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School Stories
Twelve days of Christmas on de bayou. . . . . . . . . .
Day 1:
Dear Boudreaux:
Tanks for de bird in de Pear tree. I fix it las' night with some dirty rice an turnip greens. I doan tink de pear tree will grow in de swamp, so I swap it for a Satsuma.
Day
2:
Dear Boudreaux:
You letter say you sen two turtle doves, but all I get was dem two scrawny pigeons. Anyway, I mix dem with andouille an made some gumbo outta dem.
Day 3:
Dear Boudreaux:
How come doan you sent some crawfish? I'm tired of eating dem darn
birds. I gave two of dose prissy French chickons to Marie Trahan
over at Grans Bayou
an fed the tird one to my dog Phideaux. Marie done need some
sparring partners for her fightin rooster.
Day 4:
Dear Boudreaux:
Mon Dieux! I tol you no more friggin birds. Deez four, what choo
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. Lawdy!
Day
5:
Dear Boudreaux:
You finally sen' somethin useful. I like dem golden rings, me. I hock dem at da pawn shop in Thibodeaux and get 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 Cajun turkey! Poor egg suckin' Phideaux is scared to death at dem six geeses. He tried eat dems eggs and dey peck de heck outta his snout. Dey good at eating cockroaches, though. I may stuff one of dem wit oyster 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 you. The crap from all dem birds is stinkin' up his mailboat. He afraid someone will slip on dat stuff and sue him good. I let dem seven swans loose to swim on de bayou and some duck hunters from Mississippi blasted dem outta 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 get spooked by da alligators and mostly tipped over da boat. I doan like dem shiftless maids, me no. I tolt dem to get to work guttin fish and sweepin da shack but dey say it wasn't in dere contract. Dey probably tink dey too good ta skin dem nutrias I caught las night too.
Day 9:
Dear Boudreaux:
What you tryin to do, huh? Thibeau had to borrow da Lutcher ferry to carry dem jumpin twits you calls Lords-a-Leaping across de bayou. As soon as dey gots here dey want a tea break wit 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 all my turnip greens.
Day 10:
Dear Boudreaux:
You got to be outs you mind! If de mailman don' kill you, I will fo sure. Today he deliver 10 half nikid floozies from Bourbon Street . Dey said dey be "Ladies Dancin" but dey doan act like ladies in front of dose Limey twits. 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 had to get toilet paper: The Sears catalog wasn't good enuf, no, fer dose hoit toity Lords' royal behin.
Day
11:
Dear Boudreaux:
Where y'at? Cheerio an pip pip. Your 11 pipers piping arrives today from da House of Blues, second lining as dey got off de boat. We fix stuffed goose and beef jambalaya, finish da whiskey and we having a fais-do-do. Da new mailman he drink a bottle of Jack Daniel an he having good time yeah dancin wit de floozies. Thibeau he jump off de Sunshine Bridge yesterday, screamin yer name. If you get a mysterious, tickin package in de mail, doan open it.
Day 12:
Dear Boudreaux:
I sorry to tell ya but I not your true love anymore, no. Afta da fais-do-do, I spent de night wit Yvette, da head piper. We thot we woud sleep in late and then catch a movie at the Bijou, but dem crazy drummin boys woke us up at da crack or dawn. Scared me ta death.
Anyhow, we decide to open a restaurant and gentleman's club on de bayou. Da floozies, pardon me, Ladies Dancing, can make $20 for a table dance, and de Lords can be waiters an valet park de boats. Since de maids doan have no more cows ta milk, I trained dem ta set my crab traps, watch my trotlines, an run my shrimpin business. We probably gross a million clams next year.
It ain't over until the fat cat sings
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