seeing that the object of his attention is not present, the Young Ensign bellies up to the bar, orders a brew from the buxom and comely maid and drinks it in one long gulp. A satisfying belch is heard. Nothing like a good brew to get one going! He leans over to the comely bar maid and places a note in between her ample bosoms. The maid, while used to assaults upon her breastworks, looks on in surprise. She didn’t know that the Ensign could write. She pulls it out and looks at the note. In a painful scrawl (no one said that it requires book larning to whip British) the address reads:

Gineril Phil Natta Esq.
Lapdog of George
Wearer of Bad Wigs and Fake Moles

The Comely Bar Maid opens the note as the Ensign beams with pride announces, “I done wrote that all by myself! I larned by letters at Oxford, ya know at that school house by where the Ox done forded the crick!â€

Good Ensign Hopper,

You must have been sampling the demon Rum all afternoon to challenge the Natty one like that!

Be careful, you may get what you wish for.

Now the proper way to insult one of his "majesty"'s generals is to... [he empties a partial sack of flour on our once bemused barmaid and removes his buckskin gloves] expain how his noble blue veins remind you of a well aged cheeeeze [as he smacks the now agitated barmaid across the cheek, rising a cloud of dust in the room] * hack * cough * and remind him that moles are what viscous little Hessian Dachshunds snack on while waiting for other dogs to eat their fill! [swatting at at the barmaid again, who grabs his wrist mid-swipe, turns it behind his back, and drags him to the door.}

Now that is how one insults someon....ack! [as he is tossed rudely out the door and is set upon by the good folk in town and tossed in the stocks for a few days to be a target for the rotting vegetables in town.]

Edited by - Mike Cox on 06/18/2002 02:43:22

By sheer coincidence, just as Mr. Cox comes flying out the tavern door, Luigi my trusted manservant, shoves my arriving personage to the side, saving me from colliding with Mr. Cox and preventing a smudging of my crisp new uniform against his filthy bib overalls. The winsome lass barks out after Mr. Cox, "and don't come back in here till you've bathed and paid your due bill!"

That nasty bit of business over with, she spies me in all my regal splendor, and what at first was a brusk and crude ale server, her face now glows with an angelic smile as she slowly takes the picture in from the top of my sumptuos wig to the tips of my leopard
skin boots. "Ahh good day Sir! Might you be wanting some refreshment now? Gentlemen such as yourself drink free of charge when
I'm tending bar, but when I'm not tending bar you must pay handsomely, but in your case good sir, (again a long, slow, and deliberate top to bottom look) it is I who should pay you!" "Very well miss" I comment nonchalantly, "let us see what you have behind the bar". With that, she spins around, and barely in the act of hoisting her hemline, Luigi gently nudges her in the door and signals for me to follow.

Once inside and squared away at a table, a bumbling and raggedy fellow approaches. He ever sooo slowly tugs the stem of hay
from between his stained teeth (what's left of them) and grins broadly. He stands there, just staring and grinning at me while weaving from intoxication. Not wanting the fair lass to witness this chap hovering over me, I gently cough and address the vagabond in question. "Ahem....my good man, would you be ever so kind and move your self off to the corner, taking the stench with you if you please? You're even dropping fleas and lice by Jove!" Unbelievably, his gnarly grin gets even wider as he pulls his torn and sagging breeches up over his waist. "Genral Natta Suh? Is that you, you sweet smellin' tart?" The place erupts with laughter! The poor sod drawls on. "Genral Suh.....ah just been a' itchin' ta have mah boys do a lick a' target prackise on some a' yourn dandies and ladies. Ya thaank it might be nare time we had a lil' dosey doe out in yonder cow pasture Suh?.....that is if'n you leave that purdy red dress and that big ole pile a' hair at home so's we don't rally thaank we's a shootin' at womenfolk?" Again uproarious laughter fills the tavern.

Luigi dutifully rises, intent on bludgeoning the scarecrow, when I calmly place a hand on his shoulder to reseat him. "Nevermind
Luigi, I'll handle this. Now see here old boy, it's a fortunate thing that the bar miss heads our way with my libation, or I might forget that I'm a gentleman of the Crown. But, in order to jolly well get your fermenting hide apart from me, I will most assuredly agree to give you your due thrashing, courtesy of His Majesty's Drill Manual for the Army of the North American Colonies. It's not quite cricket mind you, with your hunting shirts and rifle guns against the splendid war machine that I have at my disposal. Nevertheless, I must assume that you know what you're in for laddie, and so I will make the necessary arrangements to take time away from the drubbing I'm currently administering to your cohorts, just to accomodate you as a special favor. Will that do for now old chum?"

"Uh Suh, ah do believe that'll do right nice I'm a' thaankin'! Now....can ya just say if'n ya'll be acceptin' mah invite or no?"

Exasperated with this buffoon, and gasping for fresh air, I take a dainty sip of my cognac and grab the lass and head for the stairs. "Don't bother finding me sir, I'll surely find you by following the trail of flies. Luigi, please arrange the sordid details with our friend Farmer Gump here!"

<img src="http://us.f1.yahoofs.com/users/b3df3682/bc/1776/Brennan.gif?bc.h0N9AzRrc3W4Y" border=0>
Wanted: Farmer Gump
Dead or Deader

<center><font color=gold> Brigadier General Sir Phil Natta Esq. KB</font id=gold></center>[url="http://www.angelfire.com/mo3/cccbritisharmy/FootGuards.htm"]<center><font color=red>HM First Foot Guards</font id=red></center>[/url]<center><img src="http://us.f1.yahoofs.com/users/b3df3682/bc/1776/footflg4.gif?bc3b6F9Ajy932yH0" border=0></center>

Edited by - Phil Natta on 06/18/2002 05:00:08