Cajun 12 Days of Christmas

Day 1 Dear Emile, Thanks for da bird in the Pear tree. I fixed it las

night with dirty rice an 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 dove, but all I got

was 2 scrawny pigeon.

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 darned bird. I gave two of those prissy French chicken to

Mrs. Fontenot over at Grand Chenier, and fed the tird one to my dog,

Phideaux. Mrs. Fontenot needed some sparring partners for her fighting

rooster.

Day 4 Dear Emile, Mon Dieux! I tole you no more of dem bird. Deez

four, what you call “calling bird” wuz so noisy you could hear dem all

da’ way to Lafayette. 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 da’ pawn shop in Sulphur and got enough

money to fix the shaft on my shrimp boat, and to 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 goose. He try to eat

they eggs and they pecked the heck out ah his snout. Dem goose are damm

good at eating cockroach around da’ house, though. I may stuff one ah

dem goose with erster dressing to serve him on Christmas Day.

Day 7 Dear Emile, I’m gonna wring your fool neck next time I see you.

Ole Boudreaux, da mailman, is ready to kill you, too. The crap from all

dem bird is stinkin up his mailboat. He afraid someone will slip on dat

stuff and gonna sue him. I let dem seven swan loose to swim on da bayou

and some stupid duck hunter from Mississippi done blasted dem out da

water. Talk to you tomorrow.

Day 8 Dear Emile, Poor ole Boudreaux had to make 3 trips on his mailboat

to deliver dem 8 maids-a-milking & der cows. One of dem 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 gutting fish and

sweeping my shack–but dey say it wasn’t in their contract. They

probably tink they too good to skin all dem nutria I caught las night.

Day 9 Dear Emile, What you trying to do? Boudreaux had to borrow da

Cameron Ferry to carry these jumping twits you call lords-a-leaping

across da bayou. As soon as dey got here dey 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 da cow ate up all my

turnip green.

Day 10 Dear Emile, You got to be out of you mind. If da mailman don’t

kill you, I will. Today he deliver 10 half nekkid floozies from Bourbon

Street. Dey said they be ladies dancing” but they doan act like ladies

in front of dem Limey sailing boys. Dey 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 rolls. The Sears catalog wasn’t good enough for

dem hoity toity lords. Talk at you tomorrow.

Day 11 Dear Emile, Where Y’at? Cherio and pip pip. You 11 Pipers

Piping arrived today from 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. Da’ new mailman drank a bottle

of Jack Daniel, and he’s having a good old time dancing with the

floozies. Da’ old mailman done jump off the Moss Bluff Bridge

yesterday, screaming you name. If you happen to get a

mysterious-looking, ticking package in da mail, don’t open it.

Day 12 Dear Emile, Me I’m sorry to tell you–but I am 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 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

da’ 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.

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