Wednesday, October 22, 2008
A crapulent blog
Most of us ethnics find ethnic jokes funny, never mind the politically correct crowd..
And so many of my friends in Manitoba were Cree aboriginals. We bantered back and forth. I would say Louie was my faithful Indian companion. Louie would take a line out of a country song, and say things to me like "I love you for the little garlic snapper that you are."
So with a whiff of the old Ukrainian national flower, I will proceed witth an ethnic joke that really describes my condition right now.
I am very much like the fabled constipated Indian chief.
Blocked for seven days. Can't pass a thing. TMI, I know, but when my doctor talks of cat scans to see if they can find the obstruction, I get very worried.
So I go to ethnic humour. There is at least some relief there.
One day there was an Indian chief who was constipated. he sent one of his swarriors to the witch doctor to get some medicine.
The warrior says "Big Chief, no shit".
The doctor gave him 1 pill and told him that the chief should be fine tomorrow.
The warrior went back to the chief and gave him the pill.
The next morning, the warrior was sent back to the witch doctor with the information "big chief, no shit".
The doctor now gives him five pills and tells him to give them to the chief.
The next day the warrior appears at the witch doctor's house yet agains aying, "big chief, no shit".
The doctor gets annoyed and so gives thewarrior the whole bottle of pills to give to the chief. The next day the warrior goes back to the witch doctor (AGAIN):
"Big shit, no chief".
Ah, war always comes when you're not ready.
The maintenance guys are working on my bathroom.
Please, Mr. Custer. I don't want to go...And in any event, I can't even go.... But what if I have to, suddenly, and the plumber is bent over his plunger, his pants halfway down to expose a Jiggs The Plumber cheekiness...Well, plumber, If I have to go, you'll just have to get out of the way, cheekiness and all...and your cigarettes falling out of the short sleeve fold in your tee shirt....And I need not only a dump but cigarettes too.
I think very soon, this old big chief will shit, but I know not the time or the place.
Actually I worry about my condition. The doctor says, Big Chief better watch it. If this goes on for three more days, it's cat scan to see where the blockage is. Cat scan? There's radiation there. My relatves in Chernobyl already glow in the dark.
Please, Mr. Custer. I don't want to go.!
But if no shit, big chief here will have to go. Cat'll get your scan.
Kinda doing the Roadrunner Coyote here, me and the plumber on the edges of Cancer Gulch.
The answer is probably more prosaic.
Face it, one is full of it.
Where is Rabelais and his works, and his entreaty for communal relief?
I'd even take corollary relief, whatever the hell that means, or how you pronounce it. And I should know. I have been divorced. But now the King is really off his throne.
King Korol-- big chief-- no shit.
Scary when the undertaker's wife is sort of sizing you up on your way to the public john.
Note: I think my template has gone haywire. A number of comments did not make it in, including the latest from Midnight and Anonymous.
Jeez. When it rains, it pours.