Happy Holidays ta all dem fine posters on dis thread, yeah. Seasons Greetings to all, cher, from de swamp dis "lagnap" (as Mike Ditka sez) is for you drillers:
The 12 days of Christmas on the Bayou
Day 1: Dear Boudreaux, Tanks for de bird in de Pear tree. I fix it
las' night with dirty rice. I doan tink de pear tree will grow in da
swamp, so I swap it for a Satsuma.
Day 2: Dear Boudreaux, You letter say you sent two turtle doves, but
all I got was two scrawny pigeons. Anyway, I mixed dem with andouille
an made some gumbo out of dem.
Day 3: Dear Boudreaux, Why doan you sent some crawfish? I'm tired of
eating dem darn birds. I gave two of dose prissy French chickens to
Marie Trahan over at Grans Bayou an fed the tird one to my dog,
Phideaux. Marie needed some sparing partners for her fighting rooster.
Day 4: Dear Boudreaux, Mon Dieux! I tol you no more friggin birds. Deez
four, what you call dem "calling birds" were so noisy you could
hear dem all de way to Napoleonville. I used dere necks for my crab
traps, an fed de rest of dem to de gators.
Day 5: Dear Boudreaux, You finally sent somethin useful. I like dem
golden rings, me. I hocked dem at da pawn shop in Thibodeaux and got
enuf money to fix da shaft on my shrimp boat an buy a round for da boys
at de Raisin' Cane Lounge. Merci Beaucoup!
Day 6: Dear Boudreaux, Couchon! Back to da birds, you coonass turkey!
Poor egg suckin' Phideaux is scared to death at dem six geeeses. He
tried to eat dems eggs and dey peck de hell out ah his snout. Dey good
at eating cockroaches, though. I may stuff one of dem wit erster
dressing on Christmas day.
Day 7: Dear Boudreaux, I'm gonna wring your fool neck next time I see
you. Thibeau, da mailman, is ready to kill ya. The merde from all dem
birds is stinkin' up his mailboat. He afraid someone will slip on dat
stuff and sue him good. I let those seven swans loose to swim on de
bayou and some duck hunters from Mississippi blasted dem out of de
water. Talk to you tomorrow.
Day 8: Dear Boudreaux, Poor ole Thibeau, he had to make tree trips on
his mailboat to deliver dem 8 maids a milkin and dere cows. One of
dem cows got spooked by da alligators and almost tipped over da boat.
I doan like dem shiftless maids, me no. I tolt dem to get to work
guttin fish and sweeping the shack but dey say it wasn't in dair
contract. Dey probably think they to good ta skin nutrias I caught las'
night.
Day 9: Dear Boudreaux, What you trying to do huh? Thibeau had to borrow
the Lutcher ferry to carry dem jumpin twits you call Lords-a-Leapin
across the bayou. As soon as dey gots here dey wanted a tea break with
crumpets. I doan know what dat means but I says, "Well La Di Da. You
get Chicory coffee or nuttin." Mon Dieu, Emile. What I'm gonna feed
all dese bozos? Dey too snooty for fried nutria, and de cows done eat my turnip greens.
Day 10: Dear Boudreaux, You got to be outs you mind! If de mailman don't
kill you, I will for sure. Today he deliver 10 half nakid floozies
from Bourbon Street. Dey said dey be "Ladies Dancin" but dey doan act
like ladies in front of dose Limey fruits. Dey almos left after one of dem got bit by a water moccasin over by da out-house. I had to butcher 2 cows to feed toute le monde an get toilet paper. The Sears catalog wasn't good enuf fer dose hoity toity lord's
royal behin'.
Day 11: Dear Boudreaux, Where y'at? Cheerio an' pip pip. Your 11 pipers
piping arrives today from de House of Blues, second linin as dey got
off de boat. We fixed snuffed goose and beef jambalaya, finished da
whiskey and we having a fais-do-do. Da new mailman he drink a bottle
of Jack Daniels an he having a good time yeah dancing with de floozies.
Thibeau he jump off de Sunshine Bridge yesterday, screaming your name.
If you get a mysterious, ticking package in de mail, doan open it man.
Day 12: Dear Boudreaux, I sorry to tell ya but I not your true love
anymore, no. After da fais-do-do, I spent de night with Jacque, de
head piper (he put won of dose friggin golden rings in his ear, yeah!) We decide to open a restaurant and gentleman's club on de bayou. The floozies, pardon me, Ladies Dancin, can make $20 for a table dance, and de Lords can be waiters an valet park de boats. Since de maids have no more cows ta milk, I trained dem ta set my crab traps,watch my trotlines, an run my shrimping business. We probably gross a million clams nex year, I garontee!!
drsvelte |
