Gaston's Letter from Home (must be read w/ Cajun accent)

Dear Gaston,

I very sorry to hear dat you buss you hip, you.  I run into yore Mama over by da church Bingo last Sunday and she tole me dat you was layed up from a water ski axadent and in a cast from neck to foot.  It bring to da back of my mind da time dat Tante Elodine wouldn’t look to her behind and step in da slop jar and fall on da flow.  Poo-yi!  It smell like da cesspool done blew up.  She got so honte dat she wouldn’t call nobody for help and lay dere tree hours until Uncle Clovice finally got back from runnin da trap lines.  He got all nerval and rush her to da horsepital where de doctor run da hose pipe on her and took too or tree ashtrays of her hip and say, “Yes, it broke, sho nuf!”  Dey put her in one of dose big white plaster casts dat make her look like da Michelin Man on dem tire commercial on TV.  Mais, it was pretty funny to see her try to dance down at da fais do-do until Uncle Clovice figure out he could duck tape some old rollerskates to da bottom of her feets and spin her around da flow pretty good.  I tink dat year was da only time dey ever won a blue ribbon for best 2-step dancers at da Crab Festival. 

So, anyways, I jus taught I should drop you a line to see how ya’ll are and let you know how all da peeples is doing down on da bayou sense you move away to da City and don’t never pass by to see us no more. 

You member Sonny Guidroz what live over cross Lake Verret bag daer by Mr.  Landry’s bait shop?   Mais, dat fool done fell himself in love wit some Yankee girl dat move down here to study on nutria for a paper she writing for her collage degree.  Da boy say dey gone to get marry as soon as there’s an opening at da church, but it’s all book up clean thru next Mardi Gras so he say now dey just gonna have a private ceremony in da Preist’ rectum.  Da whole ting don’t sit none too good wit his Mama, because she heard dat da girl is a vegetarian, and she say da family done been Catholic so long back she can’t member and dey ain’t about to start mixing it up now. 

Yore cousin Emile done got himself in trouble with da law again.  He was driving his pickup truck down da levee road pretty fast one day and a Louisiana Trooper spotted him and took off after him, but Emile he just kept going faster and faster.  Da Trooper turn on his lites and sireen, but Emile he just kept on.  About twenty miles on down da levee, Emile’s truck run itself out of gas and he hads to stop.  Da Trooper jump himself out his car yelling, “Why you didn't stop?   I know you saw me!”  Emile say, “Mais, officer, I'm truly sorry for dat.  But, you see, a couple year ago my wife, Marie, she run off with a Trooper, and when I saw you, I taught you was him tryin' to bring her back.  So I was tryin' to get away fast.”  Da Judge, he give Emile a $50 fine and 30 days on da garbage pickup service, cause he was good friends wit dat Trooper what run off wit Marie, an he knows it ain’t so cause dat Trooper done move to Alaska last July to git away from her himself. 

Yore nephew T-Hen was playing kickball outside last week when he notice dat da outhouse was leaning over toward da bayou and, being da curious little boy he is, T-Hen got da idea to kick da outhouse really hard just to see what would happen.  He reared back, gave it da biggest kick he could, and BLAM!  da outhouse tip all da way over and fall itself into da bayou.  Mais, it was just a few seconds and it sunk to da bottom, and Tee-Hen run to hide himself.  Later on yore Uncle Henry, T-Hen’s papa, spotted da boy hiding over by da boat shed and ask if he knowed anything about it.  T-Hen look him strait in da eye and say, “Papa, just like George Washington, I cannot tell a lie.  I kicked dat outhouse as hard as I could, and da thing sunk straight to da bottom of da bayou.”  Uncle Henry give him a stern look and say, “You gonna get it boy!  Go fetch me a good switch out da willow tree!”  T-Hen he say, “But Papa, George Washington didn't get in no trouble when he tole da truth, so why you gonna whip me?”  Uncle Henry, he say, “Mais yeah, but when George Washington chopped down dat cherry tree, his Papa wasn't sitting in da tree neither!” 

Ole man Claude Thibodeaux from over Bayou Carne was burry yesterday and it was a reel nice funeral.  97-year old and he was in his boat fishing when he caught a heart attack and died.  Claude's wife, Ada, she call to put da obituary in da White Castle Gazette, but she aint got a hole lot of money and figure it cost more for every word, so she told en to just say, “Claude Thibodeaux, he done died.”  A lady at da newspaper told Ada dat she could add some cuz it don’t cost no more unless she go over 10 words long.  So she did and da next day it run in da paper sayin, “Claude Thibodeaux, he done died.  Good used boat for sale.”  I’m just so glad dat Ole Claude die doing sometin he love.  It’s a wonder he live dat long anyway - - why, it was just last year when he got all tore up gator wresslin at da Red Rooster Saloon, and he was laid up on his death bed, an da Priest done give him last rites and da doctor already say dat he surely won't live for an udder day.  Den suddenly, he pop open his eyes wide like an owl - - a wonderful aroma done hit him like a tidal wave and he knew dat smell meant just one thing - - his wife done just made a fresh pot of crab gumbo.  You know how good Maam Ada’s gumbo is, and Claude he wanted a bowl so bad but he couldn’t even walk, so he drug himself out of his bed and crawled down da hall to da kitchen.  Just as Claude was reaching for da pot, his wife barked at him, “Claude Thibodeaux!  Shame on you!  You know dat gumbo is gonna be for da funeral.” 

Well, I must bring dis line to an end now cause it’s getting late and da Priest is passing confection and I need to go confect.  I truly hope you get to feeling better reel soon.  You take care of youself and may God bless da hell outta you. 

Yore cousin,

Boudreaux