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They were hung over: crawling out of starched grey tents, throwing up in the snow, cursing the morning light. The forest was littered with Civil War re-enactionists who had gotten rowdy the day before, drinking and marching and drinking and drawing rank. Maneuvers had taken a turn for the worst when the Union boys had plundered Confederate wives behind enemy lines: panties and bayonets strewn everywhere, anger and consternation over the thin white line where role-play ends and adultery begins. Evidence wore the navy blue of the cheating few.

After a few chance stabbings and some general upheaval, General Robert E. Lee (a supply-chain analyst) and General Ulysses S. Grant (a mortician) came to a compromise. It was decided that the memory was the worst of it. Destroying the memory would be an adequate substitute for destroying the offending Northerners, several of whom were doctors or distillery workers or other somesuch valuable persons. No wives would remain pillaged if the soldiers were all too drunk to remember the war.

And so the battle became a series of kegstands, and the good General Grant's hat the centerpiece of a rather fearsome funnel. The womenfolk disappeared into the dark and the night collapsed into inebriation and the abolishment of slavery under slurring, bubbly pretenses. The states were unified under a blanket of oblivion and the conflict slept.

Later, some said that it really wasn't fair to expect an army of predestined losers to bring their spouses along for the weekend. It was unmanning. Even if the Confederates historically lived engendered lives where the men fought and the women cooked, it wasn't in the spirit of 21st century living to require women to open and heat cans of Chunky Chili. The wives hadn't needed to come: it seemed that every year they caused some type of tomfoolery and nearly ruined things. Nobody could remember who suggested bringing them along, but after that night they couldn't remember much. Historically, nobody remembered much after any Re-enactment Weekend.

The Confederate forces blearily turned down their tents, packed up their uniforms and returned to the present. The Union smiled and consolidated its gains, silent until the next year when the fight would spring anew. The wives... well, the wives were motherfucking pimps.

Posted by Chris at 02:49 AM >> Commentations (0)