Monday, May 11, 2009

Twelve Days of Christmas in Cajun Land

’tis funny no matter what month it is! This is an oldie that I dressed up just a little bit. (BTW Thibeau is not Thibodeaux misspelled.)

Day 1: Dear Boudreaux, Tanks for de bird in a pear tree. I fix it las’ night with Jambalaya. I doan tink de pear tree will grow inna 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 sausage and made some good gumbo out of dem.

Day 3: Dear Boudreaux, Why doan you sent some crawfish? I’m tired of eating dem birds. I gave two of dose prissy French chickens to Marie Trahan over at Grans Bayou and fed de turd one to my dog Phideaux.

Day 4: Dear Boudreaux, Mon Dieu! I tol you no more a dem 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, and fed de rest of dem to de gators.

Day 5: Dear Boudreaux, You finally sen’ something useful. I like dem golden rings, me. I hocked dem over at da pawn shop in Thibodeaux and got enuff money to fix da shaft on my shrimp boat and buy a round for da boys at de Raisin’ Cane Lounge. Merci Beaucoup!

Day 6: Dear Boudreaux, Couchon! Back to da birds, you big honking ole turkey! Poor egg suckin’ Phideaux is scared to death at dem six geeses. He tried to eat dems eggs and dey peck de heck out a his snout. Dey good at eating cockroaches, though. I may stuff one of dem with erster dressing.

Day 7: Dear Boudreaux, I’m gonna wring your fool neck next time I cast eyes on you. Thibeau, da mailman is ready to kill ya. The merde from all dem birds is stinking up his mailboat. He's afraid someone will slip on dat stuff and sue him good. I let dose seven swans loose to swim on de bayou and some duck hunters from Mississippi blasted dem out of de water. Talk to YOU tomorra.

Day 8: Dear Boudreaux, Mais cher! Poor ole Thibeau, he had to make tree trips on his mailboat to deliver dem 8 maids a milkin and all their 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 floor, but no. Dey say it wasn’t in dair contract. Dey probably tink de too good ta skin nutrias I caught las night, f’sure.

Day 9: Dear Boudreaux, What for you tryin to do huh? Thibeau had to borry the whole Lutcher ferry to carry dem jumpin’ twits you call “Lords-a-leaping” ‘cross da 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-Dee-Da. You gets 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’t kill you, I will f’sure. Today he deliver in da mailboat, 10 half nekid floozies from Bourbon Street, all the way from N’Awlins. He said dey be “Ladies-a-Dancing” but dey doan act like ladies in front of dose Limey twits.

All a dem almos' left for good after one of dem go bit by a water moccasin over by da outhouse. I had to butcher two whole cows to feed toute le monde and had to get terlit paper. The Sears catalog wasn’t good enuff for dose hoity toity Lords’ royal beehines.

Day 11: Dear Boudreaux, Where y’at? Cheerio and pip pip! Your eleven pipers piping arrives today on the mailboat. Dey musta come from de House of Blues, second lining as soon as de got off de boat. We fixed stuffed goose and beef jambalaya too, finished all da whiskey and we having a fine fais-do-do. Da new mailman, he drink a bottle of Jack Daniel and he having a good time, yeah, dancing with all 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. Hit’s prolly a goodbye present from the old mailman.

Day 12: Dear, dear Boudreaux, I sorry to tole ya, but I ‘taint your true love anymore, no. After fais-do-do, I spent de night talking with Jacques, de head piper. We decide to open a restaurant and gentleman’s club on de bayou. De floozies, pardon me, Ladies-a-Dancing, can make $20 for a table dance, and de Lords can be waiters and valet park de boats and pirogues. Since de maids doan have no more cows ta milk, I trained dem ta set my crab traps, watch my trotlines, an run my shrimping bidness. We will prolly gross a million whole clams next year.

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