Dem Jokes / Recent Jokes
A Cajun was stopped by a game warden in South Louisiana recently with two ice chests of fish, leaving a bayou well known for its fishing. The game warden asked the man, "Do you have a license to catch those fish?"
"Naw, ma fren, I ain't got none of dem, no. Deez here are my pet fish."
"Pet fish?"
Ya. Avery night I take deez here fish down to de bayou and let dem swim' round for a while. Den I whistle and dey jump rat back inta dis here ice chest and I take dem home."
"That's a bunch of hooey! Fish can't do that!"
The Cajun looked at the game warden for a moment and then said, "It's de truth ma' fren. I'll show you. It really works."
"Okay, I've GOT to see this!"
The Cajun poured the fish into the bayou and stood and waited. After several minutes, the game warden turned to him and said, "Well?"
"Well, what?" said the Cajun
"When are you going to call more...
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 more...
'Twas the night before Christmas,
Da whole house was mella,
Not a creature was strirrin',
Cuz I had a gun unda da pilla.
When up on da roof
I heard somethin' pound,
I sprung to da window,
To scream, "YO! Keep it down!
When what to my
Wanderin' eyes should appear,
But da Don of all elfs,
And eight friggin' reindeer!
Wit' slicked back black hair,
And a silk red suit,
Don Christopher wuz here,
And he brought da loot!
Wit' a slap to dare snouts
And a yank on dare manes,
He cursed and he shouted
And he called dem by name
"Yo Tony, Yo Frankie,
Yo Vinny, Yo Vito,
Ay Joey, Ay Paulie,
Ay Pepe, Ay Guido!
As I drew out my gun
And hid by da bed,
He flew troo da winda
And slapped me' side da head.
"What da hell you doin'
Pullin' a gun on da Don?
Now all you're gettin' is coal,
You friggin' more...
It was de night jus right befo' Christmas an' all down de bayou, errytang was quiet; not even a nutria go pitty pat in de waduh. An' inside my house, me an' my wife was flat poop out from all dat Christmas preparatin, an' was jes' bout ready to retire for de night. Le petit garcon an' la petite fille, dat is our little boy an' our little girl, was already fas' asleep on dere moss mattress an' visions of de Fais Do Do dance tru dere heads, dem lil darlins. Dem long john was hung by de log burner wit care in hope dat St. Nicholas soon would brought hisself dere. .. Now dat de scene is set, Qu'est-ce qui se passe?
Well, out dere on de bayou dere arose such a clatter, I jump from my bed to see what was de matter. I run like de rabbit to got to de door, an' I trip on de dog an' fall on de floor. But, when I got dere finally, an' push away de sack an' peek tru de crack an' look in de far away, what you tought I saw! Well, you can tought youself again' cause you ain't goin' believe dis, more...
Da night bepor Christmas
An all tru da house
Nating pas
Not eben a mouse.
Da children dey nossie
all snog on da ploor
An Mama puts newspepper
Tru da crack on da dor.
Den Mama in da stobe
Roost up da manuk
Steer up da adobo
An make bake da biko.
Den out on da rud
Dey got such a clatter
Soun like old manong
Pull down da ladder.
I run so past
To open da dor
I trip ober da dog
An pull down on da ploor!
As I look out da dor
In da light ob da moon
I thinking "apo, you cresy
I'm gitting old too soon."
Becus dere on da rud
Wer I turn my head
Dere's eight carabao
Pulling a sled
An a little driber
Wit a big ishtick
I know right away
must be St Nick.
Mob paster an paster
Da carabao dey come
He wistle an holler
An call dem by nim:
"Oy, Boogy!
Oy, more...