12 Days cajun

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 outhouse.
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.