The Twelve Cajun Days Of Christmas
Having barely survived the first Cajun Thanksgiving, Thibaut remained traumatized from the experience and decided to move as far away from Louisiana as he could. He ended up in New York, where he began sending gifts to his friends back home.
Then this happened...
ON THE FIRST DAY OF CHRISTMAS…
It was great hearing from you since you moved. I hope the big city is treating you well.
I wanted to thank you for the Christmas tree, but it don’t look like no regular Christmas tree to me. There’s pears on it for starters, and then some kinda demon bird done flown outta it when I was trying to put on the lights and nearly pecked my eyes out.
I smacked it with a frying pan and cooked it up into a nice jambalaya, though. A little chewy, but not too bad.
ON THE SECOND DAY OF CHRISTMAS…
What you sent me more birds for? Thanks and all, but I just ate partridge jambalaya last night. I let these two doves go with a warning.
How are things in New York? Is this what folks do up there? Send birds to people for Christmas?
ON THE THIRD DAY OF CHRISTMAS…
What the holy heck, Thibaut? Now you’s sending three birds at once? These was good, though. I fried ‘em up in the same pan I done killed that first one with.
Why aren't you writing back, though? I don't need any more presents. Just let me know how you're doin'.
ON THE FOURTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS…
Seriously. Enough with the dang birds.
I don’t know why you’re doing this to me, but these four you sent over this time just squawked and squawked all day until I wanted to smack ‘em all with my frying pan. I turned my cat on them, instead. You remember Moses, right? Evil creature. Loves cantaloupe. He’s a weird animal.
Anyway, he chased them off and now they's just squawking away up in Mrs. Finkle's oak tree down the block. Which is fine with me. That woman ain't never been nothing but a nuisance.
ON THE FIFTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS…
Woah, man. I know times is changing and all, but why you sending me rings now? We’re just friends, man.
Don’t make it weird. Call your Mama.
ON THE SIXTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS…
Again with the birds. What am I gonna do with six geese, Thibaut? Dang things just run around, pooping out eggs all over the place, and they're terrorizing poor Moses something awful.
He’s been on top of the icebox for hours now, traumatized from being assaulted by an angry mob of hissing goose demons all day. I ain't never seen that look in his eyes before. Cut it out.
ON THE SEVENTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS…
So it's swans now, is it? What am I gonna do with seven stupid swans, Thibaut? I don't even have a pond no more, ever since Mrs. Finkle done called the authorities on me.
You know darn good and well I had to drain it and fill it with cement after that incident on St. Patrick's Day. Why are you doing this to me?
ON THE EIGTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS…
This is getting out of control. I don’t need eight cows, or eight women to milk them. I buy my milk down at the Walmarts like everybody else.
What’s happened to you?
ON THE NINTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS…
All right, Thibaut. For the past nine days, you've been sending me birds and rings and milk cows, and I about had enough. I don't know how Yankees do things up in the frozen north, but you know that's not how we do things down here.
Now you send me a bunch of dancing ladies that have been frolicking and gyrating all over my lawn for the past couple of hours. You know what, though? I’m kinda okay with this one. Let's end it here.
ON THE TENTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS…
Interpretive dance? Is this what moving to New York did to you? Couldn’t you just have stopped with the ladies?
Everything was fine and them girls was doing some nice dancing like how I seen on the TV sometimes when I manage to catch one of them late night movie channels with my rabbit ears, but now you done ruined all that by sending over a whole mess of lunatics to leap all over my front lawn, upsetting the neighbors and further terrorizing Moses.
I fixed ‘em up good, though. I opened the back gate and let the geese after the prancing twits. Hoo boy, you shoulda seen how they jumped then.
But seriously, though. Stop this.
ON THE ELEVENTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS…
Stop it. Things was weird enough with the birds and the rings and the cows. The ladies was okay, but then you sent over a chorus line of prancing morons to trample my grass, and now eleven dudes with flutes show up?
Seriously, man. I can't take much more of this. It's like a dang musical production outside my house, and the neighbors are starting to complain.
ON THE TWELFTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS…
Well, I guess the band's all here. Are you happy now?
The flute guys have been going at it for the past 24 hours, and now you send over a dozen drummers. Thanks for that, because I just got a visit from my homeowner’s association, and they’s evicting me because I got a dead tree in my house, about a hundred flocks of birds squawking their heads off and pecking at the neighborhood kids, and some kind of Broadway musical playing out on my front lawn that nobody bought a ticket for.
Oh, and the cows done stampeded over into traffic when the drummers showed up, and now I gotta pay for damages to Mrs. Finkle’s stupid PT Cruiser.
I'm moving, Thibaut. Don't try to find me.