Filed under: The Way We Were--Hell, ARE!--in Old Blue Earth County
by Old Uncle Crow
A farmer went out one day and bought himself and he hauled home a trained brand new stud rooster for his chicken coop. The young punk struts over to the old rooster, and he went:
“OK, you drooling old pre-Alzheimer prostate sonofabitch, time for you to retire!”
The old rooster went, “Balls of Christ, you young asshole, college degree my ass, sure as Hell you cannot rope and love wiener ALL of these hens! Look what it has done to me…can’t you just let me have these here dozen or so young bitches over there in the corner? Meanwhile I’ll let you do some real hot business with an old established firm and learn the ropes from off of those old battleships outside and get it just right, while I learn these young ‘uns up for you real good in here!”
The young rooster went, “Beat it, you old bastard, you are washed up and I am taking over the sex beat in THIS whorehouse!”
The old rooster went, “I tell you what, you baby face brain sonofabitch, I will race you around the farmyard. Whoever wins gets exclusive domain over the entire chicken coop AND the whole porno franchise!”
The young rooster laughs like Hell and goes:
”You know good and God-damned well you don’t stand the chance of a crow tossing snowballs in Hell with me, you God-damned OLD fool! Tell you what, I’ll even give you a head start, you broken down old nutsack….”
The old bastard takes off running. About 10 seconds later the young sonofabitch takes off running after him. They come baling around the front porch of the farmhouse and the boy brain genius has closed the gap. He is only about 5 feet behind the old rooster and pounding along to beat Hell, and gaining fast. The farmer, meanwhile, is dozing in his usual spot in his rocking chair on the front porch with a pail of beer and big plateful of wieners and kraut and potato salad, when he was alerted by the whap-whap-whap! of rooster feet on the gravel.
The old rooster is panting “Jesus Christ…puff, puff….oh, sonofabitch…” and flailing away as hard as he can like trying to load jackrabbits onto a flatbed.
The farmer grabs up his 1883 “Remington” 12 gauge with the hammers and — Pow! ka-BLAM! — he blows the young bastard to bits. Sadly he shakes his head and sets down his shotty gun, and he went:
“Jesus Christ and all the God-damn lies about LOVE, God-damn postmodern perversion…THIRD queer rooster I got stuck up my ass this Spring by those thieving cocksuckers at that God-damn Mankato sale barn! Christ on a clap ward….”
The moral?
Don’t piss off these old bastards…age and a little treachery, limp prick or no prick, will knock these young fools flat on their asses AND right smack dab into next week EVERY God-time time!
copyrighted by tio cuervo March 28th, 2009
6 Comments so far
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I have relatives from Minot and Stillwater who would probably have spun the story in the same dialect. Nice touch with the picture too! Was that the chicken who crossed the road?
Comment by 'brecht March 29, 2009 @ 10:13 pmIt’s a definite lingo all right. Note the shift at scene changes too, introduced by a phrase in the simple past followed by the present tense in describing the immediate action. The form “he went/goes” in ascribing dialog used to drive me nuts as a child. “Are you taking a shit?” I demanded of my Uncle Emmett and his friend, Judson Andersen once when I was nine or so — that line definitely made THEM “laugh to beat Hell!”
To have gotten it exactly right in fact I see I should have written: “The old bastard took off…the young sonofabitch takes off after him.” That’s the transition point in a formal tale in this oral mode. Whether tense shift in this way was established long enough to qualify as a “tradition” is not easy for me to say: My grandfather didn’t swear at all as much as his son (and daughter!) and nephews, and he tended to use “he said/says.” But I believe I remember Grandpa spoke mostly in the simple past: “…and there the feller was…he dropped dead…he was a damn fool…that was the end of him…I told you the horse don’t look good!”
“
Comment by OUC March 30, 2009 @ 12:02 amProof that age and treachery wins every time!
Comment by Connie March 30, 2009 @ 9:16 amThe other day I went to a fancy restaurant and pulled up to the door when a doorman opened the door and let me out. Just then, a woman in a tu-tu and leotards pirouettes up to the car, gets in and drives off. As I was walking up to the door to go inside another car pulls up and the same thing happened. The driver got out, another woman in a tu-tu and leotards pirouetted up to the car, got in and drove off. As the doorman was opening the door the same thing happened again. I turned to the doorman and asked, “What the heck is THAT all about?” “Oh,” he says to me, “At this restaurant we have ballet parking!”
Comment by Riffaff March 31, 2009 @ 1:21 amWell, as I live and breath. One would think that the old man had me in mind. I got a question for you O’l Crow. Why do you think I moved to the foot-hills?
Comment by Leonard April 8, 2009 @ 6:36 am‘…boy brain genius,” I wrote. God-damn it, Leonard, Everything in this blog is not about ewe!
Comment by OUC April 10, 2009 @ 1:33 am