Joyeaux Noel from the Bayou
TWELVE DAYS OF CHRISTMAS ON THE BAYOU
Day 1....Dear Emile,
Thanks for da bird in the Pear tree. I fix it las night with dirty rice and it was delicious. I doan tink the Pear tree would grow in de swamp, so I swap it for a Satsuma.
Day 2....Dear Emile,
Your letter said you sent 2 turtle doves, but all I got was 2 scrawny pigeons. Anyway, I mix dem with andouille and made some gumbo outta dem.
Day 3....Dear Emile,
Why doan you sen me some crawfish? I'm tired of eating dem darned birds. I gave two of those prissy French chickens to Mrs. Ruiz over at Grand Bayou and fed the tird one to my dog, Phideaux. Mrs. Ruiz needed some sparring partners for her fightin' rooster.
Day 4....Dear Emile,
Mon Dieu! I tole you no more friggin birds. Deez four, what you call "callin' birds" were so noisy you could hear dem all the way to Napoleonville. I used dey necks for my crab traps, and fed the rest of dem to the gators.
Day 5....Dear Emile,
You fine'ly sent sometin' useful. I liked dem golden rings, me. I hocked dem at a pawn shop in Bayou Blue and got enough money to fix the shaft on my shrimp boat, and buy a round for da boys at the Raisin' Cane Lounge. Merci Beaucoup.
Day 6.... Dear Emile,
Coullion! Back to da birds, you coonass! Poor egg sucking Phideaux is scared to death ah dem six geese. He tried to eat they eggs and they pecked the heck out ah his snout. Dey good at eating cockroaches, though. I may stuff one ah dem with erster dressing on Christmas Day.
Day 7....Dear Emile,
I gonna wring your fool neck next time I see you. Boudreaux, da mailman, is ready to kill you. The merde from all those birds is stinkin up his mailboat. He afraid someone will slip on dat stuff and sue him. I let those seven swans loose to swim on da bayou and some duck hunters from Mississippi blasted dem out da water. Talk to you tomorrow.
Day 8....Dear Emile,
Poor old Boudreaux had to make 3 trips on his mailboat to deliver dem 8 maids a milkin' & der cows. One of the cows got spooked by da alligators and almost tipped over da boat. I doan like dem shiftless maids, me. I told dem to get to work guttin' fish and sweeping my shack but dey said it wasn't in der contract. They probably tink they too good to skin da nutrias I caught las night.
Day 9....Dear Emile,
What you tryin' to do? Boudreaux had to borrow da Lutcher Ferry to carry these jumping twits you call lords-a-leapin' across da bayou. As soon as they got here they wanted a tea break and 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 these bozos? They too snooty for fried nutria, and the cows ate all my turnip greens.
Day 10....Dear Emile,
You got to be out of your mind! If da mailman don't kill you, I will. Today he delivered 10 half nekkid floozies from Bourbon Street. They said they be "ladies dancing" but they doan act like ladies in front of those Limey twits. They almost left after one a dem got bit by a water moccasin over by my out-house. I had to butcher 2 cows to feed toute le monde and buy toilet paper. The Sears catalog wasn't good enough for those hoity toity lords' royal behinds. Talk at you tomorrow.
Day 11....Dear Emile,
Where Y'at? Cherio and pip pip. Your 11 Pipers Piping arrived today from da House of Blues, second lining as dey got off da boat. We fixed stuffed goose and beef jambalaya, finished da whiskey and we havin' a fais-do-do. The new mailman drank a bottle of Jack Daniels and he having a good old time dancing with the floozies. The old mailman jumped off the Sunshine Bridge yesterday, screaming your name. If you get a mysterious, tickin' package in da mail, don't open it.
Day 12....Dear Emile,
I'm sorry to tell you but I am not your true love anymore. After the fais-do-do, I spent da night with Jacques, the head piper. We decide to open a restuarant and gentlemen's club on the bayou. The floozies, pardon me, dancing ladies can make $20 for a table dance, and the lords can be the waiters and valet park da boats. Since the maids have no more cows to milk, I trained dem to set my crab traps, watch my trotlines, and run my shrimping business. We'll probably gross a million dollars next year.
Joyeaux Noel-Merry Christmas!
Day 1....Dear Emile,
Thanks for da bird in the Pear tree. I fix it las night with dirty rice and it was delicious. I doan tink the Pear tree would grow in de swamp, so I swap it for a Satsuma.
Day 2....Dear Emile,
Your letter said you sent 2 turtle doves, but all I got was 2 scrawny pigeons. Anyway, I mix dem with andouille and made some gumbo outta dem.
Day 3....Dear Emile,
Why doan you sen me some crawfish? I'm tired of eating dem darned birds. I gave two of those prissy French chickens to Mrs. Ruiz over at Grand Bayou and fed the tird one to my dog, Phideaux. Mrs. Ruiz needed some sparring partners for her fightin' rooster.
Day 4....Dear Emile,
Mon Dieu! I tole you no more friggin birds. Deez four, what you call "callin' birds" were so noisy you could hear dem all the way to Napoleonville. I used dey necks for my crab traps, and fed the rest of dem to the gators.
Day 5....Dear Emile,
You fine'ly sent sometin' useful. I liked dem golden rings, me. I hocked dem at a pawn shop in Bayou Blue and got enough money to fix the shaft on my shrimp boat, and buy a round for da boys at the Raisin' Cane Lounge. Merci Beaucoup.
Day 6.... Dear Emile,
Coullion! Back to da birds, you coonass! Poor egg sucking Phideaux is scared to death ah dem six geese. He tried to eat they eggs and they pecked the heck out ah his snout. Dey good at eating cockroaches, though. I may stuff one ah dem with erster dressing on Christmas Day.
Day 7....Dear Emile,
I gonna wring your fool neck next time I see you. Boudreaux, da mailman, is ready to kill you. The merde from all those birds is stinkin up his mailboat. He afraid someone will slip on dat stuff and sue him. I let those seven swans loose to swim on da bayou and some duck hunters from Mississippi blasted dem out da water. Talk to you tomorrow.
Day 8....Dear Emile,
Poor old Boudreaux had to make 3 trips on his mailboat to deliver dem 8 maids a milkin' & der cows. One of the cows got spooked by da alligators and almost tipped over da boat. I doan like dem shiftless maids, me. I told dem to get to work guttin' fish and sweeping my shack but dey said it wasn't in der contract. They probably tink they too good to skin da nutrias I caught las night.
Day 9....Dear Emile,
What you tryin' to do? Boudreaux had to borrow da Lutcher Ferry to carry these jumping twits you call lords-a-leapin' across da bayou. As soon as they got here they wanted a tea break and 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 these bozos? They too snooty for fried nutria, and the cows ate all my turnip greens.
Day 10....Dear Emile,
You got to be out of your mind! If da mailman don't kill you, I will. Today he delivered 10 half nekkid floozies from Bourbon Street. They said they be "ladies dancing" but they doan act like ladies in front of those Limey twits. They almost left after one a dem got bit by a water moccasin over by my out-house. I had to butcher 2 cows to feed toute le monde and buy toilet paper. The Sears catalog wasn't good enough for those hoity toity lords' royal behinds. Talk at you tomorrow.
Day 11....Dear Emile,
Where Y'at? Cherio and pip pip. Your 11 Pipers Piping arrived today from da House of Blues, second lining as dey got off da boat. We fixed stuffed goose and beef jambalaya, finished da whiskey and we havin' a fais-do-do. The new mailman drank a bottle of Jack Daniels and he having a good old time dancing with the floozies. The old mailman jumped off the Sunshine Bridge yesterday, screaming your name. If you get a mysterious, tickin' package in da mail, don't open it.
Day 12....Dear Emile,
I'm sorry to tell you but I am not your true love anymore. After the fais-do-do, I spent da night with Jacques, the head piper. We decide to open a restuarant and gentlemen's club on the bayou. The floozies, pardon me, dancing ladies can make $20 for a table dance, and the lords can be the waiters and valet park da boats. Since the maids have no more cows to milk, I trained dem to set my crab traps, watch my trotlines, and run my shrimping business. We'll probably gross a million dollars next year.
Joyeaux Noel-Merry Christmas!
posted by Queen of the Universe @ 8:42 AM
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