Posted on 02/09/2008 3:30:24 PM PST by CGASMIA68
RED-NECK VALENTINE'S LOVE POEM
Collards is green my dog's name is Blue and I'm so lucky to have a sweet thang like you.
Yore hair is like cornsilk a-flapping in the breeze Softer than Blue's and without all them fleas.
You move like the bass, which excite me in May. You ain't got no scales but I luv you anyway.
Yo're as satisfy'n as okry jist a-fry'n in the pan. Yo're as fragrant as "snuff" right out of the can.
You have som'a yore teeth, for which I am proud; I hold my head high when we're in a crowd.
On special occasions, when you shave under yore arms, well, I'm in hawg heaven, and awed by yore charms.
Still them fellers at work, they all want to know, what I did to deserve such a purdy, young doe.
Like a good roll of duct tape yo're there fer yore man, to patch up life's trou bles and fix what you can.
Yo're as cute as a junebug a-buzzin' overhead. You ain't mean like those far ants I found in my bed.
Cut from the best cloth like a plaid flannel shirt, you spark up my life more than a fresh load of dirt.
When you hold me real tight like a padded gunrack, my life is complete; Ain't nuttin' I lack.
Yore complexion, it's perfection, like the best vinyl sidin'. despite all the years, yore age, it keeps hidin'.
Me 'n' you's like a Moon Pie with a RC cold drank, we go together like a skunk goes with stank.
Some men, they buy chocolate for Valentine's Day; They git it at Wal-Mart, it's romantic that way.
Some men git roses on that special day from the cooler at Kroger. "That's impressive," I say.
Some men buy fine diamonds from a flea market booth. "Diamonds are forever," they explain, suave and couth.
But for this man, honey, these won't do. Cause yo're too special, you sweet thang you. I got you a gift, without taste nor odor, more useful than diamonds... IT'S A NEW TROLLIN' MOTOR!!
Children are like farts: your own are just about tolerable, but everyone else's are horrendous.
Hey now. We knows about Everclear, yessuh.
It don’t make you sloppy drunk- you jus dont CARE about nothin.
If your father drinks from that spit cup... you might be a red neck :>)
One night, a torrential rain soaked Southern Louisiana; the next morning the resulting floodwaters came up about 6 feet into most of the homes there.
Mrs. Boudreaux was sitting on her roof with her neighbor, Mrs.Thibodeaux, waiting for help to come. Mrs. Thibodeaux noticed a baseball cap, floating near the house.
Then she saw it float far out into the front yard, then float back to the house; it kept floating away from the house, then back towards house.
Her curiosity got the best of her, so she asked Mrs. Boudreaux, “Do you see dat dere baseball cap a floatin’ away from the house, den back again?”
Mrs. Boudreaux said, “Oh yeah, dass my husband; I tole dat coonass he gonna cut the grass today, come hell or high water.”
| Great-Granddad when the land was young Barred his door with a wagon tongue, The times were rough and the wilderness mocked And he said his prayers with his shotgun cocked; He was a citizen tough and grim, Danger was like "duck soup" to him. His great-grandson now falls asleep And fears no harm from the darkness deep, For great-granddad fought and won And tamed the land for his great-grandson. Great-Granddad was a busy man, He cooked his grub in a frying pan, He picked his teeth with a hunting knife, And wore the same suit all his life. He ate cornbread and bacon fat, But great-grandson would starve on that. Great-Granddad was gaunt with toil, Grimed and seamed with the sun and soil, But great-grandson is fat and clean And rides to work in a limousine. Twenty-five children came to bless Great-Granddad's home in the wilderness. Laugh at the statement, if you can, But Great-Granddad was a busy man. Twenty-five children, and they grew Stout and tall on the bacon, too; Slept on the floor with the dogs and cats, And shopped the woods for the coonskin hats. Freud was a mystery, so was jazz, Or giving their parents a scornful razz. If they got fresh with Great-Granddad He tanned their hides with a hickory gad. He raised them rough but he raised them well, And if they took hold of the ways of hell, He filled them full of the fear of God And flailed their pants with an old ramrod. They grew strong of heart, and strong of hand, The firm foundation of our land. Twenty-five boys ------- but this great-grandson To save his life can't manage one! (Author unknown) |
smooch
'Bout the worst description I ever heard of....
Thibodeaux: Boudreaux, did you get the parrot I sent you for your birthday?
Boudreaux: Yes, it was good!
Thibodeaux: You ate the bird!
Boudreaux: Of Course I ate it.
Thibodeaux: That bird spoke five different languages!
Boudreaux: Then he should have said something.
Actually, I rather like the sentiment, the poetry, the unblemished rural sophistication of it all ... and in iambic pentamiter, no less!
s’cuse me, I got plenty of sheep to tend to.
OMG, beer running out my nose LOL!
I love cajun jokes!
Boudreaux and his wife they out fishing in the lake one day. She stood up and fell over the side of the boat, and sank like a stone. Ol’ Boudreaux he dive in the water and look, but de water wuz plenny muddy, so he can’t fin’ her. After a while he goes back to the landing and tells de authorities. They mount a search. All night, they don’ find nuthin’. An’ all de nex’ day.
Fin’ly, Boudreaux, his phone ring. He pick it up and say “‘Ello?”
It’s the Sheriff. “Mr. Boudreaux, we got some bad news. We find your wife.”
“Oh, mon Dieu,” says Boudreaux. “She dead, hanh?!?!?”
“Yessir. She been in the lake a day an’ a half. When we pull her out, she had ’bout t’ree dozen big blue crab on her.”
“Oh, poor gal,” says Boudreaux. “An’ you brought her to the funeral home, hanh?”
“Hell, no,” said the sheriff. “Catchin’ crab like dat, we t’rew her back in. We gonna check her again in de’ mornin’!”
Cajun? I thought that was a norfolk joke.
ya’ll got cajuns in norfolk too? lol
Now, see here, your racism is showing. That is a Maryland joke older than the country, fer cryin’ out loud.
Ya’ll got blue crabs in Maryland too? haha
Noooo...the Potomac - and the Bay - are another world, entirely.
There are folks down on the water that still speak old, old dialects of colonial english.
And their social skills are even older still.
I was amazed to discover the the “river culter” actually comes within miles of the Capital dome - and, oddly enough, the only one who ever knew it was Trafficant.
Of course, he pissed them off, with his arrogance and all, and they sank his boat.
Then they broke it up for scrap, and sold the metal bits to a scrap yard.
It was quite educational to watch.
Bookmark for my honey dew.
Thank you, thank you, thank you...I printed up a copy with a pic of my hunting dog in the background...She’s going to love this years card!!! ;>)
I’ve only been through there a couple of times. Too far north for me!
But I’ve been called “hoyn” by Baltimore people. That’s a different accent for sure.
Funny about Trafficant- when you said ‘sank his boat’ I didn’t think you meant literally!
Oh, yes. When he went to jail, for having government morons work on his boat, I lost all faith in government.
Not because the slimeball used them to work on his boat, but because of the state of the thing - it was pathetic. There were trees growing out of the deck.
Damn government can’t do anything right.
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