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Sun 15 Dec, 2002 06:32 pm
THE 12 DAYS OF CHRISTMAS DOWN ON THE BAYOU
DAY 1:
Dear Boudreaux;
Tanks for de bird in de Pear tree. I fixt it las' nite with dirty rice.
I doan tink de pear tree will grow in the 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
an made some gumbo out of dem.
DAY 3:
Dear Boudreaux;
Why doan you sent some crawfish? I'm tired of eating dem
darn birds. I giv two of dose prissy French chickens to
Marie Trahan over at Grans Bayou an fed the tird one to my
dog Phideaux. Marie needed some sparing partners for
her fighting rooster.
DAY 4:
Dear Boudreaux;
Mon Dieux ! I tol you no more friggin 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 an fed de rest of dem to de gators.
DAY 5:
Dear Boudreaux;
You finally send somethin useful. I like dem golden rings, me.
I hocked dem at da pawn shop in Thibodeaux and got enuf
money to fix da shaf 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 coonass turkey ! Poor egg
suckin' Phideaux is scared to death at dem six geesess.
He tried to eat dems eggs and dey peck de heck out ah his
snout. Dey good at eating cockroaches, though. I may stuff
one of dem wit erster dressin on Christmas day.
DAY 7:
Dear Boudreaux;
I'm gonna wring yor fool neck next time I see you.
Thibeau, da mailman, is ready to kill ya. The merde from
all dem birds is stinkin' up his mailboat. He afraid
someone will slip on dat stuff and su him good. I let
those seven swans loooss to swim on de bayou and some
duck hunters from Mississippi blasted dem out of de water.
DAY 8:
Dear Boudreaux;
Por ole Thibeau, he had to make tree trips on his mailboat
to deliver dem 8 maids a milkin and their cows. One of
dem cows got spooked by da 'gators and almost tipped
over da boat. I doan like dem shiftless maids, me no.
I tolt dem to get to work guttin fish and sweepin the shack
but dey say it wasn't in dair contrac. Dey probably tink
they to good to skin dem nutrias, I caught las night.
DAY 9:
Dear Boudreaux;
What you tryin to do Huh? Thibeau had to borrow the
Lutcher ferry to carry dem jumpin twits you call
Lords-a-Leaping across the 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 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 don eat all my turnip greens.
DAY 10:
Dear Boudreaux;
You got to be outa you mind! If de mailman don't kill you,
I will for sur. Today he deliver 10 half nakid floozies from
Bourban 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 get toilet paper. The Sears catalog was no good enuf
no fer dose hoity toity lord's royal behin.
DAY 11:
Dear Boudreaux;
Where Y'at. Cheerio an pip pip. Yor 11 pipers piping arrived
today from the House of de Blues, second lining as dey got
off de boat. We fixed stuffed goose and beef jambalaya,
finished da whiskey and we having a fais-do-do. Da new
mailman, he drink a bottle of Jack Daniel an he having a
good time yeah dancing with de floozies. Thibeau he jump
off de Sunshine Bridge yesterday, screaming yor name.
If you get a mysterious, ticking package in de mail,
DOAN OPEN IT MAN.
DAY 12:
Dear Boudreaux;
I sorry to tell ya but I not yor true love anymore, no.
After da fais-do-do, I spent the night with Jacque,
de head piper. We decide to open a restaurant and
gentlemen's club on de bayou. The floozies, pardon me,
Ladies Dancing, can make $20 for a table dance an de
lords can be waiters an valet park de boats. Since de
maids have no more cows ta milk, I trained dem ta
set mah crab traps, watch my trotlines, and run my
shrimpin' bihness. We will probably gross a million
clams nex year.
MERRY CHRISTMAS
Marie Lebeaux
No Bib, I haven't heard it. Are you going to post it? Please?
Have you heard the Irish recording of this Misti? 
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