Cajun 12 days of Christmas.

[DaryusZaphodDracal 0]

It's that time of year again. So as STSF's Cajun Caitian, I give to you The Cajun 12 Days of Christmas. Hope everyone has a safe and Joyous Holiday Season.

 

Zaphod,

 

Day 1....Dear Emile,

 

Thanks for da bird in the Pear tree. I fixed it las night with dirty rice and it was delicious. I doan tink the Pear tree would grow in de swamp, so I swapped 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 mixed them with andouille and made some gumbo out of dem.

 

Day 3....Dear Emile,

 

Why doan you sen me some crawfish? I'm tired of eating dem darne 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 fighting rooster.

 

Day 4....Dear Emile,

 

Mon Dieux! I tole you no more friggin birds. Deez four, what you call "calling birds" were so noisy you could hear dem all the way to Napoleonville. I used they necks for my crab traps, and fed the rest of dem to the gators.

 

Day 5....Dear Emile,

 

You finally sent something useful. I liked dem golden rings, me. I hocked dem at a pawn shop in Thibodeaux 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,

 

Couchon! Back to da birds, you coonass turkey! 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. They're good at eating cockroaches, though. I may stuff one ah dem with erster dressing on Christmas Day.

 

Day 7....Dear Emile,

 

I'm 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's 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 milking & 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 them to get to work gutting fish and sweeping my shack but they said it wasn't in their contract. They probably tink they too good to skin nutrias I caught las night.

 

Day 9....Dear Emile,

 

What you trying to do? Boudreaux had to borrow da Lutcher Ferry to carry these jumping twits you call lords-a-leaping 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 nuthin." Mon Dieux, Emile, what I'm gonna feed all these bozos? They too snooty for fried nutria, and the cows ate 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 of them got bit by a water moccasin over by my out-house. I had to butcher 2 cows to feed toute le monde (everybody) and get 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 form the House of Blues, second lining as dey got off da boat. We fixed stuffed goose and beef jumbalaya, finished da whiskey and we're having a fais-do-do. The new mailman drank a bottle of Jack Daniels and he's 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, ticking package in da mail, don't open it.

 

Day 12....Dear Emile,

 

I'm sorry to tell you but I ain't your true love anymore. After the fais-do-do, I spent da night with Jacque, the head piper. We decide to open a restuarant and gentlemen's club on the bayou. The floozies, pardon me, ladies dancing 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 and may Papa Noel follow da bonfires tru de byu and find yo homes on Christmas Eve!