BLACK FRIDAY DEFINED...
Only in America do people trample each other for sales exactly one day after being thankful for what they already have.
Ways to Shake Up Thanksgiving
- During the middle of the meal, turn to mom and say, "See Mom, I told you
they wouldn't notice that the turkey was four months past its expiration
date. You were worried for nothing."
- When everyone goes around to say what they are thankful for, say, "I'm
thankful I didn't get caught" and refuse to say anything more.
- Load your plate up high, then take it to the kitchen, toss it all in the
blender, and take your "shake" back to the table. Announce that it's the new
Thanksgiving Weight Loss Shake.
- Bring a date that only talks about the tragic and abusive conditions
known to exist at turkey farms. Request that she bring photos.
12 Days of Christmas ~ Cajun Style
(shared by Jim Dueweke)
Day 1....Dear Emile,
Tanks for da bird in da pear tree. I fix it las night wit dirty rice an it was delicious. I doan tink da pear tree wud grow in da swamp, so I swapped it for a Satsuma.
Day 2....Dear Emile,
Yer letter said ya sent 2 turtle dove, but all I got was 2 scrawny pigeon. Anyway, I mix dem wit andouille an made some gumbo outta dem.
Day 3....Dear Emile,
Why doan ya sen me some crawfish? I'm tired ah eatin dem darn birds. I gave two ah dose prissy French chickens ta Mrs. Ruiz over at Grand Bayou an fed da tird one ta my dog, Phideaux. Mrs. Ruiz needed some sparrin partners for her fightin rooster.
Day 4....Dear Emile,
Mon Dieux! I tole ya no more friggin birds. Deez four, what ya call "callin birds" were so noisy ya could hear dem all da way ta Napoleonville. I used dey necks for my crab traps, an fed da res ah dem ta da gators.
Day 5....Dear Emile,
Ya finally sent somethin useful. I lik’d dem golden rings, me. I hocked dem at a pawnshop in Thibodeaux an got enuf money ta fix da shaft on my shrimp boat, an buy a round for da boys at da Raisin' Cane Lounge merci beaucoup.
Day 6.... Dear Emile,
Couchon! Back ta da birds, ya coonass turkey! Poor egg suckin Phideaux is scared ta death ah dem six geese. He tried ta eat der eggs an dey pecked da hell outta his snout. Dey're good at eatin cockroaches, though. I may stuff one ah dem wit Erster dressin on ChristmusDay.
Day 7....Dear Emile,
I'm gonna wring yer fool neck next time I see ya. Boudreaux, da mailman, is ready ta kill ya. Da merde from all dose birds is stinkin up his mailboat. He's afraid someone will slip on dat stuff an sue him. I let dose sevin swan loose ta swim on da bayou an some duck hunters from Mississippi blasted dem outta da water. Talk ta ya tamarrow.
Day 8....Dear Emile,
Poor ol Boudreaux had ta make 3 trip on his mailboat ta deliver dem 8 maids a’milkin & der cows. One ah da cows got spooked by da alligators an almost tipped over da boat. I doan like dem shiftless maids, me. I tole dem ta get ta work guttin fish an sweepin my shack but dey said it wasn't in der contract. Dey probably tink dey too good ta skin nutrias I caught las night.
Day 9....Dear Emile,
What ya tryin ta do? Boudreaux had ta barrow da Lutcher Ferry ta carry dese jumpin twits ya call lords-a-leapin across da bayou. As soon as dey got here dey wanted a tea break an crumpets. I doan know what dat means but I says, "Well la di da. Ya get chicory coffee or nuthin." Mon dieux, Emile, what I'm gonna feed all dese bozos? Dey too snooty for fried nutria, an da cows ate my turnip greens.
Day 10....Dear Emile,
Ya got ta be outta yer mind! If da mailman don't kill ya, I will. Taday he delivered 10 half nekkid floozies from Bourbon Street. Dey said Dey be "ladies dancin" but dey doan act like ladies in front ah dose Limey twits. Dey almost left after one ah dem got bit by a water moccasin over by my out-house. I had ta butcher 2 cows ta feed toute le monde (everybody) an get toilet paper. Da Sears catalog wasn't good enuf for dose hoity toity lords' royal behines. Talk at ya tamarrow.
Day 11....Dear Emile,
Where Y'at? Cherio an pip pip. Yer leven Pipers Pipin arrived today from da House ah Blues, second linin as dey got off da boat. We fixed stuffed goose an beef jumbalaya, finished da whiskey an we're havin a fais-do-do. Da new mailman drank a bottle ah Jack Daniels an he's havin a good old time dancin wit da floozies. Da ol mailman jumpt off da Sunshine Bridge yestaday, screamin yer name. If ya get a mysterus, tickin package in da mail, don't open it.
Day 12....Dear Emile,
I'm sorry ta tell ya but I am not yer true luv no more. After da fais-do-do, I spent da night wit Jacque, da head piper. We decide ta open a restuarant an gentlmen's club on da bayou. Da floozies, pardon me, ladies dancin, can make $20 for a table dance, an da lords can be da waiters an valet park da boats. Since da maids have no more cows ta milk, I trained dem ta set my crab traps, watch my trotlines, an run my shrimpin business. We'll probbly gross a millun dollas nex yer.
When I was a kid we were very poor.
We couldn't afford tinsel for our Christmas Tree.
We had to wait for Grandpa to sneeze.
I was Santa again this year, working for a photographer doing Christmas photos.
As a little girl climbed onto Santa's lap, I asked the usual: "And what would you like for Christmas?"
The girl stared at me open-mouthed and horrified for a bit, then gasped, "Didn't you get my E-mail?!"
