The Saga Of Bayou Billy : Kenn Crawford

So I’m sitting on my porch with a big ol’ bowl of gumbo thinkin’ we can dance all night around the subject but it is what it is: and if you don’t know who I is or where dis story starts off, I suggests you read challenge # 15 first so ya’ll can gets a better outlook on what’s a happenin’.

You still here? Damn I done told you to read the utter one first. One sec I gets me karaoke microphone to make sure ya’ll can hear me. “Read number fifteen first, den come back!” …and they say my kinfolk ain’t the sharpest knife in the drawer. Some a the folks I runs across is so stupid they would go to the Betty Ford clinic cuz they was hooked on phonics. Anyways, let me grab a ‘nutter bowl of gumbo den I’ll gets back to me story….

The carnage I set lose on them poachers was more fun than gumbo pizza served by a naked porn queen. Okay, maybe not quite that much fun – it’s hard to beat gumbo pizza.
Anyways I grabbed them poachers batteries cuz the wife done used up all the batteries. Just then a ‘membered the little whipper-snapper was still under me wife, so I rushed into the house, careful not to spill my gumbo cuz I still had to side step o’er them three youngins curled up like a ‘coon dog layin’ by a fire. The other two ain’t sleepin’ on the couch no more, the lil bastards are fightin’ over who gets to play wit the Nintendo joystick. For the life a me I’ll never figger out why dem two is always fightin’ o’er the ‘tendo; ain’t like we gots a tv or nuttin’.

Anyways, I gets to kid number six and pulls the little whipper-snapper out from under me wife and I noticed the little fellers pajamas was all stained brown, not to mention the aroma didn’t smell too good. Of course, if the wife hadda fell’d outta bed on me I woulda crapped me shorts too. That woman done got so big she makes Jabba the Hutt look anorexic. My favorite food is gumbo, her favorite food is “more”. She drives me berserk sometimes too, ’specially if she finds me porn magazines wit all dem dere naked women. Now I ain’t lucky ’nuff to have her git mad or nuttin like dat; no, she done gits in da mood! Once upon a time, likes when we’s was first hitched and she was just a tiny little thing, she wanted me on the bottom cuz she said everything else I do I fuck up. She ain’t tiny no more so I makes her git on the bottom. But by the top I crawl up on top o’ her my ears pop. She gots to start losing some weight.

Anyways, I throw’d the little feller inna bayou to clean the stink offa him and dat’s when I saw’d it… a gator swimmin’ towards the little feller! So I say’s to myself, “Self,” and I recognized the voice right away cuz it sounded just like me, “Self,” I says, ain’t nobody ever taught that little whipper-snapper how to swim!

So I grabs me bowl a gumbo and sits on the porch thinkin’ he better learned how to swim cuz I ain’t gettin’ in the water wit no damn gators.

~~~

So I’m sittin’ on the porch with a big ol bowl of gumbo laughin’ all hysterical-like cuz I’m watchin’ the young whipper-snapper tryin’ to git his new fangdangled wheelchair thingy up on the porch. I knows I ain’t not be laughin’ at him, but ever since that gator done took his legs, it’s been a might bit funny watchin’ the lil feller trying to git around the bayou in dat dere chair.

I remember the day the gator done took his legs too…. ‘members it like it was just yesterday. Comes to think of it, it was yesterday. Anyways, the little whipper-snapper was thrashing ’round in the bayou cuz this gator is coming after him, he can be such a drama-queen sometimes. So I tells him to quit his bitchin’ cuz it’s just a little ol gator and not some big scary monster or nuttin but noooo, he’s thrashin’ around like the Hurricane – ya’ll remember him? He was a prize-fighter and he could punch so fast that if he missed you the wind would blow ya over.

Anyways, now that I had a chance to think about it, me thinks it’s kinda ironical cuz I throw’d the kid in the bayou to wash the stain outta his shorts when the wife done fell’d on him, and he done went crapped in his pants again! I don’t know what it is wit dat lil feller and crap – he’s always messin around wit shit. Why just the other day I caught him feeding prophylactics to the dog. He done got the bright idea that the dog’s poop would come out already tied up in little baggies. Somedays I swears that kid is as dumb as a stump.

Anyways, back to me story….
the little feller was in the bayou all bitchin’ and stuff cuz the gator’s chawin’ on his legs and the bayou done look like  a big ole glass a red wine and that’s when I says to myself, “Self,” and I recognized the voice right away cuz it sounded just like me. “Self,” I says, “You should take a photograph in case he don’t make it outta the bayou and you gots to prove it was a gator dat killed him.” But I couldn’t take no photograph cuz the wife done used up all the batteries, but that’s okay cuz the little feller got out of the swamp all by his-self. Well, most of him got out – his legs are still inside that gator somewhere.

Well I’d love to stay and chat wit ya’ll but the wife plans on gettin’ pregnant tonight so I should probably be there when that happens. And I gotta head on down to the county morgue to pick up my wife’s cousin’ brother’s sister’s second-cousin’s husband… seems he done shot his dumb-ass self right ‘tween the eyeballs. Doctor says the bullet done went clean threw the other side cuz there weren’t nuttin in the way to slow it down, so they called me to drive him up.  He ain’t the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree. I show’d him one of them there Canadian one dolla’ coins and he spent 3 days trying to git the chocolate out. I swear if it ain’t one thing its anudder wit my kin.

~~~

So I’m sittin on the porch eatin’ a big ol’ bowl a gumbo and laughin’ at the little fellar trying to git his wheelchair up on the porch and the wife’s a-yappin in the background yellin’ “Do you hear me?” Of course I hears her, ’bout the only thing bigger than her gut is her damn mouth. She’s always bitchin’ that I don’t pay attention to her or something like that.

Anyways, I’m trying to enjoy my gumbo and she comes running out on the porch… okay, running is probably not an accurate description; more like waddling like a lame duck. Anyways, out onto the porch she comes bitchin’ cuz I ain’t left yet to pick up her cousin’s brother’s sister’s second-cousin’s husband. I don’t know why she’s getting’ all upset over that no-good vagrant anyway – ain’t like he ever did nuttin’ for her. Well there was that one time he went and gives her one of them there wide-screen tv thingys; he said he bought off a friend-a his. I know’d right off the bat he was lyin’ cuz he ain’t got no friends.

Sure ‘nuff, next day the police comes goin’ to charge us with felony possession of stolen property. I tried tellin’ them there coppers the only property I gots is this little patch a bayou my daddy left me. Comes to find out they was talking ‘bout the television so I tells them to take it and git, and take that evil, no good, poor excuse for kin with them cuz he’s a no good liar! Lord a-mighty the wife done went berserk on me cuz I spoke ill of her kin. It’s real easy to knows when her kin folk is lyin – their lips are moving.

Anyways, she done flew into me like riptide during hurricane season. I swore she was firing lightning bolts outta her arsehole. Found out she just had a case of the runs. It’s hard trying to keep a straight face when the missus got a good mad all worked up and she’s crappin’ her shorts ev’ry time she yells. Made the grass all nice and lush but it didn’t do nuttin’ for her temper. She’s callin me every name in the book and spewin’ out words that would make a trucker blush so I says to myself, “Self”, and I recognized the voice right away cuz it sounded just like me. “Self,” I says, “she kinda reminds me of a song.”

Now ya’ll expectin me to say I was singin’ a Beatles song just to squeeze in that there last word wasn’t ya? Well I ain’t gonna give you that satisfaction, but I’ll give ya a piece of advice. When yer wife done got a good mad worked up and is in the middle of belittling you, that ain’t the best time to start singing any song. She done grabbed the broom and broke it clean over my head. Then she went and got mad at me cuz the broom was broke. Actually, she got mad at me cuz I told her it wasn’t no big deal cuz I ain’t never seen her using the broom anyway, but Lord a-mighty, she done used it on me that day. I didn’t mind the hittin’ part, but she done spilt my gumbo! That was the last straw… the war was on. I told her I am the man and I makes the rules! I laid down the law right then and there!

And when I woke up in the hospital I gots to thinkin’ that maybe a revolution wasn’t such a good idea after all.

~~~

So I’m sitting on the porch eating a big ol’ bowl a gumbo thinkin If I could turn back time, I woulda let them copper’s take my wife’s cousin’s brother’s sister’s second-cousin’s husband and throw’d him in jail. But the wife done put me in the hospital once already this week and I didn’t feel like listenin’ to anymore of her damn lunacy o’er the likes of him. I had enough trouble with them DEA, FBI, CIA and all them utter 3-letter groups poking their noses around the bayou cuz they know’d I gots some contraband growin’. Theys gettin’ mighty pissed too cuz they can’t find it. I don’t know what the big deal is, ain’t like I’m growin’ cocaine or nuttin’, it’s just a little harmless weed.

Well, harmless except for that time the little feller got into it and tried to slaughter a chicken. It was funny watching the little tyrant try to cut its head off with a dull kitchen knife. Dumb lil’ shit done went and throw’d his wheelchair at it and hit a gator right ‘tween the eyeballs cuz the gator done swallered up that chicken licky split. Now livin out in the bayou we ain’t gots the luxury of Kentucky Fried Chicken or none of them fancy gourmet foods; we gots to cook our own and we can’t afford to be feedin’ chickens to the gators so I throw’d the little feller at the gator to distract him long ’nuff to gets the chicken back. Lord a-mighty the wife done went bersek and grabbed that broken broom she hit me with the other day for speakin ill of her kin and she done broke it o’er my head again! I’m just thankful we ain’t got no carpets cuz she’d beat me to death with the vacuum. Anyways, I had to go down there and pull the little feller outta the gator’s mouth but the gator done spit him out anyways. That gator already done took the little fellar’s legs the other day so I guess he didn’t like the taste of him no more – maybe that gator could still taste the residue of all the times that little feller done crapped his shorts. So I’m puttin’ the littler feller back in his wheel chair when I heard some foreigner comin’ through the woods trying to be as sneaky as a sniper in a Tom Berenger movie. I know’d right away he was a foreigner cuz a local woulda just used the road instead beating around the bush. So I says to myself, “Self,” and I recognized the voice right away cuz it sounded just like me, “Self,” I says, “I wonder if I should be hospitable and offer him a bowl a gumbo?” The wife makes some damn good gumbo so I asked that there foreigner if he would like to have some chicken instead.

He said he’d love to have some chicken so I throw’d him in the bayou and told him if he can get it outta that there gator, he can have all he chicken he wants.

~~~

So I’m sittin’ on the porch eatin’ a… okay, who done took my damn gumbo? This ain’t friggin’ funny!I swears if one of dem youngins done took my gumbo I’m gonna beat dere ass’s all over the place. You don’t mess with a man’s gumbo! You can steal his women, hell you can even take his kids, but don’t ever mess wit his…. oh, there it is. Sorry ’bout that. I know’s I can be a bit of a fanatic about my gumbo. The wife is always telling me to look before I open my mouth or somethng like that. Can’t remember, she’s always tellin’ me something I ain’t listenin to. Anyways, I promise not to fly off the handle no more. Well, at least no more than usual. Now where was I? Oh yeh…

So I’m sittin’ on the porch eatin’ a big ol’ bowl a gumbo and Butternut, that’s our chicken, is moping ’round the yard all depressed cuz her twin sister, Butterball, got swallered by that there gator. I’m gonna miss that chicken too, especially come supper time, but I ain’t gonna get all depressed about it like poor Butternut. It’s just a damn chicken. Chicken gumbo, Mmmm I’m gettin’ hungry. Maybe it’s one of them cravings like womens gets during their childbearing years. Well, most women that is… my wife gets cravings 24/7. I swears that woman will eat anything that ain’t moving. That woman done got so big her cereal bowl comes with a lifeguard.

There was this one time she was making cupcakes for the youngin’s birthday and she was eating them quick as they’d come outta the oven. I tried to make the best of it for the youngins by havin’ plenty of games since the wife done eat all the food b’fore the utter kids done got to the party. Pin the tail on the gator was a fun game. The kids liked it but the gator was a might bit pissed. Ya’ll just think a gator be invincible, but throw’d him in the middle of a pack a starvin birthday kids and that gator was shivering like a wet dog. My favorite game was hide-and-go-home… I hide in my bed until the little bastards go home. I was up there for three days waitin’ for them last six kids to go home and thats when I ‘membered those six wuz mine!

Lord a-mighty they was hungry too cuz they ain’t et in three days. I was a might bit hungry too. The wife was gone cuz she signed herself into hospital. She wasn’t sick or nuttin’ she just wanted the food. She musta been starvin if she went to the hospital for the food. Did ya’ll ever eat that stuff? If you ain’t sick goin in the hospital you’d be damn sick comin’ out. That crap ain’t fit for a dog let alone a human. Doctors told her theys gonna keep her until she loses a hundred pounds. The kids will be graduated b’fore then and they don’t even goes to school.

Anyways, I’m left alone at the house wit the little bastards…err, my youngins… and all we’s got in the house is gumbo and an empty jar a Honeybee honey, so I says to myself, “Self,” and I recognized the voice cuz it sounded just like me, “Self,” I says, “you gots all this gumbo and the kids are starvin’ so you gots to do the right thing.” So I gives them the honeyjar and tells them to pretend they’s Winnie the Pooh. Then all of a sudden I hears this god-awful screachin’ so I run’s to the front porch tryin not to spill my gumbo and there’s the little whipper snapper… he’s smackin’ a gator with his wheechair. So beings the helpful fadder that I am I tells him, “Don’t be stupid boy, try hittin’ him with a hammer instead. ” I’m always happy to dish out advice to the youngin’s. Speakin’ of dishes, I needs a refill a gumbo.

And for ya’ll that’s been payin’ attention, I done used all-a Shane’s 10 words in chronolitical… chronomical… krononinomal…. kronlogical…. I used dem all in order!

~~~

So I’m sitting on the front porch eating a big ol’ bowl a gumbo and got to thinkin’ about my wife, my sweet Yvonne, up there in that there hospital and the sufferin’ she must be going through tryin’ to survive on hospital food. That health food stuff just ain’t good for you. Ya’ll every walk into one of them there health food stores? The damn owners always look like they’s half way dead. They sure is gonna feel stupid when they gets old and is in the hospital dyin’ of nothing. You won’t never see one of them with a tattoo neither cuz they can’t git ‘em – the needle would stick clean in the bone cuz they ain’t got ’nuff fat on them to grease a fryin’ pan.

Did I ever tell you my Yvonne gots a tattoo? Yes sir, she got a raptor tattooed on her butt when she was teenager. Now-a-days it done stretched so big it looks more like a brontosaurus. Why just the utter night I was at my wife’s brother’s mother’s son’s house watching something called Jurassic Park and when I saw’d them big ass dinosaurs I couldn’t help but think of my wife. I sure do miss pushing her around the grocery store in the wheelbarrow.

It’ll be a miracle if me and the youngin’s can survive another month without her around here to keep us all civilized. The whipper-snapper done gave his brother Jeb a tube of epoxy glue and told him it was tooth paste! Sure ’nuff Jeb tried brushin’ his one good tooth with it. From nows on I’m gonna start callin’ Jeb “Double D”… Dumb as Dog shit.

I told the whipper-snapper if he ever does sumthin’ like that again I’d break his two legs. He looked up at me from in his wheelchair and said, “Go head, make my day.” That’s was so totally 80s of him I just had to kick his Dirty Harry ass all o’er the bayou. Now I read somewhere that ya’ll ain’t supposed to hit yer kids in anger. Which got me thinkin’: When is you supposed to smack ‘em? Daddy’s in dreamland he’s so happy so come on over here so I can smack ya’ll around for a while cuz I don’t wanna hit you in anger. Now I ain’t gots me a higher education like them people who wrote that book, but even I knows that’s just silly.

So I’m tryin’ not to be angry as I’m teaching him lesson – actually I’m trying not to enjoy it too much but that’s another story. Anyways, outta nowhere this travellin’ salesman come a’callin. He done interupted a good whoppin’ so now I is gettin’ angry. I tells him I ain’t interested in nuttin’ he gots but that sales feller is persistent. He tells me he gots a new kinda rat poison that will kill all sorts a critters but it’s completely harmless to people. So I handed him a spoon and said, “Prove it.” He weren’t none to keen to prove it so I kicked his ass all o’er the bayou too.

Just then, outta the blue comes one them Jehovahs Witnesses wanting to preach the good word to all us ignorant folk up here at Gator Crossing. I gots plenty of good words and I was using them all b’fore he even showed up. I swears I ain’t had this many visitors since my wife told everyone I had a stiff neck cuz a Viagra got stuck in my throat. Now I don’t want y’all gettin’ the wrong idea… I only bought them cuz of that damn commercial. Ya’ll know the one where the guy runs outta his house all smilin’ and jumps o’er the fence and dances down the road? When I saw’d that commercial I said to myself, “Self,” and I recognized the voice right away cuz it sounded just like me. “Self,” I said, “I ain’t gots a shrinkage problem or nuttin’ but I’ll buy them damn pills if somebody would introduce me to his wife!”

Anyways, back to me story…. so I gots my hands b’tween kickin’ the little feller’s ass and that salesman who wasn’t smart enough to keep travelin’, all the while trying to pry the toothbrush off the Double-D’s one’s tooth and this Jehovah is trying to preach to me from the good book. And it was a good book too… good and heavy. I musta hurt like b’jesus when I smacked him with it cuz he took off quicker than a coackroach when the lights come on. Now I don’t know’d much about them Jehovah people cuz my folks done raised me Cat’lic. Now I don’t like comparin’ religions or nuttin but I learnt bein’ a Cat’lic has it’s perks. The best part is yer sins are reversible – ya’ll just gotta go into that confessional thingy that looks like a phone booth without the phone and tells the preacher yer sins and you walks out with a clean slate. I reckon the phone is on his side cuz he always talkin’ to God. That reminds me… How come is it if you tell people you talk to God they say its religion, but if you tells them same peoples that God talks to you they think yer nuts?

I remember this one time I went to confession and was tellin’ the preacher all my sins and he done dropped his Bible fourteen times! Guess he wasn’t expectin’ so much sinnin’ from a nine year old.

Well I’d love to stay and chat with y’all but them utter two little bastards are fightin’ o’er the Nintendo again. How many times do I gots to tell them ain’t no use fightin’ over the joystick cuz the tv’s broke? Damn kids are about as sharp as a bowling ball.

~~~

So I’m sittin’ on the porch eatin’ a big ol’ bowl a gumbo when I feels sumthin’ hard press against the back of my head.
“Don’t turn around,” I heard a voice tell me, “I’m a crackpot.”
“Don’t you mean a crackshot?” I ask’d him.
“Don’t be a smartass, Billy, cuz I will shoot ya!”
Lord a-mighty I could tell rage was coarsin’ thru his veins, so I decided it mightin’ be best to play along cuz this feller’s oil don’t quite reach his dipstick.
“Any last words, Billy?”
Now I’ve been known to git into a bit of mischief in my time but I had no idea what this feller was talking about cuz he doesn’t have all his dogs barking.
“What-cha want?” I asked him.
“I want to see the look on your face when I pulls this trigger.”
“Might be a bit tricky when yer standing behind me, maybe you should git me to turn around first.”
“Don’t tell me what to do, Billy!”
“I ain’t tellin’ ya nuttin’ fella, I’m just saying.”
This guy is about as smart as bait.
“Do you know why I’m gonna shoot you, Billy?” He asked as he pushed the barrel of his gun harder into the back of my head.
“Did I have sex with your wife?”
“No.”
“Did I have sex with you daughter?”
“No.”
“Did I have sex with anyone?”
“No.”
“You gonna shoot me and I didn’t even have sex with anyone? That don’t seem right! Can I have sex with your wife before you shoot me?”
“No, you can’t have sex with my wife!”
“How about yer daughter then?”
“You ain’t having sex with nobody, Billy!”
“You got that right. My wife is still up in that there hospital. It’s been that long since I had sex I forget who gets tied up.”

Just then the front door opened and Double D comes strollin’ out. He looks up at the feller and says, “Howdy mister, you here to buy some weed?”

Now lets recap for second here…

I got this lunatic harpin’ that he’s gonna shoot me and Double D walks out and sees a man pointing a gun at his father’s head so he asks the feller if he wants to buy some weed. I know’d that boy weren’t none too smart, but this kid must have the mental agility of a soap dish. His porch light is on but ain’t nobody home.
“I ain’t here for no weed boy, now run along and play.”
“You gots any candy mister?” Double D ask’d him.

Right abouts then I says to myself, “Self,” and I recognized the voice right away cuz it sounded just like me, “Self,” I says, “Gimme that gun for one second and I’ll shoot myself just thinkin’ that kid come from my seed!”

“Ya’ll gonna tell me why you gots a gun to my head cuz my gumbos gettin’ cold?”

“You just couldn’t leave well enough alone could ya, Billy? Ever since you started yer damn Bayou Billy Saga people from newspapers and tabloids from as far away as New York City been comin’ up here to Gator Crossing takin’ pictures and askin’ a bunch of questions thinkin everyone in the Bayou is just like you. You makin’ us look bad, Billy, so I gots to end this once and fer all.”

The bayou got really quiet right then.
Everything looked like it was happenin’ in slow motion. I could hear the waves lappin’ gently against the shore, the songs of the crickets and cicadas as they danced around the bayou,  the deep bellow of a bullfrog off in the distant and the sound of gators splashing in the water.

I’m really gonna miss the bayou I thought to myself as I heard that feller squeeze the trigger.

~~~

The Saga of Bayou Billy… continued.

(Note from Bayou Billy: Continued means we be half where there to wrapping up the last installment of the utter episode, so lets git back to the story cuz it was getting’ good)

“You makin’ us look bad, Billy, so I gots to end this once and fer all.”
I’m really gonna miss the bayou I thought to myself as I heard that feller squeeze the trigger.

CLICK!

“You gots to take the safety off first, dummy.” I told him as I picked up my bowl a gumbo.

Sorry folks, this Bayou Billy and I gots to interrupt me story for just a moment. I been gettin’ emails askin’ if Bayou Billy died. I sure do ‘ppreciate the concern and the emails but let me ask you dis…
If you thought I died, how come is you emailed me?  So please friends, just relax and take a chill pill (when I was in the Big Apple I lernt chill pill was slang for tranquillizer), so have no fear Bayou Billy don’t die.

Ahh shoot I just went and spoilt me story – I hate when that happens. Ain’t no point in tellin’ ya the story now, or that it was bad ’nuff he forgot the safety he done forgot to take the bullets too so I sent him home to git ‘em. Reckon he won’t be back till ‘morrow or anudder day cuz of all that other stuff that’s been happenin’ at the hospital. Did I tell ya I went to visit my Yvonne at the hospital?

Well let me tell you…

I went to visit my Yvonne at the hospital. The doctor done called me up personally on the neighbor’s tellerphone and that doctor said Yvonne done lost a hundred pound and was a might bit proud, but the solitude of not having her family near she was feelin’ a little depressed so I rushed over there as fast as I could – right after I finished eatin’ my gumbo  – and when I saw’d her it look like she done found those hundred pound agin!

The doctors at the hospital were wearin’ somethin’ called a Haz-Mat suit. I ain’t quite sure what that is but it kinda looks like a spacesuit from one of dem old sci-fi movies. Anyways, apparently they’s a bad virus on the loose. Now I ain’t talkin’ ’bout the sniffles that’ll get you to dropout a school or work for a day, I’m talking a virus so bad it done turns people into walkin’ zombies! Unlike them paraplegic zombies that ain’t much of a threat.

Lord a-mighty if I ain’t saw’d it with my very own two eyes I wouldna believed it myself, but the waitress o’er at Thibideux’s Restaurant and Bait Shop, ya’ll know the one out by the highway that’s open all night long and gots that big sign in the window that says “Eat here, Diet Home”? Well that’s the place  where the waitress done caught that virus and she went all primitive-like and started eatin’ the customers! I know’d Thibideaux’s was expensive but that waitress done brung a whole new meanin’ to the expression “meals that cost an arm and a leg”.

Ain’t nobody knewed what to do but I sure did, I watched enough of them zombie movies by George Harrison… no wait, he was a cricket or a beatle or some kinda bug. Was it Romeo? Or maybe it was Romero, yeah that’s it… George A. Romero.

A. Romero – I wonder if he be related to A. Hamilton?

Anyways, I grabbed the shotgun from Double D’s schoolbag and show’d them folks why I won a gold medallion for sharp shootin’. I aimed that gun at the waitress’s head, pull’d the trigger and shot her in the foots!

Okay, so maybe the fact the silver medal went to Old Blind Willie and that I accidentally shot the other competitor might have a little summin to do with me winnin’ the gold, but that’s another story.

So the waitress is on her knees and just as she reached for me I cocked the gun…

Sorry folks, I gots-ta interrupt me story agin. I just wanted to tell Kelly that when yer tellin’ my story to The Kid, I didn’t say a bad word when I say’d I cocked the gun, so it’s still PG-11. Now if I hadda said the waitress was on her knees and reach for my ____ that would be anudder story. It be an interesting story too, but that’s not what this story is about. I’m startin’ to git a visual of that waitress on her knees so I best be getting’ back to my story…..

So anyways, I put the barrel of that gun up against her forehead and tried to think of a cool one liner like the sez in the movies, but I couldn’t think of nuttin’. “Here’s your tip” just sounded stupid and  “Check please” didn’t make much sense so I just shot the bitch. Yes sir, that female dog that was yappin’ the whole time was gettin’  on my nerves!

Just then I realized that Gator Crossing has been invaded by zombies so I says to myself, “Self,” and I recognized the voice right away because it sounded just like me, “Self,” I said, “Double D had a shotgun in his schoolbag. There’s somethin’ seriously wrong with that cuz he don’t go to school!”

~~~

Ya’ll wanted me to git bit by a freakin’ zombie?
What I ever do to you?
Have you done lost yer marbles you freak? How ’bout I stick that crowbar of yours where the sun don’t shine and see how your unstressed syllables be stressin’ then? You wants me to git bit by a zombie… of all the no good, pansy-smellin’, knucklehead things to say. Ya’ll ain’t invited to the bayou no more so take that hairy beast you call yer wife and keep outta Gator Crossing or I’ll git the shotgun outta Double D’s school bag and have you pissin’ in yer pants! I’m beginnin’ to feel like that ol Sampson feller… no, not the one in da Bible, the one wit the junk yard that say’s “I’ma comin’ ‘Lizabeth!”. I needs a shot a demerol to calm meself down.
I just messin’ with ya my friend. Mais yeah, but hey, see how’d I done did some sneaky infiltration and done snuck in all 10 of them words into Kenn’s post? Pretty sneaky, no? When he find out he gonna git mad. Mais yeah he gonna sizzle like bacon in a fryin’ pan but to hell wit him. He done took my spot on the CCC and dis be my home – so I done took my spot back is all what I did.
Au revior,
Bayou Billy

~~~

So I’m sittin’ on the front porch eatin’ a big ol’ bowl a gumbo and I gets to thinking how come is it it’s tastin’ kinda funny? Come to learnt my wife, my sweet Yvonne, she be takin her new diet thingy a bit too far. Now it’s doin’ a world a good on her, but using imitation meat in gumbo is just wrong. I don’t know’d if that’s sacrilege or blasphemy, but using fake meat and calling it gumbo is the mother of all things un-holy.

Ain’t nobody told me we were all supposed to be on the diet with her. Yvonne told me I should be more supportive. I told her I was supportive – hell I’d been supporting her grocery bill all these years haven’t I? Come to learnt that ain’t what she meant. Just a bit of a misunderstanding on what supportive essentially supposed to mean. To her it meant I be eating crappy gumbo so took’d a moment to consider my alternatives:
1 – I take pride in Yvonne’s new found desire to be healthy and eat genuine imitation meat, or
2 -  I gets me electric carvin’ knife out and grabs that other chicken running ’round the yard and add some flavor to this here gumbo.

I told Yvonne it should be my prerogative as to whether or not I eat that tofu crap and Yvonne is on the porch yellin at me that its vital to eat natural and healthy food. So as I’m chasing a chicken round the yard with an electric knife that ain’t plugged in and I says to myself, “Self,” and I recognized the voice right away cuz it sounded just like me. “Self,” I says, “I ain’t never saw’d no tofu tree so how is that stuff natural?”

So me and Yvonne was having a verbal tug of war over what’s for supper. That’s just a polite way of saying we had some words. I didn’t get to use any of mine, ‘specially when she pick’d up the fryin’ pan and started wavin’ it around like she was directing traffic. I told her she mighten as well throw’d the fryin pan out cuz with her new diet she ain’t never gonna fry anything no more anyways and she ain’t never gonna have a use for it. Right ’bouts then she done gave’d me that evil smile a hers – I know’d right then and there that wasn’t a good thing.

Next thing I know’d I woked up in the hospital thinking she done found a use for that there frying pan – she done smacked me upside the head and knock’d me into oblivion with it. Just then I look’d over at the feller in the other bed and a zombie was chawin’ on his arm and b’fore I know’d it I gots to thinkin’, “fresh meat.”

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So I’m sitting on the front porch eatin’ a big ol bowl a gumbo… well, actually, I’m lying in a hospital bed wishin’ I was at home eatin’ gumbo cuz this hospital crap sucks. I takes me anudder look-see at the zombie o’er at the next bed and she sure does look like she’s enjoyin’ that feller’s leg. Yes folks, the zombie was a girl, and she was damn cute too in an afterdead kinda way. I think she was quite the looker when her skin wasn’t fallin’ off her face. She had purdy blonde hair too but I don’t know’d if it was natural or not. I r’member this one time my wife, my sweet Yvonne, wanted to be a blonde. She went to the beauty parlor and was there for 2 hours and that was jist for the estimate! When she finally come’d home I just had to ask her where she got her blonde hair – her mudder’s side, her fadder’s side or peroxide.
I thought it was funny right up to the point where Yvonne hit me with a broomstick she did.

Anyways, this zombie chick has mighty fine lookin’ hair despite all them there tangles, and the blood streaks kinda gave her a punk look. She wore’d this little, canary yellow charm that hung’d ’round her neck and it fell right in b’tween her breasts. And talk about breasts! Somebody done tore’d her shirt off and she weren’t wearing one of them over-the-shoulder-boulder-holders. Which really meant I didn’t get a good look at the charm cuz I was a little distracted. Okay, a lot distracted! She wore’d a little pair a shorts that would make Daisy Duke envious… damn, she looked good enuff to eat — pardon the pun.

Just then a weird sensation come over me. I swore’d I heard voices in my head telling me to run but I jist had to get a picture of that female zombie so I grabbed that fellers cell phone… let’s see it gots MSN Messenger, Facebook, Twitter (I’m Bayou_Billy_101 by the way), Note Pad, Voice Recorder, Clock (hey it’s midnight…so is that 12 am or 12 pm? I always gets confused with dem two) and it gots a Video Camera, some games… ya’ll remember when people used phones to talk? What else this thing gots? Hold the Phone! Video camera? This thing gots a video camera? So I says to myself, “Self,” and I recognized the voice right away cuz it sounded like me. “Self,” I says, “wouldn’t it be divine to have video footage of that there zombie?”

Actually, what I really said is I wanna make a pornographic movie wit that blonde. Just then some army guy bust into the room and… that reminds me, back when I was school my teacher done told me there ain’t no such word as bust and I should be using the word burst.
I disagreed so he said to give him an example of how bust is a real word. I told him I had a part time job in a woman’s clothing store before they fired me cuz a woman wanted a new dress and I kinda got excited when I had to measure her burst size? So it ain’t burst, it’s bust. The teacher didn’t like that so he said there is no such word as ain’t… The hell there ain’t I said and thats when things went down hill. Just like a game of dominoes everything he said I had an answer for – right up to the point where he throw’d me outta school.

Now where was I?

Oh yeah… so I’m getting ready to take a few pornographic pictures when the army bust’d in and shot that zombie right b’tween the eyeballs. I’d runned outta there as fast as I could go and he told me to head for the airport because the aeroplane departure time is oh-one-hundred. I asked him if they could make it 1 in the morning instead cuz I gotta get back to Gator Crossing to git my kin. Just then he looke’d at me kinda funny then raised his rifle and pointed it at my head! I felt something warm running down my cheek. I felt something warm running down my leg too but that’s another story. I reached up and felt what was on my cheek…

It was blood!

Did that zombie blondie with the nice rack bite me?

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So I’m sitting on the front porch, in the pourin’ rain at that, and I’m looking at an empty bowl a gumbo and they ain’t nuttin’ I can do ’bout it cuz that damn army dude has me tied up tighter than a teenage girl on prom night. The metal triangle that my wife, my sweet Yvonne, rings to tell the youngins that its feedin time reminded me that I ain’t had no good food in three or two days. It breaks my heart to think that if I really did get bit by a zombie then my last meal, before I start chawin’ on people, was hospital food and not gumbo. That just ain’t right.

I ain’t done nuttin’ to nobody and the way these army folks be actin t’wards me you’d swear I threaten’d to shoot a missile at the White House or sumthin. Now y’all mighten be thinkin’ the army is doin’ a fantastic job tryin to fix the zombie problem but all I did was take a few pictures of a naked zombie wit big boobs.

“What have I done?” I tried to ask that there army feller as he was hog tyin’ me but he weren’t having no part of talkin’ to me. He just throw’d me in the back of the truck like all the rest of the folk who ain’t done nuttin either. Well, except maybe for that one feller lyin’ on the floor. I don’t know’d if he’s a zombie but he sure does look dead. Comes to learnt he was just dead drunk. You know’d you had too much to drink when you have to hold on to the floor.

Anyways, the army droved to my house in Gator Crossing to round up the rest of the kin and all I can say is good luck wit that! Ain’t no ways they gettin my youngins to come home unless they ring that damn triangle. Damn I’m gettin’ hungry. First I had to eat that healthy food crap, then hospital food, and now they stuck’d me on the porch in front of my gumbo bowl. That’s just cruel and unusual punishment.

I wanted to call Yvonne and warn’d her that the army was comin but our phone has been out of order since the little whipper snapper took’d it apart to try and build an atomic bomb. He set it off and it blew’d him clean out of his wheelchair. He’s been doing a lot of stupid things lately. We tried puttin him in school but the teacher sent him back home the very first day. She was explaining to the class that humans are the only animals that stutter and the little whipper snapper told she was wrong cuz he had a kitten that stuttered. When the teacher asked him to explain it he told her that when he was out in the yard with the kitten a big ol gator came outta that bayou a’fer it and the kitten went, “Ffff Ffff Fffff,” and before it could say “Ffffuck!” the gator swaller’d it.

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I was sittin’ on the front porch eating a big ol bowl a gumbo and I gots to thinkin’ it been awhile since I posted summthin’ here at the CCC, so I thought I ought to do that there rights ’bout now. I reckon’d Kenn fell’d so far behind on keepin’ this updated he ain’t never gonna catch up but they be a real good reason for it…

Kenn’s sucks at multi-tasking.

He’s writin’ several short stories that he’s releasing as free audio produckshuns, he’s writin’ three or two novels and working on a new podcast starring your’s truly, Bayou Billy!

Mais yeah my friends, he’s gonna be turnin’ my little saga into a pro-fessionally soundin’ recordin’ so ya’ll gets to hear me talk! My wife, my sweet Yvonne, she don’t think it’s nuttin’ serious but lord a-mighty, ya’ll gonna get to hear me podcast from Gator Crossings. Ain’t that gonna be wonderful? I ain’t been this excited since the waitress o’er at Thibideux’s Restaurant and Bait Shop said I won’d a year’s supply of gumbo.

Now fer all of you fine folk who ain’t none to sure what a podcast is, let me explain it like this: I sits behind one of them there microphones and reads my stories to you as if me and yous wuz havin’ an honest to goodness conversation. You can’t talk back to me though and… hey, I wonder if that would work on Yvonne? I’d luv to find-a way to shut her up cuz me and Yvonne had words the other night but I didn’t get to use any of mine.

Anyways, the podcast is gonna be so much fun and that there Kenn feller is even writin’ me my own theme music. I wanted to use Jambalya cuz I thought the recording me and the SwampCat Gators done did sounded kinda cool, but he said for copyright reasons we can’t use it, so he’s gonna write one ’specially for me – under one condition that is: me and the band gots to be sober. He wuz bitchin’… oops, I fergot The Kid mighten be readin’ this so I gots to watch my language. Anyways, he says I gets kinda tone deaf when I gets on the shine and since he wants this to sound all professional like his audiobook Dead Hunt, I gots to learn to speak more better.

That’s when I said to myself, “Self,” and I recognized the voice right away cuz it sounded just like me. “Self,” I said, “This be’s the way I talks and if he don’t like, tough tittie.”

It’s gonna take three or two weeks to get the ball rollin’ on it though… maybe longer since Kenn ain’t the sharpest crayon in the box, but he gots a voiceover actor auditioning now so it’s all good.

Speaking of auditioning, he’s workin’ on some other short stories – as if writin’ them wzs more funner than Bayou Billy – but anyways, he gots one called “Stephen’s Song” on his website that wuz narrated by author Renee “R.E.” Chambliss. It’s ’bout a coal mining disaster and it’s actually kinda neat. Well, with Renee narrating it ya’ll knows it’s gonna sound good. She could read the phone book and I would listen!

I’m not kidding. We ain’t had a phone book since the little Whipper Snapper runn’d outta toilet paper. Anyways, he’s just ’bout ready to release one – not the whipper snapper, I meant Kenn – he’s just about ready to release one story called “I, Daddy” that he narrated his-self. I thought it wuz a children’s story but it weren’t nuttin’ like that. It’s about a fadder who turns into a vigilante cuz of summthin’ some loser did to his little girl. Lord a-mighty it was a morbid story  - I don’t wanna spoil it for but some-a the things he done did to that feller when he caught him scared the b’jesus outta me. Y’all gots to check that one out when it’s released.
He’s also got people auditioning for anudder story he done did that’s about a true-to-goodness unsolved poltergeist mystery. No wonder my saga keeps fallin behind, he’s busier than squirrel at a nut house.

Anyways, ya’ll can check out his website to hear them stories and as soon as there’s news on my podcast, I’ll be postin’ it right here on the CCC – Home of Bayou Billy.

Until next time my friends always remember: where ever you go, there you are!

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