A light, airy, effervescent, blog of grave consequence. (NOT!) Dedicated to those of us who must respond to negative stimuli by Chernobyling (entombing in concrete) our innermost thoughts.

Location: Slaughter, Louisiana, United States

A semi-gruntled corporate reliability engineer trying to make ends meet while keeping my wife happy, and myself out of the asylum.

Tuesday, December 20, 2005

The Twelve Days of Christmas, as Seen Through the Eyes of a Cajun

Day 1

Dear Emile,

Thanks for da bird in da pear tree. Ah fixed it las' night wit mah dirty rice an' it was delicious. Ah don' tink da Pear tree will grow in da swamp, so ah swapped it for a satsuma.

Day 2

Dear Emile,

Yaw letta say you sent two turtle dove, but all ah got was chree scrawny pigeons. Anyway, I mixed dem wit andouille an' made some gumbo.

Day 3

Dear Emile,

Why don' you send me some crawfish? Ah'm tahd eatin' dem darn birds. I give two doze prissy French chickens to Mrs. Ruiz over at Grand Bayou and fed da tird to mah dog, Phideaux. Mrs. Ruiz used dem for sparring partners for her fightin' roosta.

Day 4

Dear Emile,

Mon Dieux! I tole you, no more friggin' birds, cher! Deez four, what you call, " callin' birds", dey so noisy you could hear dem all da way to Napoleonville! I used dey necks for mah crab traps an' fed da res' to da gators.

Day 5

Dear Emile,

You finally sent something useful. Ah liked dem golden rings, me. Ah hocked dem at da pawn shop in Thibodeaux an got enough monies to fix da shaf' on mah shrimp boat and buy roun' for da boys at da Raisin' Cain Lounge. Merci Beaucoup!!

Day 6

Dear Emile,

Couchon!! Back to da birds, you Cajun turkey! Poor ol' egg-suckin' Phideaux is scared to death dem six geese. He tried to eat dey eggs and dey pecked da heck out ah heem snout! Dey good at eatin' dem cockroaches, dough. I may stuff one dem wit' erster dressin' on Christmas Day.

Day 7

Dear Emile,

Ah'm gonna ring your fool neck next time ah see you! Boudreaux, da mail man is 'bout ready to keel you! Da merde from all doze birds is stinkin' up hees mail boat. Heem afraid someone gonna slip on dat stuff an' sue heem. I let doze seven swans loose to swim on da bayou and some duck hunters blasted dem right out da water. Talk to you later, cher.

Day 8

Dear Emile,

Poor ol' Boudreaux had to make chree trips on hees mail boat to deliver dem eight milk maids an' dey cows. One of da cows got spooked by da gators an' almos' tip over da boat. An' I don' like doze shifless maids, me. I tole dem to geet to work guttin' fish an' sweepin' mah shack, but dey probably tink dey too good to skin the nutrias ah caught las' night.

Day 9

Dear Emile,

What you tryin' do? Boudreaux had to borrow da Lutcher Ferry to carry these jumping twits across da bayou. As soon as dey got here they wanted a tea break and crumpets. I don' know what dat means but I says, "Well la di da. You get Chicory coffee or nuthin." Mon Dieux, Emile, what Ah'm gonna feed all deez bozos? Deys too snooty for fried nutria, and the cows ate mah turnip greens.

Day 10

Dear Emile,

You got be out yaw mine'! If da mailman don't keel you, Ah will. Today he delivered ten half nekkid floozies from Bourbon Street. Dey said dey be "ladies dancing" but they don' act like ladies in front doze Limey twits. Dey almos' lef' after one dem got bit by water moccasin over by dee out-house. Ah had to butcher two cows to feed toute le monde an' get toilet paper. The Sears catalog wasn't good enough for doze hoity toity lords' royal behinds. Talk at you tomorrow.

Day 11

Dear Emile,

Where Y'at? Cherio and pip pip. Yaw 'leven Pipers Pipin' arrived today from dee House of Blues, second lining as dey got off da boat. We fixed stuffed goose an' beef jumbalaya, finished da whiskey an' we're having a fais-do-do. Dee new mailman drank a bottle of Jack Daniels and he's having a good old time dancin' with the floozies. The old mailman jump off the Sunshine Bridge yesterday, screamin' your name. If you get a mysterious, ticking package in da mail, don' open it.

Day 12

Dear Emile,

Ah'm sorry to tell you but Ah'm not your true love anymore. After the fais-do-do, I spent da night with Jacque, the head piper. We decide to open a restaurant and gentlemen's club on da bayou. Da floozies, pardon me, ladies dancin' can make $20 for a table dance, and the lords can be the waiters and valet park da boats. Since da maids have no more cows to milk, I trained dem to set mah crab traps, watch mah trotlines, and run mah shrimping business. We'll probably gross a million dollars next year.

Joyeaux Noel!


Anonymous Sweet Pea said...

Bien sur! Merci mon vieux! Tu m'as fait beaucoup rire! Magnifique! C'est un peu comme le "Cajun Night Before Christmas!" Je te remercie encore! Joyeux Noel!

6:38 PM  

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