"Dear Emile" joke

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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