Untitled

South Carolina, 1774: George Washington: Nice whiskey. Some of your best. Listen, Belly, are you as upset about British taxes as those Bostonians? Barnabus Bob Belly: We ain't paid none, Mr. George. Don't drank that tea. GW: Surely you've had tax chasers at your door? Everyone around here has. BBB: Oh yes, sometimes. 'Course, to git to the top a the mountain where the house at, they got to git past the dog, then past them real nice wild pig, the bear trap, what not. Onct they up tards the house, they's the gals. They real good with rifles, Mr. George. Sides, they real purty, least them Anglish boys thanks they are. A feller gits all the way up the top a the mountain, the gals is gonna wont ta breed with him if he looks alright. If he don't look alright, they'll shoot the feller. Jist a little at the first ta scare 'em, but right 'tween the eye if he don't git out a there. So's, we ain't had nobody astin' for no pound, what not. GW: I see. Fine plan, Belly. A fortress. What happens to the men your daughters don't shoot? BBB: Oh, they'll do a breedin' deal ever onct to the while. Fellers ain't real good at fudin', but they do they best I reckon. Now, that Winser boy what taken up with Bonnie Louise is a good 'un. Big ol' boy, big as you Mr. George, and he can do some fudin' too, what he can do. Bonnie Louise had three babies by him, and they all growin' real nice bellies, the kind we shore like ta see. GW: Windsor? Say, Belly, he must be royal family. He lives up there? My, one of your descendants could become king or queen of England I suppose. Very curious. At any rate, Belly, will you be willing to join us in a fight for independence? BBB: A scrap? Shoot, Mr. George, we like scraps, good 'uns. I jist know you'd be a good scrapper, Mr. George. Any time you got a scrap for us, jist send word. Same place as you put the whiskey money, Mr. George. That there'll work real nice. 5

South Carolina, 1774: Barnabus Bob Belly: Good night, Bernice, what you ballin' 'bout? Bernice Beulah Belly: Daddy, here I am 15 year old, cain't find nobody to breed with, ain't killed nobody in six month or more, done read the Bible four time through and still don't know what most of it means, done learnt everthang they is to learn 'bout fudin', and they ain't nothin' else left to do. My life is over, daddy. Ain't nothin' else left to do. BBB: Wail, shoot, Bernice, that there's flat sorry, what that is. I didn't know you hadn't got to shoot nobody here lately. You know what, though, Mr. George Washington had got a scrap comin' up! Dadgum, Bernice, you'd be 'bout the best scrapper Mr. Geroge could find I reckon. I ain't never seen nobody meaner, specially a little-belly. You'd git ta shoot them Anglish fellers all you wonted, what I reckon. Wouldn't that be nice? Bernice: Wail, goodness yes, I reckon. I don't wont to go shootin' kin folk, though. Ain't some a them Anglish gonna be kin folk? BBB: Not so's you'd notice. Jist shoot 'em first, and worry 'bout what if they kin after they been shot, see? Bernice: Will Mr. George Washington let a gal scrap with his fellers? A mess a fellers won't scrap with a gal. BBB: He better. I'll tail Mr. George that you and some a the other gals is gonna make yore own scrappin' bunch, an if any fellers messes with you, they gonna git shot most likely. Them's fair scrappin' rule what they are. Ain't nobody gonna mess with such as that. Wouldn't be right. Anybody can see that.

South Carolina, 1775: Having formed the Belly Brigade consisting of Belly women and their female neighbors, Bernice Beulah Belly returned to Belly Mountain for a visit with her folks. Bernice: Daddy, we're gonna win this war if the dadgum thang ever gits started proper. We got a weapon them Anglish jist cain't handle. You see this here beer? It's called Old Milwaukee. You can drank it all dadgum night and don't git drunked up. I don't know why, but you don't. Wail, you git to drankin' with them Anglish, they gonna git all drunked up and all crazy, but you ain't gonna be all crazy. Easiest dadgum scrappin' you ain't never seen. Me and the gals has been assigned to do spyin' and breedin' talk with them Anglish. Shoot, we drankin' all dadgum day. Don't never git drunked up, though. Then Anglish shoot they mouths off 'bout ever dadgum thang, and we jist 'member it, keep on drankin' and shoot the sumbitches if they git out a line. Most of 'em jist go to sleep after they been drankin' a whole mess. Ain't nothin' like it nowhere, daddy. We got to git learnt on how to make it.

General Washington's army had moved south to Pennsylvania, just outside of Philadelphia. It had been tough going. Severe and chronic constipation had taken its toll. Archie arrived at camp after yet another hard ride from Waukee, Vermont. He reported directly to the General.

GW: Where the hell you been boy? The boys are so stopped up it's starting to come out of their ears.

Archie pulled a sheet of paper out of his front pocket: I think I got the solution, sir. This recipe should do the trick.

GW: What do you need?

Archie: I need privacy and lots of water. Also some yellow dye #3, detergent, and vanilla extract.

GW: Get to it, boy. We're getting desperate.

Archie: One more thing. Build some latrines.

The next day the Old Milwaukee was ready. Even in their constipated state, the men were always willing to drink beer. The effects were almost immediate. After about six hours a strong, pungent, disagreeable odor permeated the camp grounds. But nobody seemed to mind.

GW: Archie, you saved the Continental Army. How can we ever thank you?

Archie: No thanks are necessary, General. I was just doing my job.

GW: One day historians will look at this and say this was the day we won the war.

Archie: Think so?

While visiting Belly Mountain following her first tour with the Belly Brigage, Bernice Beulah Belly inquired about the backward state of weapons she had encountered among both the Anglish and Continental combatants. Bernice: Daddy, why don't nobody have guns that's any good? Good night, everbody's usin' them rifles and pistols that you got to re-load after one dadgum shot. They crazy? BBB: Oh, I reckon that's how they like to shoot. A lot a folks is funny like that. Bernice: They crazy. Where's we git all these guns that's so much better? BBB: Oh, them's thangs Jeremiah Buford had made. He shore likes his guns. Ain't that eight-shooter rifle nice? Jist right for coon, fox, wolf, what not. Ain't too bad for bear, people, too. I reckon them nuther folk jist don't like ta shoot that miny. I don't know why. You know why? Me neither. Reckon it jist cain't be knowed is what I reckon. Bernice: Wail, I tolt Mr. George that his guns is sorry and I don't know why in hell he's usin' sorry guns. He taken a look at my four-shot ankle gun and said he'd like to have some. I didn't know where to git 'em. Reckon Jeremiah Buford could make some? BBB: Oh, I reckon. He's workin' on a dadgum mule-less plow now, he calls it. Gonna have a dadgum plow what don't got ta be pulled by a mule. You ever heard a nothin' that crazy? I ain't neither. Jeremiah Buford don't care, though. He's jist like that. I don't know why. Reckon it cain't be knowed.

The constipation problem solved, things were pretty content around the camp. But General Washington knew that wouldn't last long. He called Archie into his office.

Archie: Reporting as ordered, sir.

GW: Archie, sit down and have some brandy. I need your genius. My spies tell me the enemy won't be close enough to fight for at least a month. The men are sure to get restless.

Archie: What I can do to help?

GW: Invent a new game, Archie. Something that will catch on and maybe even one day become the national pasttime.

Archie: Wow, George, I mean General, that's a tall order. I've dedicated my life to the proper utilization of outhouses. This would really mean shifting gears.

GW: Maybe not, Archie.

Archie: What do you mean, sir?

GW: Maybe your experience in outhousing can somehow be transferred to this new game you'll create.

Archie: That's downright inspirational, sir. I'll get back to you in a couple of days.

Bernice Beulah Belly continued to describe things she saw during her first trip away from Belly Mountain: Bernice: Mama, them city folk got this game that's real strange. Went to this big pasture, and they give me a stick. Told me to go stand by this little flat rock, holdin' the stick. Then this feller thowed a ball at me. He missed. Then, I slung that stick at the feller, jist like I been slingin' sticks all my life. Got the feller, and he went down real good. Next thang you know, folks is hollerin' at me - not 'bout my nice slingin', but talkin' bad! They told me I couldn't play they sorry game no more. Ain't that crazy? BBB: Wail, shoot, shore sounds real odd. Reckon they scrappin' rules is all funny. By Belly Rules, gettin' a feller down to the ground with a stick slingin' ought to git you five point, two if he gits right back up. Must be different rules is what I'd reckon. Bernice: Everthang is odd with them city folk. Makes me wonder. A bunch that don't know nothin' 'bout scrappin' and got sorry gun and don't know how to shoot 'em no good is gonna fight them Anglish that ain't no better at none a that neither. Thank goodness we got Old Milwaukee and mountain folk on our side. Shore would be a sorry scrap if we hadn't.

In the kitchen, Bernice’s uncle Jeremiah Buford Belly listened to her account of the strange scrappin' game. Jeremiah was visiting to discuss furnishing some guns he had designed to the Belly Brigade. At the moment, he was experimenting with a new dish he was working on, Eggs Benedict Arnold. He entered the Fuding Room, saying, “Bernice, sounds like you were playing Archie Ball. You’re supposed to hit the ball with that stick you had, not the Propeller. Archie Ball was invented by the brilliant Dr. Archie Abercrombie. Actually, “Archie Ball” is just what normal people call it. Dr. Abercrombie calls it ‘Competitive Sphere Propulsion and Compression.’ The doc’s not so good with names.” Bernice said, “Hit the ball? That ain’t scrappin’, uncle Buford. It’s a sissy game if that’s all that gits hit. Those city people may like it, but it’ll never catch on around here, I can tell you that. Where’d you hear about it?” Jeremiah said, “When I went up to Richmond for my last bleeding, Dr. Done told me about it. He’s met Dr. Abercrombie, and has read all his books.” Barnabus said, “That bleedin’ll kill you, dadgum it! Do yore fudin’ the way you been taught an you won’t git all porely, what not. Don’t go leakin’ yore blood on purpose! Good night, you supposed ta git a scrappin’ smackin’, horse kickin', what not, ta stort leakin’, Buford. Dadgum it, I don’t know what gits into your haid.” Jermiah said, “You’re probably right, uncle Barabus. A lot of people are questioning the efficacy of bleeding. I had to try it, though. It’s the latest thing.” Barnabus said, “They ain’t nothin’ new ‘bout bleedin’ to death! Happens ever dadgum week ‘round here! Goodness, Buford, I shore wonder if it wad a good reckonin’ ta teach you that readin’ mess. You ain’t stopped wonderin’ on that funny mess ever since you learnt. It kinda nice to hear you talk on it, though. Jist real funny. Do yore fudin’ right! Grow some dadgum belly! Stop that dadgum bleedin’!”

Valley Forge, PA - The winter of 1777:

It had been a rather cold December. About thirty degrees below average on the Fahrenheit scale. January was starting out even colder. General Washington had called in colonial climatologists to discuss the matter. Professors Reginald Peacock and Severius Sanctum of William and Mary School of Meteorology had braved the ice and snow and wind to meet with GW.

GW: Well, boys, thanks for coming.

Peacock: Thank you for inviting us, General.

GW: I'm concerned about this colder than normal weather. The men are freezing their butts off.

Sanctum: It's the Global Cooling, General. All our models are showing that we're in the midst of another Ice Age.

GW: What's causing it?

Peacock: That's the subject of great debate among scientists all around the world.

GW: Any theories?

Sanctum was about to speak when Archie walked in the room.

Archie: Permission to speak, sir.

GW: Go ahead, Archie.

Archie: Chamber pots.

Sanctum: What are you talking about?

Archie: Global cooling, of course. Too much body heat is staying inside houses and other buildings. By the time this heat is exposed to the atmosphere, it's has been robbed of its global warming attributes.

Peacock: I never thought of that.

Sanctum: Makes sense.

GW: What's the answer?

Archie: Ban chamber pots. Build more outhouses. Before it's too late!

Outside a new snow storm began arriving.

Jeremiah Buford Belly continued his account of the genius of Archie Abercrombie: Buford: There's one thing Dr. Abercrombie is wrong about. He says the future of warfare will dominated by air power - soldiers in flying machines shooting the enemy. That'll never work. If your rifle is moving through the air, you won't be able to shoot accurately. I'll tell you what the future of warfare is - ground power. Set up trap doors you can open to dump enemy groups into large holes in the ground, then flood the holes. You'll be doing what Noah's Flood did, on a smaller scale. Eventually, we'll have entire cities built on trap doors over large holes. Get a bunch of enemies in that town, and dump 'em all at once, then drown 'em. It's so clear that ground power is the answer, I can't understand why Dr. Abercrombie doesn't see it. BBB: You funnin' me, Buford? How you gonna dig a hole that big? What you gonna do with them folk in town that you hadn't wont to drown? Where you gonna git hinge that big? Buford: I don't know. I haven't worked out those parts. I'm still pretty weak from the blood-letting.

Peacock and Sanctum had headed back to Williamsburg. General Washington and Archie were puffing on cigars and sitting by a Pot Belly stove that Ben Franklin had just invented trying their best to stay warm.

GW: I'm tired of freezing my butt off. We've got to do something about chamber pots. Any suggestions, Archie?

Archie: Only one solution, sir.

GW took a long puff: And what might that be?

Archie: Confiscate them, melt them, and turn them into bullets. I can't do it by myself though. I'll need help.

GW: Anybody you got in mind?

Archie: Yes sir. That young guy from the West Indies, Alex Hamilton. He's good with money. Also, I'd like permission to go to the Carolina mountains and recruit a Belly. They're pretty good in a fight.

GW: I've heard some of them are outhouse heretics.

Archie: As long as they don't use chamber pots, I don't care.

GW: Alright, as of this minute, as Commander-in-Chief of the Continental Army I officially name you head of the Continental Army Chamber Pot Elimination Task force (CACPET). Get crackin', boy.

Archie stood and saluted, threw what remained of his cigar in the pot belly stove, and went to tell Alex the good news.

Jeremiah Buford continued, Buford: One thing Dr. Abercrombie is right about is the climactic changes that are being created by people cheating on their outhousing - using pots to store waste overnight, right in the house... BBB: Sorry what that is! Shoot, you go crappin' in a pot, you gonna fergit what pot you had crapped in and cook out a that crapped-in pot. Undecent what that is. Good night, go outside and crap! Ain't hard. Them what craps in the house is undecent, what they are. Sorry sumbitches. Buford: Interesting idea, uncle Barney. Spreading disease by cooking in contaminated containers. Not to mention the implications for climate. BBB: You ain't go to do no climbin'! Walk outside and crap! Dadgum it, Buford, this ain't comperlycated no more thin nothin. Crappin' ain't hard. Jist do it, and do it outside. That all they are to it.

Jeremiah Buford Belly delivered 50 jugs of Belly whiskey to the chief of the local Catawba community, then stopped by to see Eugene Big Belly. He said, "Hey Gene, how about a future seeing?" Gene said, "sure. Same as before - large herds of white faces, too large to thin out. Small herds of Catawba. Bad scene. Good whiskey, though. That's something." Buford said, "What do the white herds look like - the ones right around here? What are they doing?" Eugene said, "Busy, always busy. Much talk, much movement. Much whiskey. Teaching centers - young people learning to busy, talk and whiskey. They think they're tigers and roosters. Crazy scene. Can't make it all out. Much jumping and running. Much talk. Much whiskey. Good whiskey, though." Buford said, "Sounds great. Something to look forward to." Eugene said, "It depends. I like the whiskey. Your uncle knows his whiskey." 20

Bernice Beulah Belly continued to describe things she saw during her first trip away from Belly Mountain:

Bernice: Mama, them city folk got this game that's real strange. Went to this big pasture, and they give me a stick. Told me to go stand by this little flat rock, holdin' the stick. Then this feller thowed a ball at me. He missed. Then, I slung that stick at the feller, jist like I been slingin' sticks all my life. Got the feller, and he went down real good. Next thang you know, folks is hollerin' at me - not 'bout my nice slingin', but talkin' bad! They told me I couldn't play they sorry game no more. Ain't that crazy?

BBB: Wail, shoot, shore sounds real odd. Reckon they scrappin' rules is all funny. By Belly Rules, gettin' a feller down to the ground with a stick slingin' ought to git you five point, two if he gits right back up. Must be different rules is what I'd reckon.

Bernice: Everthang is odd with them city folk. Makes me wonder. A bunch that don't know nothin' 'bout scrappin' and got sorry gun and don't know how to shoot 'em no good is gonna fight them Anglish that ain't no better at none a that neither. Thank goodness we got Old Milwaukee and mountain folk on our side. Shore would be a sorry scrap if we hadn't.

Bernice said, “Hit the ball? That ain’t scrappin’, uncle Buford. It’s a sissy game if that’s all that gits hit. Those city people may like it, but it’ll never catch on around here, I can tell you that. Where’d you hear about it?”

Jeremiah said, “When I went up to Richmond for my last bleeding, Dr. Done told me about it. He’s met Dr. Abercrombie, and has read all his books.”

Barnabus said, “That bleedin’ll kill you, dadgum it! Do yore fudin’ the way you been taught an you won’t git all porely, what not. Don’t go leakin’ yore blood on purpose! Good night, you supposed ta git a scrappin’ smackin’, horse kickin', what not, ta stort leakin’, Buford. Dadgum it, I don’t know what gits into your haid.”

Jermiah said, “You’re probably right, uncle Barabus. A lot of people are questioning the efficacy of bleeding. I had to try it, though. It’s the latest thing.”

Barnabus said, “They ain’t nothin’ new ‘bout bleedin’ to death! Happens ever dadgum week ‘round here! Goodness, Buford, I shore wonder if it wad a good reckonin’ ta teach you that readin’ mess. You ain’t stopped wonderin’ on that funny mess ever since you learnt. It kinda nice to hear you talk on it, though. Jist real funny. Do yore fudin’ right! Grow some dadgum belly! Stop that dadgum bleedin’!”

Archie and Alex left Valley Forge that next morning, their horses valiantly sloshing through the snow. For six days and six nights they traveled without surcease, resting only when they fell asleep on their horses. Finally, somewhere in southwestern Virginia, they realized they must stop and rest or both they and their brave steeds would surely perish. And so it happened that they came upon an country inn, called Mabel Meriweather's Bed & Breakfast. They paid for rooms at the front desk and after a hearty meal they went straight to their separate quarters. Archie was too tired to even take off his uniform and boots and fell asleep immediately upon collapsing on the soft bed. About an hour later he woke with a start. He needed to heed the call of nature! He had forgotten to do so during the preceding six days and six nights and the now the urge was so great he had no choice but to use the chamber pot. As he was finishing up, Mabel rushed into the room with a reporter from the local newspaper, The Southwestern Tory Times, a anti-independence publication. Also there was an artist accompanying them who drew a quick caricature of Archie using the pot. Archie sunk to his knees in despair. He had been set up and the resulting scandal would paralyze the cause of freedom as well as accelerate global cooling. But who had set him up and where was Alex by the way? The commotion should have awakened him. But he was nowhere to be seen. Mabel just laughed and told the boys to come on down for some of the new beer she had in stock. And as they left the room, Archie knew that his career in the Continental Army was finished. And he wondered what would become of him, and more importantly, his great cause?

What historians have called 'The Chamber Pot Fiasco' was no laughing matter for Archie. When word got to General Washington about the incident, he stripped Archie of his commission as Privy General and booted him out of the Continental Army. At the tender age of 23, Archie's life was ruined.

Luckily, General Washington, who still had a little fondness for Archie, allowed him to keep his horse, Outhouser. And so, Archie decided that since he had nothing left to live for, he might as well become a rambler. Thus on the cold morning of January 5, 1778 he set Outhouser in a southernly direction. If he couldn't stop Global Cooling, he might as well find someplace a little warmer.

A year or so earlier he had heard of mysterious rumors of a land called LA, a place where the people drank real beer, and ate sweet concoctions made up of wheat, white gooey stuff, and an exotic brown flavoring. Also it was said in this secret place chamber pots were outlawed.

Archie decided to go there. Maybe he could find a reason to live.

It was a windswept night in late January when Archie entered the dark and empty streets of Ole LA. The moon was full and on the banks of Pocotaligo Swamp an owl hooted.

Archie: Whoa, Outhouser! Time to stop, ole feller.

A voice came out of the dark: Who might you be stranger?

Archie, somewhat startled replied: Why, I'm Archie Abercrombie, disgraced former Privy General of the Continental Army.

The voice: That don't carry no weight in LA. We treat everybody the same, especially men.

Archie: Well, thank you. I'm rather touched by your lack of bias and disgust toward me.

The voice stepped out of the darkness. It was Umbarhdt Sam (US), the mayor of LA: What brings you here, Mister Abercrombie?

Archie: I heard there was still great respect for outhousing here and I came to find solace for my grief.

US: You heard right, sir. We don't even let our pigs use chamber pots.

Thank the Lord, thought Archie.

The next morning Archie woke up to find a covered tray beside his bed. Taking off the cover he was delighted to see an old fashioned Soutern breakfast: grits, eggs, ham, bacon, sausage, and biscuits with muscadine jelly and coffee. Before eating Archie looked out the window and saw the outhouse. He smiled though he had a passing thought that just perhaps when the war was over he might just take a stab at redesigning the outhouse for future generations.

After breakfast and the morning trip to the outhouse, Archie dressed in his knickerbockers, Pennsylvania frock, and tri-corner hat. When he walked out on the street he spotted US talking to large man with an even larger stomach. Must be a Belly from up in the mountains.

US: Come over here, Archie, I want you to meet my good friend, Ben David Belly. He's from the Jewish branch of the Bellys. I've been trying to talk him into eating pork. What do you think about it?

Archie: Nice to meet you, Mr. Belly.

Ben David shook Archie's hand: Call me BD. What do you think about it, Archie?

Archie: I think it's not important what goes into a man but what comes out of him and also where it comes out.

BD: Seems like I read that somewhere.

US: Book of Archie, page 97.

BD: Yes, yes! I must think on that and consult with my fellow Jewish Bellys. Maybe there's more to life than just eating beef.

US: You do that, BD, and make sure you spend a lot of money while you're in LA.

BD: I might just do that, US. See you fellows later.

US turned to Archie: I've been thinking about your predicament and I just want to tell you, you always welcomed here in LA.

Archie was touched: That's very good hearted of you, US, but there's no forgiveness for what I did.

US: We all make mistakes, Archie.

Archie wasn't listening. He was thinking: I'll have to do something to redeem myself. But what?

Jeremiah Buford Belly exitedly entered the Fuding Room, where Barnabus Bob Belly was eating his 43rd Eggs Benedict Arnold serving and Bernice Belly was cleaning her rifle.

Buford: You'll never believe what I just heard. Dr. Abercrombie has been kicked out of the army! All for using a chamber pot. This is outrageous.

BBB: I'm ready for another 'un, Buford. You say somethin'?

Bernice: Those bastards! Every last one a those revalution organizer folks is inhousers, every last one. At least, the folks I seen is. That Ben Franklin lives in the dadgum inhouse - does writin' in there, eats in there, what not. That Tom Jefferson is so lazy, he'd put a pot in his bed if he could figure out how, and you can bet that he's workin' on it. Mr. George? You reckon he uses outhouses? Not when he's got a inhouse right close. Ever dadgum one of 'em! They all sorry 'bout they outhousin'. Shameful.

Buford: You don't say! Well, I guess we have a case of rank hypocrisy. Also a major waste of talent. Dr. Abercrombie has so much to offer the revolution. I must speak with him. I have my own ideas. I say, let's get rid of England, with the South doing all the heavy thinking and fighting. Next, when England's out of the way, let's get rid of the North, and claim the entire continent for the South.

Bernice: Oh shoot, I reckon. Long as they's scrappin' and killin', one way or the other. An git some land to fud that ain't on no dadgum mountain.

BBB: Dadgum it, I'm out a fud! Git me some more a that egg mess! Right now!

26 Jeremiah Buford Belly composed a letter for Dr. Abercrombie:

Dear Mr. Dr. Archibald Abercrombie, Ph.D, Th.D. whatever,

Dr. Abercrombie, I am Jeremiah Buford Belly, a resident of Spartanburg, South Carolina. I am told that you are in this area, so I will get this message to you.

Doc, if I can call you Doc? Thanks. While I strongly disagree with your theory that future warfare will be dominated by air power (I'm a ground-power, trap-door man myself), I recognize that you are a visionary thinker and a thinking visionary. Thinking and vision, Doc, that's what we need.

"We" in this case, Doc, means The South. I'm sure you recognize that the colonies exist for the most part because of Southern values and productivity. Notherners do the best they can, but we all know that those backward Puritans are basically screwed up, and not clock-wise.

Therefore, it is imperative for Southerners to manage the development of the entire American continent. Not just the meager colonies, but everything.

I have a plan. I submit that The South use its resources, resourcefulness and fine relations with France to insure a victory of the colonies over England, giving most of the credit to the North and the Virginians. In return, we will require the North and the Virginians to negotiate with France, a friend of the South, to acquire the vast expanse of real estate that lies to the west. That area is the future of what I call West Carolina for now, and the future of the society we are building. That area will be under the control of The South and like-minded Other People who will join our empire later on, while the North is left with the North, and nothing more.

This is an entirely equitable proposition. After all, the North would be stuck with high tea tax forever without assistance from its superiors in The South who prefer stronger beverages and never pay any tax. I'm sure you will agree.

By the way, The South will never accept Archie Ball. It's just not vigourous enough. We need a nobler game, one that requires more valor and rewards inspired personal destructiveness. Please see what you can come up with.

Archie had time to kill so he wandered to the outskirts of LA where about two dozen teenage boys were rolling in the dirt.

Archie: What you boys doing? Broderick Sam (BS) age 17: We're just having fun, imitating pigs rolling in the slop.

Archie: Why don't you go hunting or fishing?

Telemachus Sam (TS) age 16: We've been doing that since we was two years old. We wanted something new to do.

Hogeye Brewbuster, age 15: Sometimes we notice the pigs knocking each other over, so that's part of the game too.

Archie: What do you call this game?

Maniacus Killkelly, age 17: Pigball, but we don't know why, since we ain't go no ball.

Archie: Hmmm.

Archie walked back to town.

After reaching an acceptable fuding level, Barnabus Bob Belly asked Jeremiah Buford Belly, “You say somethin’, Buford?”

Buford said, “What I’ve been thinking, uncle Barney, is that it’s the moral obligation of Bellys and other Southerners to make sure the great American continent is ruled properly. By us, of course, since we know those Northerners aren’t up to the job. There are millions of acres of good fuding land out there, uncle Barney, all going to waste right now. Northerners wouldn’t know what to do with it, and the Indians don’t know how. We know everything, so we have to run the place. We have no choice.”

Barney said, “Wail, shoot, I’d shore like ta git some proper fudin’ land. By the time we got to Caroliner, they wadn’t nothin’ left but this here mountain. Cain’t make no fud here sides pig an whiskey, little goat, chicken, what not. Won’t nothin’ else grow here. Got to tote in the corn, what not, up the big ol’ hills. Tried takin’ some a that Low Country land. Cain’t do that. Them in the Low Country real mean, an with them knife, big ‘uns. You cain’t do no real good scrappin’ when you leakin’, I’ll tail you that. So’s we still ain’t got no real good fudin’ land. Let’s to git some, Buford! A big ol’ mess of it!”

Buford said, “Exactly. Of course, uncle Barney, you’re already making more money selling whiskey than most of the Low Country farmers…”

Barney exclaimed, “Don’t make no difference! Shoot, you cain’t eat that money mess. I done tried – put a mess a them pound in a nice little hole, thowed in some a them gold coin too. You reckon that mess growed a real nice pig, goat what not? Good night, no! Wadn’t even a little ol’ sorry tater. Wadn’t nothin’! That dadgum money won’t keep you from a storvin’, whiskey won’t no neither. Tried that too. Git on the whiskey a right smart, yore belly gonna go off, might not never git it back. Purely storvin’. Got to have a big ol’ mess a good dirt for proper fudin’. Let’s go git a mess!”

After supper that evening at the Fillerup Tavern, US invited Archie to attend the town council meeting.

Archie: What's on the agenda?

US: We've been arguing about how far an outhouse should be from the back of the house. In my opinion, some folks want it to be too darn close.

Archie: It just so happens I studied that particular subject at Princeton. Maybe I can be of some assistance.

US: Why shore, you can be an expert witness.

The Town Council meeting room was located in one of the back rooms of the George Jones Grocery on Main Street. Besides the five council members, about another twenty or so LA residents were in attendance. After a few routine items of business, the Council moved to the most important item on the agenda.

Councilperson (LA was ahead of its time in being gender neutral) Fallaw: Six feet was good enough to bury my father. It ought to be good enough for the outhouse.

Councilperson Mellow: That's vertical. We're talking horizontal.

Fallaw: Don't start using them big words with me!

US: Now, now, folks, I think we can settle this matter very quickly. We have with us none other than the foremost Outhouse Expert in the colonies, Dr. Archie Abercrombie. Archie, what do you think?

Archie: Well, there's several variables at play here. Not every outhouse is equal, but every outhouse has certain inalienable rights, among them the right to be soundly-constructed, upright, and termite resistant. Proper ventilation is also crucial. Lighting is optional though recommended. One day I predict two seaters will be popular especially when the time comes for outhouses to become popular courting destinations. Outhouses should be colorful though never gaudy. They should reflect the values of the community in which they reside. They should never have locks on them because a locked outhouse is symbolic of a close-minded and bigoted culture.Only certain kinds of flowers should grow around outhouses and the door hinges should always be well-oiled so they never creak. And furthermore...

At that point, Archie was interrupted by US: Archie, all we want to know is how far should it be from the house?

Archie looked glassy-eyed over at the Town Council members: Between ten and fifteen feet.

US: That settles it. This meeting is adjourned. Who's going with me to the Fillerup?

Archie's new friend, BD, the Jewish Belly, was at the Fillerup when Archie got there after the town council meeting ended. BD was sitting at the bar with what was obviously another Belly or Belly relative.

BD: Hey, Archie, come over and have a drink.

Archie: What yall drinking?

BD: RB (Real Beer). I want to you meet Barnabas Belly, Jr. He's one of the Bellys from up in Spartanburg.

Barnabas Jr. shook Archie's hand: Call me Junior.

Archie's hand felt like it had been crushed by a boulder: What brings you to LA, Jr.?

Junior: I was just telling Cousin BD that us Spartanburg Bellys are getting restless. We've been waiting for them British to attack but so far they've been scared to come at us. My sister Bernice said they was so pansy waist even Ole Milwaukee could get them drunk.

Archie: I don't believe that.

Junior jumped off the bar and the whole tavern shook: You calling me a liar? I know you're the great Dr. Archie but nobody calls a Belly a liar lest they know something we don't know.

Archie quickly responded: No, no! I would never call you a liar. I just meant that Ole Milwaukee hasn't got any alcohol in it so getting drunk off of it would be rather difficult.

BD chimed in: Sit down, Junior. Archie is a gentleman and a scholar.

Junior: Sorry, Archie, Cousin BD. Well, you're right about it not having no alcohol. Daddy uses it to take baths with and no way he would waste good alcohol like that.

Archie mused: Wonder what's making those British soldiers drunk? Could it be an allergic reaction to some ingredient in the Ole Mil? And if it is, could this be a key to victory?

On page 32 of THE BOOK OF ARCHIE, it says that 'the outhouse as we know it was first built in 1774 by a guy named Archie in Southern Virginia. The diamond window shape on the door was really the letter A on top of another letter A. '...the diamond shape on the outhouse door was the inspiration for the baseball diamond and the positioning of bases. He also says the four points of the diamond represented the number of bowel movements an individual should have each day.'

"Seems they ate a lot of roughage in those days"'....One BM a day would be a single, two BMs a double, and so on. No BMs would be a strike out. Not taking a laxative after a BMless day would be an error.'

"...Archie apparently had a speech defect. 'Whenever he got back from the outhouse he would say, 'I just had a good hit'. Archie had trouble pronouncing the letter S when it came at the start of a word. Thus the origin of the baseball word 'hit'. When you had a unsuccessful trip to the outhouse, Archie would call it a 'no-hitter', and would say you needed bulk in your diet, but Archie's speech defect would make bulk sound like balk. Then Archie would say he had a secret recipe (laxative) that would solve your hitting problems. One of the ingredients was a strong one, an ounce of cow feed. Well, the secret got out, and people started saying Archie was going to the bull pen" to 'save' the day.

".'..Archie's last name was Abercrombie and he never used toilet paper. He said it interfered with mother nature but what really happened was drainage, thus the origin of 'foul balls'.

"Off the subject of baseball, but interesting nonetheless is the following statement,

' ...Archie was a contemporary of George Washington. Archie once commented that George was a little eccentric about his outhouse habits. George liked facial quality tissue paper which at the time was only made in England. A tariff was put on TP and Archie suspected that this was the real cause of the American Revolution.'

"Back to baseball, '... Legend has it that Archie died in 1779 (it wasn't true) when a British cannon ball blew up the outhouse he was in. Archie was a major in the Continental Army at the time, thus the term 'Major Leaves'.

'... You know how baseball players wear those pants that go down just below the knee? Archie invented them for outhouses that had an overflow problem. Archie is the only man in history to get ahead with his behind.'"

The next morning started off with a slow drizzle and by mid-morning had turned into something harder. Archie, with time on his hands, decided to visit the LA Library. When he got there he noticed a young lady sitting at a table studiously poring over an ancient text. Archie sat down beside her.

Archie: That's one of my favorite books.

The young lady looked up: Excuse me?

Archie: May I introduce myself? I'm Archie Abercrombie, disgraced former member of the Continental Army.

Young lady: You're too hard on yourself, Archie. It could have happened to anybody.

Archie: I wished I could agree with you but my conscience won't let me. By the way, with whom do I have the pleasure of talking to?

Young lady: Why, I'm Elizabeth. Elizabeth Post.

That afternoon the rain stopped and the sun came out from behind the clouds. Global cooling had not yet reached Carolina and the January afternoon was somewhat warm and friendly. Archie and EP (as he began calling her) decided to go horseback riding. Archie was glad to find that Outhouser had recovered from his ordeal. They rode south of town along an old path that the first settlers to LA had traveled up from the coast. After about an hour of riding, they stopped and rested beneath a pecan tree. EP had brought along Muscadine wine and Sonofagun cheese for refreshment.

EP: We all have dreams, Archie. Everyone knows your dream is to build the perfect outhouse.

Archie: And you EP, what is your dream?

EP: You might be surprised.

Archie: I'm sure I will be.

EP: My dream is to invent a better toilet paper.

Archie: Toilet paper? What is that?

EP: It's a bold new idea of mine. The corn cob will be no more!

Archie: I'm rather partial to the corn cob, but if you think toilet paper is the wave of the future, then I'll have to rethink my position.

EP: That's what I like about you, Archie. You're open to new ideas.

Archie thought for a moment: Yes, I suppose I am. Would you like some more wine?

After delivering his letter for Dr. Abercrombie to the niece of the brother of the local mail contractor, Jeremiah Buford Belly walked deep into the woods to visit his friend Eugene Big Belly, a Catawba wise man. He asked Eugene, "Gene, tell me about war again. Whatever's on your mind."

Eugene said, "Sure, here goes.

"Let the writer write and the warrior fight When the warrior writes, smoke signals are all smoke and no signal When the writer fights, the white man eats the buffalo.

"Do not mix what will not mix. Mix what will mix. With the French, take your best guess"

Buford said, "Thanks, Eugene. I needed that. You know a lot of stuff."

Eugene said, "Yes and no. You decide which fits. That's not my job."

South Carolina, 1775:

Barnabus Bob Belly: Hidy, Mr. George. Looky here, we been talkin' to some fellers what'll help out on killin' them Anglish - Injun fellers. Mess a Catawber an Cherakee. Shoot, it'll be fun - killin' white fellers and gettin' paid fer it. See, what they wontin' is a mess a whiskey. I'll give 'em the whiskey, an a big ol' mess of it. What I wontin' is a mess a dirt. You git me some dirt, Mr. George?

George Washington: That's great news, Belly! The Catawba and Cherokee are magnificent warriors. Having them on our side will help tremendously. Dirt, you say? What kind of dirt?

BBB: Fudin' dirt! Ain't got near enough dirt up on the dadgum mountain. Shoot, runs off ever time it rain. Ain't hardly nothin' left. Big ol' mess a dirt for fudin', Mr. Geroge.

GW: Oh, you mean bottom land. Sorry, Belly. That's hard. All the land around here is tied up. The last thing any of us need is getting people angry about taking land. I'd say look west, Belly. There's all kinds of land out there, just waiting to be settled. I'll get you money for the whiskey. Don't argue with me - I know you don't value money. Hold onto it, and it will help you get that dirt.

BBB: Shoot, Mr. George, I wad countin' on you. Cain't eat that dadgum pound mess. I reckon it'll had to had done, though. Least we'll git ta kill them fellers in the red coats. It'll be fun!

Archie sometimes wondered why fate had so often turned against him. Finally, he had met someone with whom he could share his hopes and dreams, but he was in no position to pursue the romance. For he was an outcast from his chosen profession as an OME (Outhouse Military Expert). At night tossing and turning, unable to sleep, he would wonder how the Continental Army was doing and if its latrine needs were being met. For if an army marches on its stomach, it fights with its bowels.

He knew he couldn't stay in LA. He had to fight the enemy even if it meant going the non-regulation route. Perhaps he could be like the famous Swamp Fox and lead a group of frontier men against the British. Yes, that was the way to go.

But who could he recruit? Well for starters, there were Ben David Belly, the Jewish Belly, and his nephew Barnabas Belly, Jr. or Jr. And perhaps one of the Sams could join the group.

They would wage non-traditional war against the enemy. They would harass the supply lines and disrupt latrine usage. The British would lose sleep, become irregular, and become easy targets for the Continental Army. Of course, Archie would have to disguise himself.

That's what he would work on next.

Archie's final recruit was a twenty-two year old graduate of the LA College of Fine Arts, Billy Bob Sam.

Archie: Where do you get that name from? Most Sams are named Nicodemus or Millonewtus or something like that.

BBS: It's short for Grobillymous Zimbobway. Also my mother was a Belly.

Archie: Wow, I bet you saw some real humdinger of fights growing up.

BBS: Not only saw them, I fought in most of them.

Archie: Good training for out little band of warriors. Ok, fellows, let's saddle up. We've got some British to send routing.

The little band hooted and Archie jumped on Outhouser, as did BD, Jr., and BBS. Archie patiently explained to them they needed their own horses. After this was accomplished, they bade goodbye to LA and headed north to the Waxhaw region of Carolina where it was reported green-jacketed British dragoons were raping, looting, killing, and pillaging.

On the way out of town, Archie saw EP standing on the balcony of the library. Their eyes met. Would they meet again?

The four horsemen made it to the Sumter settlement at around noon, so they decided to stop for some lunch at the Little Rooster Tavern. It was a quaint place, founded in 1744 by one Hezekiah Sam, who had migrated up from LA. Hezekiah stayed long enough to be threatened with debtor's prison and had sneaked out one night, never to be seen again, though there were rumors that he had dyed his skin and joined the Catawba tribe in the upper part of the state. A leading Sumter resident, Fleshpot Farraday, owner of the Tickly Pink Massage Parler and Art Shop, bought the Little Rooster for next to nothing and refurbished it,turning it into the best steak and ale place in town all the while retaining the quaintness for which the tavern was known. The place was hopping when Archie and his brave band walked in.

Billy Bob: Hot dag! I've been hankering for some real beefsteak. The Belly side of me gets real tired of all that pork in LA.

Ben David: I've gone meatless for three days.

Junior: You Jewish Bellys are crazy. I like pork 'bout as much as I like beef.

BD: It's against my religion, Junior. You know that.

Junior: What is your religion anyway? Weze Bellys up in the mountains could never figure it out. All we know is you don't eat pigs.

Archie: Is this a good time for a theological discussion? I find religious controversy takes away my appetite.

BB: What would you rather talk about?

Archie: My favortie subject, of course. Outhouses.

A pretty waitress, who worked at the Massage Parler at night, came to the table and took their orders.

BB: Whweee! They don't make 'em like that in LA.

Junior: She looks my sister Bernice.

Archie wasn't even listening. His mind was back in LA.

After a rather leisurely, filling meal Archie and his cohorts walked out into the January afternoon.

Archie: Let's do some walking and talking.

Everyone agreed and they started ambling as the mood hit them. A few blocks away they came upon an amphitheater. The seats were all full and on the stage was a man sitting behind a desk talking to another man sitting in a chair beside the desk.

Archie whispered to a woman standing in the standing room only section: What's going on?

Woman: It's the Knicky Knickerbocker show. He comments on current issues and interviews important people.

Archie: Who's he talking to?

Woman: That's General Nathaniel Greene, head of the Continental Army, Southern Section.

Archie: Ole Nat, eh. Heard he got routed at Cowpens.

Archie stopped talking so he could listen to the interview.

Knicky: General, have you come to any conclusions on what caused the defeat at Cowpens?

Greene: Yes, I'm pretty sure it was... constipation.

A gasp went through the crowd. Archie cursed under his breath.

Archie asked Ben David to walk back to the stable with him. He told Billy Bob and Junior to stay and enjoy the Knicky Knickerbocker show. At the stable, he reached into Outhouser's saddle bags and pulled out a piece of paper.

Archie: BD, I want you to take this to General Nat.

BD: Why, Archie?

Archie: It's the recipe for Old Milwaukee. It'll cure his army's constipation problem.

BD: Why don't you deliver it, Archie?

Archie: Because he would never accept it from me. I'm a renegade and outcast as far as the army is concerned. They'll think I'm trying to poison the men.

BD: It's just not fair. One mistake shouldn't destroy a whole career.

Archie: Perhaps you're right but at the moment we must still do our part for freedom.

The four horsemen left the Sumter settlement headed north toward the Lancaster district. This was an area that was controlled by the British. Archie had a plan to defeat the enemy but he knew that doing so would require an unlikely combination of events. Luckily, that was something that Archie was good at.

After about four hours of hard riding, Ben David spoke up: Archie, when the sun goes down, I won't be able to do any work for twenty-four hours.

Archie, who was sensitive to other people's religious views said: What the heck you talking about, BD? I want to be in Lancaster by tomorrow morning.

BD: It's the Sabbath. We Jewish Bellys follow the fourth commandment.

Billy Bob: You mean the one about not sleeping with your sister?

Junior: No, you idiot, it's the one about not eating pigs.

Archie: Neither one of you morons are right. The Sabbath is the day God rested after working hard for six days and six nights.

Junior: Archie, where did Adam and Eve use the bathroom? Did they have an outhouse in the Garden of Eden?

Archie: That's a good question, Junior. I've wondered about that myself. Any ideas, BD?

BD: As far we know, A & E didn't even have a house to live in. Archie, you don't think the outhouse came before the house, do you?

There was a twinkle in Archie's eye when he replied: You catch on fast, BD. Now you're beginning to see why I hold the outhouse in such reverence and why I've dedicated my life to preserving it. It's Mankind's first structure.

What can you say after a revelation like that?

Archie and the band slept thru the Sabbath bringing new meaning to the day of rest. Billy Bob, who was the best cook in the group, rustled up some grub for breakfast. As they were breaking camp, they heard half-human, half-animal-like screams coming from the woods to the west of them. Jumping on their horses they sped to the source of the screams. There on the ground by a big, oak tree lay a huge man, bearded, wearing overalls and a coonskin cap.

Junior cried out: That's Uncle Barabbas! He's hurt!

Archie grabbed the canteen of Old Milwaukee as he jumped off Outhouser and ran toward the injured man. Junior was just behind him and held Barabbas' shoulders and head so Archie could pour some OM into his mouth. It took two more full canteens before Barabbas could speak.

Archie: What happened?

Barabbas: It was a trick. We thought them British fellows were getting drunk on that Ole Milwaukee so we didn' t think nothing of it when they came stumbling into Spartanburg and passed out all over town. That night when we was asleep they pulled out their knives and pistols and attacked, looting and pillaging the town.

Junior: I can't believe it. Bellys never get beat.

Barabbas: For some reason, we Bellys weren't our normal selves. We couldn't get moving. Everything was confusing and foggy. See?

Archie was thinking. Most of the British suffered from DLS (Diabolical Limits Syndrome), but this plot against the Bellys showed signs of superior diabolicity. There had to be an evil mastermind behind it. But who could it be?

Junior was screaming: How about Daddy and Sis? Are they OK?

Barabbas' head dropped: I don't know.

Virginia, 1775: At a secret meeting of the Colonial Leadership Council at Thomas Jefferson's house in Virginia, Jefferson, George Washington and Benjamin Franklin reviewed the state of the current military effort: GW: Tom, Ben, things are going better than we deserve, thanks mainly to Abercrombie, Marion and our new Indian alliance. While we've been mainly wrong with all our formal combat plans, the unplanned events are progressing well. I've always been skeptical about formality. I suppose this formally suggests that I may have been right about that. BF: Don't be so hard on formality, George. It has its place. If the informal arrangements are successful, after all, you know we'll be formalizing them later. TJ: We all like our informality when we can get it. I know I do. By the way, George, I'm out of the Carolina whiskey. You have any to spare? Also Old Milwaukee. I've become quite addicted to both. A lovely addiction. GW: Yes, I never leave home without them. Me too. BF: Count me in, George. TJ: George, where do you stand on outhousing? Personally, I like to have both in and out options. GW: Same here, but I lean in. TJ: I haven't begun to lean yet, either way. BF: For me, whatever's nearest. TJ: We should come to an agreement on the national policy. I wonder if this is something that should be left up to the states. It's pretty important as an item of cultural cohesion. A nation that isn't together on in or out might face severe challenges when trying to achieve unity. BF: Tom! I'm surprised by your lack of tolerance on this issue. TJ: Me too. Abercrombie has got me to thinking. I hate it when that happens. GW: My position is that an independent nation can crap where it wants to, and never have to endure a crapping tax. I will never support that. TJ: I certainly agree. BF: Without question. Again, you are right, George.

It was obvious that Barabbas would recover. Bellys are darn hard to kill (Editor's note: Even in PWD: Pre-Wullet Days, Bellys were known far and wide for their recuperative powers and their resistance to disease. Their fear of starvation was so strong they would eat almost anything to survive).

Archie: Junior, you better take your uncle to the LA Medical Clinic, but for God's sake, don't let those quacks take any more blood out of him. He's already lost too much of it.

Junior: But I need to get to Spartanburg and see if I can find Dad and Sis!

Archie: I know you do but your Belly-specs horse is the only one big enough to carry both you and Barabbas. As soon as you drop off Barabbas you can high tail it up to Spartanburg.

Ben David: You think they're still there?

Archie: I don't know but we've got to start somewhere.

HIs brave band down to three, Archie nonetheless rode straight into the lair of the enemy. That afternoon, after three hours of riding through difficult and wild terrain, he spotted a small calvary detachment of green dragoons.

Billy Bob: I like them snappy green jackets. Can I have one?

Ben David: Only if you win next year's Masters tournament in Augusta.

BB: You mean that funny little game where you try to knock a little ball into a hole? Why that ain't no fun. I'd rather scrap or play that new game invented by Mr. Doubleday.

Archie's eyebrows went up: You mean Abner Doubleday out of Cooperstown, New York?

BB: Yea, that's the one. He invented this game where you just don't walk around hitting a little ball. No, this game you hit a little ball but you also get to run and slide and bump into people and also knock people down by throwing the ball at their head when they're trying to hit the ball. I think they call it baseball.

Archie cursed. So now because of his national disgrace, they had removed his name as inventor of baseball and given it to that punk Abner. What next? Take away his outhouse credentials? Never!

By nightfall, Archie and his diminishing band had made it to the outskirts of the Uniontown settlement, about 25 miles from Spartanburg. Outhouser and the other horses were exhausted so they decided to make camp for the night. Since Archie was both famous and infamous throughout the region and Ben David was a Belly, albeit a Jewish one, it seemed prudent that Billy Bob should be the one to make a scouting foray into Spartanburg the next morning.

The night turned cold. Archie remarked: Looks like Global Cooling is finally reaching Carolina.

Billy Bob: I'm shore gonna miss swimming in the pond in February.

Ben David: How about my orange trees? A cold snap will kill them.

Archie's mind was also on the coming cold but as usual his thoughts were outhouse related. Outhouses, in the wintertime, could be cold, uninviting places. Sometimes patience was required for a GBM (Good Bowel Movement). A frigid privy could prevent a GBM with the usual bad side effects as a result.

Ben David: Archie, you look like you're in another world. What are you thinking about?

Archie: A way to heat outhouses. Comfort is important in such an endeavor.

Billy Bob: I'll say! But snakes bother me a lot more than cold or heat.

Ben David: I worry about it tumbling over.

Archie: How true. I don't know if I can wait until the war is over to build a better outhouse. Maybe my priorities are all mixed up.

Ben David: Don't be too hard on yourself, Archie. That can happen to any of us.

For the first time in 500 years it snowed in that part of Carolina. Archie woke up and looked around and everything was white. Billy Bob who had never seen snow in his life was flabbergasted. Ben David, who had celebrated Hanukkah in New York City once, had seen snow before but he too was in awe.

Archie: This complicates things.

Ben David: Why so?

Archie: We've lost the element of surprise. It's the full moon so we'll be easily spotted no matter where we go.

Billy Bob: But we can't let those sorry British get away with what they did!

Archie: I need to think. You two build a fire while I do some serious walking and talking to myself.

Archie came back a little later with a smile on his face.

Archie: Ok, boys, let's ride.

Billy Bob: Where we going?

Archie: We're going to surrender.

Ben David and Billy Bob looked at Archie in utter amazement.

BB: What you mean we're going to surrender!

Archie: I'm sorry. I meant the royal we.

BB: Huh?

BD: Archie means he was referring only to himself.

BB: But that's still crazy talk!

BD: Knowing Archie, he has a plan in mind.

Archie: That's right, BD. It's obvious that we're facing an enemy so diabolical that only by infiltrating their ranks can we discover the source of their strength and...

BB: And?

Archie: ...their weakness.

BB: What do you want us to do?

BD: That's obvious too. Archie wants us to go look for the Bellys that got ambushed by the British.

Archie: Yes, my hope is that you will find them alive and that they will relate all that's happened to them the last few days. Their silence is deafening.

BD: You know, I love those Bellys. They may eat pork, squirrel, and groundhogs, but nobody's perfect.

The little band split up. BD and BB went south, then west, and finally north to avoid capture. Archie headed straight for the enemy's camp.

BD and BB rode off to find the Bellys. Archie hoped that they would survive whatever may fall their way and someday they would be incorporated into the Belly legend. But their fate was out of his hands now and maybe a message concerning them would cross his desk at some later time. But now it was time to surrender to the British and their obviously diabolical commander.

He rode Outhouser to within a mile of the camp where he stopped and took Outhouser's bit and saddle off.

Archie: Ok, Outhouser, I want you to return to LA where you will be stabled and fed.

Outhouser: Neighhhh...

Outhouser took off and Archie wondered if he would ever see him again. He then started walking toward the enemy camp.

What would find there?

Archie began whistling about 100 feet from the British camp. Immediately he heard voices with a English accent:

British Soldier: I say, old chap, who goes there?

Another British Soldier: It's bloody tea time! Who would dare to bother us now?

Archie walked into the camp. He was immediately captured and taken to the interrogation tent.

British Captain: I say, old man, who exactly might you be?

Archie: Archie Abercrombie, at your service.

BC: You're the chap who experienced disgrace and disaffection for the famous Chamber Pot Scandal.

Archie: That would be right.

BC slapped Archie across the face: So you've turned to spying to try to win your honor back.

Archie spit out some blood: Not exactly. Because of my disgrace and knowing that I have nothing to lose, I've decided to become a traitor.

BC looked suspiciously at Archie: How can I trust you?

Archie: You can't. Unless you're willing to let me prove it.

BC: And just how might you do that?

Archie: By giving you the secret formula for Old Milwaukee.

BC: Hmmm, we might can make a deal. But I first must talk to the General.

The British captain stomped out of the room.

A middle aged officer walked into the interrogation tent. Archie noticed that he was gray and balding sporting what would be called a low to medium belly in Spartanburg (or what was left of it).

Archie: General Tarleton, I presume, the infamous leader of the Green Dragoons.

Officer: Yes and No.

Archie: Huh?

Officer: I am General Tarleton, but not the infamous one. I'm his brother Charlie.

Archie: Are you here to torture me?

The man laughed: Heavens to Betsy, no! I'm just here to ask you a few friendly questions.

Archie: And what might that be?

Tarleton: I'm Privy General of the British Southern Command. You used to be my counterpart before your downfall in the Chamber Pot Scandal.

Archie bowed his head. Would the scandal plague him the rest of his life?

Tarleton: On our way down here from Virginia we ran into some outhouses designed in a way we had never seen before, neither in this country nor on the continent. Are you responsible for them?

Archie: Perhaps. Why do you ask?

Tarleton: We liked them, especially the interior features that included a book shelf and a fireplace. All the comforts of home, what?

Archie: Those are mine. I built them in the pre-war years when I was young and fancy free. I've since changed my mind about that particular design.

Tarleton: Good heavens, man, why? They're bloody beautiful.

Archie: They're too comfortable; they promote decadence. Ours is a nation that is to be built on rugged indiviualism. If too many of citizens are sitting in a heated outhouse, reading and relaxing, they won't be cutting trees, killing Indians, and looking for gold.

Tarleton: That sounds like France. Would you like a spot of tea, old chum?

52Bernice Belly returned to Belly Mountain following an extended tour with the Belly Brigade. She settled into a seat in the Fuding Room. When her father Barney Belly exited his morning Fuding Coma, she said, "Dadgum it daddy, they's supposed to be a war goin' on, but I ain't shot at nobody yet, much lessed kilt anybody. I'm afraid this whole thang's gonna be over, an I ain't gonna git no killin' in at all. I jist wonder." Barney said, "Oh, I reckon they's enough ta go around. Sides, you all spyin' ain't you? Cain't go 'round shootin' when you spyin'. Jist ain't right, by spyin' rules, best I reckon." Bernice said, "Oh yes, we been doin' our dadgum spyin'. Borin' what it is. Them Anglish ain't never home ta spy on, though. Shoot, we jist walked right inta a mess a their rooms, taken all manner a silly letters, papers, maps, what not. Shore a sorry way ta scrap, I'll tail you that. Can you imagine goin' inta a feller's house an messin' with his dadgum pitchers when you supposed ta be scrappin' with him? Shore ain't the Belly Way, daddy, that's all I know." Barney said, "Wail, them's the rule, I reckon. You find any real nice pitchers? I like pitchers." Bernice said, "Oh, I guess. Here's a funny one. You know that egg mess Buford been makin' - Eggs Benedict Arnold? Them Anglish is gettin' real friendly with a feller a that name. You reckon he taken it from Buford's dadgum egg mess? That there's sure be funny, what it would be. Them Anglish is shore crazy. 'Course, Buford kinda crazy too sometimes. Shore like his guns, though. Shore wisht I could shoot 'em at a dadgum Anglish."

Barney Belly’s Lament Got a mess a pig all cooked up, tastin’ good Got whiskey by the barrel, tastin’ good But I cain’t grow nothin’ else here Ain’t got enough dirt for that mess here It jist runs right down the mountain And that ain’t good Chorus: I’ve got ‘maters and ‘taters on my mind They’s somethin’ missin’ ever sangle fudin’ time I can live on pig and coon an whiskey, but it jist don’t seem right I got ‘maters and ‘taters on my mind. 54

General Charles Tarleton had finished his tea and his Martha White light and fluffy biscuits. After such heavenly biscuits, he wondered how he could go back to crumpets and scones when he returned to England. They were as hard as rocks and he had actually broken a couple of teeth on them. Who was this Martha White, he wondered, and if he could find her, would she consider going back to London with him and becoming his chief chef? So many important matters to consider, but he was stuck in this bloody war. Well, back to torturing the Abercrombie fellow:

Charlie: I hope you enjoyed the tea.

Archie: You don't have any Old Milwaukee on hand, do you?

Charlie raised an eyebrow: Why do you ask?

Archie: It's my favorite drink. I find it soothing and it keeps me regular.

Charlie: It does? We thought it was just another tepid American drink, a lot like your sassafras tea.

Archie: Oh, no, Ole Mil is an amber beer, delightful and light, but yet somehow filling.

Charlie: How do you know so much about this Old Milwaukee?

Archie: I invented it.

Charlie: I say, old man, you're quite the inventor, aren't you? Benjamin Franklin must be jealous.

Archie: In America, we believe in competition. It's what will make us great.

Charlie: What else have you invented?

Archie: Only baseball, but I'm working on another game, a more rough and tumble one, one that represents the violence and cutthroat nature of our society.

Charlie: What will you call this one?

Archie: Pigball.

Charlie had grown weary. This Archie fellow was one tough customer.

Charlie: More Old Milwaukee, Archie?

Archie: Sure, why not. If I keep drinking it though, I may need to make a quick trip to the outhouse.

Charlie turned away. He didn't want Archie to see the sinister smile on his face.

Charlie: Oh, sure, Archie, and by the way, I have one more question for you. When we routed the Bellys in Spartanburg, just about all of them managed to escape somehow. Where did they go?

Archie: How would I know?

Of course, Archie did know. Ben David, the Jewish Belly, had told him about Belly Mountain, the secret Belly place where they made their famous whiskey.

Archie: Oh, Charlie, I'm ready to use the outhouse.

Charlie didn't reply but stepped into the next room. Archie wondered what was going on. He didn't have long to wonder. Charlie stepped back into the room, and to Archie's horror, he was smiling an evil smile, and he was holding...a chamber pot!

Bernice Belly sat down in the kitchen, chatting with her mother Esther Beulah as she sharpened one of her hunting knives. She asked, "Mama, why cain't we breed with cousins like everbody else?" Esther said, "Good night, gal, don't you know? Sorry breedin', that's why. Shoot, that's how that Moron bunch got started. They kin folk, you know. Don't go sayin' they ain't. Commenced to breedin' close, and first thang you know, they all crazy. Talkin' funny, movin' way up north, thankin' funny, jist flat actin' all crazy. The Lord must a put that question right on yore tongue, Bernice, cause we got a mess a Morons came by jist this mornin'. Thought they wad goin' from that Virginia where they been livin' ta Canader. Wound up here. Didn't know they wad goin' the wrong way 'til they seen Belly Mountain. That'll tell you a whole mess right there. Shoot, here they come now." As the Morons entered the house, Esther "Lester, this here's yore niece Bernice. Bernice, this here's Lester Leviticus Moron, yore uncle. Set down, Lester, and we'll fud." Lester said, "Well, mighty fine! You know what, this looks just exactly like Belly Mountain, in Carolina. I swear, looks just like you Canaders made a copy." Esther said, "Lester, this is Belly Mountain. We went over that this morning. 'Member?" Lester said, "Well, yes and no. I remember talkin' about Belly Mountain, but I don't remember this bein' Belly Mountain just like Belly Mountain. I tell you, it's just like it! You know what, you're real familiar too! I thank I know you!" Esther said, "Well, Lester, you just make yourself at home, wherever it is you think you are. I'll bet a big ol' glass of Belly Brew would do you a lot of good right now. Here you are. Drank up." After drinking half the glass, Lester said, "Mighty fine! Shoot, that there tastes as familiar as anything has ever tasted familiar. If I didn't no better, I thank there was a Belly made that whiskey. Oh, yes and no. Could have been a body wadn't a Belly what had learnt off a Belly hot ta make that whiskey, or could a been a body what used ta been a Belly then married his cousin, what not. I don't know. I will have another glass, though. Mighty fine!"

Archie had not been this close to a chamber pot since that infamous night at the Bed & Breakfast in Southern Virginia. His skin broke out in huge globules of sweat and the left side of his mouth started twitching uncontrollably. He struggled with the ropes that were binding his hands and feet but to no avail.

Archie: I didn't think anyone was capable of such unspeakable evil!

Charlie: We British have learned much about the art of war from hundreds of years of fighting the French.

Archie: I thought the French were lovers not fighters.

Charlie: Benjamin Franklin must have told you that. Only the British know the French for what they really are.

Archie: I believe that one can choose to do evil or not to do it. I appeal to your better nature.

Charlie: All is fair in love and war.

Archie: If only nations would join together and write some rules for conduct in war.

Charlie: You are a dreamer, Archie. That can never happen. We speak the same language and we don't trust each other. How much less is it possible when we don't even understand each other's words.

Archie: It's not so much what we say, it's how we say it.

Charlie look perplexed: What do you mean?

Archie: I mean you don't really want to destroy what's left of my self-respect.

Charlie: I'm sorry, old chap, you're wrong. I'm prepared to do whatever is necessary to root out the Bellys and destroy them once and for all.

Archie: You may kill me, but you can never defeat the spirit that animates our cause.

Charlie laid down the chamber pot, then walked over to Archie and loosened the ropes around his hands: I'm leaving the room. The choice is yours.

Archie didn't know how long he could hold on. He had made the mistake of actually drinking Old Milwaukee and a powerful bowel movement was forming in his colon.

He cried out to Charlie: You've got to let me use the outhouse! I'm a prisoner of war and I have my rights!

Charlie entered the room: No, Archie, you're not. We know that you are no longer a member of the Continental Army. By order of General Washington, you were dishonorably discharged due to your disgraceful conduct at the B & B.

Archie: That may be true but what you're doing is a felony against Mother Earth.

Charlie looked aghast: What are you talking about?

Archie: Don't you read Scientific Colonial? The use of chamber pots in lieu of outhouses is causing Global Cooling.

Charlie: I say, old man, this puts quite a different spin on things. I've been wondering why it's been so cold down here in Carolina. I told my brother I thought we might be in Newfoundland by mistake.

Archie: No, and it's going to get worse, not only here, but in Europe as well. I dare say that when you finally get back to England it'll be a frozen wasteland.

Charlie: Oh, my God! What can we do?

Archie: Drop what you're doing and get back home as soon as possible. Spread the word. Get Parliament to outlaw chamber pots. It's our only hope.

Charlie: Righto, old man, we'll leave immediately.

Charlie ran to the adjutant's office: We're breaking camp! We've got to get back to England!

In the resulting confusion, Archie slipped out to the outhouse in the back.

Archie leaned back in what passed as an easy chair in the Continental Army HQ at Valley Forge. It was twenty below outside but warm and cozy inside.

General Washington: Well, Archie, our plan worked.

Archie: Your plan, sir. Brilliantly conceived, if I may so. I just executed it.

GW: With great flair.

Archie: Thank you, sir.

Epilogue

The war ended a few years later when General Washington, with the help of the French of all people, defeated the British on Belly Mountain. The Bellys, who were not ready to reveal themselves to the wider world, bribed early American historians with Belly Whiskey, and persuaded them to substitute Yorktown for Belly Mountain in their official versions of the war.

The Bellys had bigger plans anyway. They had grown tired of trying to get enough dirt on Belly Mountain so they had decided to move to somewhere flatter like Florida. Somehow they ended up in Texas but that's another story.

Archie's true story of his heroic service to his country was revealed to everyone at war's end. He reaped the just awards and was idolized throughout the new born country. When General Washington became the first president, Archie was named Secretary of the newly formed Cabinet of the Privy Department where he dedicated his life to fighting Global Cooling. As we all know in the early 21st century, it's a fight he eventually won.

THE END

Hosted by www.Geocities.ws