Man, have you been snortin' some of those white powders again (and we ain't talkin Chr Hansen here)? NObody voluntarily misses ice cream, at least nobody in their right... uh...
Oops! I wasn't supposed to give that away, was I?
Duck Hunting!
What...? ...and miss out on the ice cream?
Man, have you been snortin' some of those white powders again (and we ain't talkin Chr Hansen here)? NObody voluntarily misses ice cream, at least nobody in their right... uh...
Oops! I wasn't supposed to give that away, was I?
Man, have you been snortin' some of those white powders again (and we ain't talkin Chr Hansen here)? NObody voluntarily misses ice cream, at least nobody in their right... uh...
Oops! I wasn't supposed to give that away, was I?
Experience - the ability to instantly recognize a mistake when you make it again.
-
Chuckwagon
- Veteran
- Posts: 4494
- Joined: Tue Apr 06, 2010 04:51
- Location: Rocky Mountains
El Duckquack! Do you realize you started a stampede when you took yer` danged ol` boots off upwind of the herd last night! Well, just let me tell you pard... you can just help gather `em all in again!
Dang rabid Duk!
Dang rabid Duk!
If it looks like a duck, walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, it probably needs more time on the grill! 
I have been asked by the Ducks Amalgamated News Group to issue a Seize and Detest order against one Chuck E. "Cheesy" Wagon for "high crimes and misty meaners and other bad stuff." Hand over yer sausages and especially your "Sons-of-Bees" bacon and nobody gets hurt.
Oh! ...and throw in some-a-them red M&Ms while yer at it.
Oh! ...and throw in some-a-them red M&Ms while yer at it.
Experience - the ability to instantly recognize a mistake when you make it again.
-
Chuckwagon
- Veteran
- Posts: 4494
- Joined: Tue Apr 06, 2010 04:51
- Location: Rocky Mountains
Duck Quack, you are a prime example of just how everyone seems normal until you get to know them. Are you still hearing "the voices" you poor man? Just how long has it been since you dove out of that airplane without a parachute? Here are a couple of little tips just for you! A mouse trap placed on top of your alarm clock will prevent you from rolling over and going back to sleep after you hit the snooze button. And to reduce your blood pressure, simply cut yourself and bleed for a few minutes, thus reducing the pressure on your veins.
Dang Rabid Duck!
Dang Rabid Duck!
Last edited by Chuckwagon on Mon Apr 07, 2014 09:03, edited 1 time in total.
If it looks like a duck, walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, it probably needs more time on the grill!
In Which Some Important Background Information is Revealed, Not That There Will Be a Quiz
Well, Boys and Girls, we`d miss a major part of the story if we didn`t talk about the chuckwagon, as well as ol` Chuckwagon hisself. Our alien friends the Wikipedians define a chuckwagon (or chuck wagon) as "...a type of wagon historically used to carry food and cooking equipment on the prairies of the United States and Canada. Such wagons formed part of a wagon train of settlers or fed traveling workers such as cowboys or loggers." In addition,
Well, anyways, scarce as labor was in those days, ol` Chuckwagon, as actin` Trail Boss, had to whup us into shape before we headed out on the trail. Yuh see, cattle can sense these things, and if a cowboy ain`t up ta snuff, they`ll either ignore you, or run off, or stuff a whoopee cushion down yer blanket that night if you don`t really work at it.
But again, I get ahead of myself.
Well, Boys and Girls, we`d miss a major part of the story if we didn`t talk about the chuckwagon, as well as ol` Chuckwagon hisself. Our alien friends the Wikipedians define a chuckwagon (or chuck wagon) as "...a type of wagon historically used to carry food and cooking equipment on the prairies of the United States and Canada. Such wagons formed part of a wagon train of settlers or fed traveling workers such as cowboys or loggers." In addition,
- "While some form of mobile kitchens had existed for generations, the invention of the chuckwagon is attributed to Charles Goodnight, a Texas rancher who introduced the concept in 1866. Goodnight modified the Studebaker wagon, a durable army-surplus wagon, to suit the needs of cowboys driving cattle from Texas to sell in New Mexico. He added a "chuck box" to the back of the wagon with drawers and shelves for storage space and a hinged lid to provide a flat cooking surface. A water barrel was also attached to the wagon and canvas was hung underneath to carry firewood. A wagon box was used to store cooking supplies and cowboys' personal items.
"Chuckwagon food typically included easy-to-preserve items like beans and salted meats, coffee, and sourdough biscuits. Food would also be gathered en route. On cattle drives, it was common for the "cookie" who ran the wagon to be second in authority only to the "trailboss". The cookie would often act as cook, barber, dentist, and banker."
- "Cattle drives had to strike a balance between speed and the weight of the cattle. While cattle could be driven as far as 25 miles (40 km) in a single day, they would lose so much weight that they would be hard to sell when they reached the end of the trail. Usually they were taken shorter distances each day, allowed periods to rest and graze both at midday and at night. On average, a herd could maintain a healthy weight moving about 15 miles (24 km) per day. Such a pace meant that it would take as long as two months to travel from a home ranch to a railhead. The Chisholm trail, for example, was 1,000 miles (1,600 km) long.
"On average, a single herd of cattle on a long drive (for example, Texas to Kansas railheads) numbered about 3,000 head. To herd the cattle, a crew of at least 10 cowboys was needed, with three horses per cowboy. Cowboys worked in shifts to watch the cattle 24 hours a day, herding them in the proper direction in the daytime and watching them at night to prevent stampedes and deter theft. The crew also included a cook, who drove a chuck wagon, usually pulled by oxen, and a horse wrangler to take charge of the remuda, or spare horses. The wrangler on a cattle drive was often a very young cowboy or one of lower social status, but the cook was a particularly well-respected member of the crew, as not only was he in charge of the food, he also was in charge of medical supplies and had a working knowledge of practical medicine."
Well, anyways, scarce as labor was in those days, ol` Chuckwagon, as actin` Trail Boss, had to whup us into shape before we headed out on the trail. Yuh see, cattle can sense these things, and if a cowboy ain`t up ta snuff, they`ll either ignore you, or run off, or stuff a whoopee cushion down yer blanket that night if you don`t really work at it.
But again, I get ahead of myself.
Experience - the ability to instantly recognize a mistake when you make it again.
-
Chuckwagon
- Veteran
- Posts: 4494
- Joined: Tue Apr 06, 2010 04:51
- Location: Rocky Mountains
Uh HUH! Proof... that`s proof that crazy duck invented the helicopter ejection seat and was the first to use it! 
You... you... you... feathered, frivolous, freaked-out fowl! You wrote...
Dang Rabid Duck!
You... you... you... feathered, frivolous, freaked-out fowl! You wrote...
Just what do you mean "nasty"? I`m not nasty! A little naughty maybe... not nasty!large, mean-tempered, smelly, nasty old brutes
Dang Rabid Duck!
If it looks like a duck, walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, it probably needs more time on the grill!
Oh, yeeeaaaahhh? Well, that THIS!
FURTHER ADVENTURES in which our hero, EL DUCKO, travels North and South through Eastern portions of the West, also starring the directionally-challenged CHUCKWAGON
It`s lots easier sitting here, grandchildren at my knee, re-living these tales of the old west. Back in the day, though, it was lots tougher than the kids have it nowadays. We didn`t study geography, we rode through its dust and can tell you what it tastes like.
Take, for example, a cattle drive that me an` ol` Chuckwagon were on, way back in the last century. Yup, them was the days- - out on the trail with nuthin` but bacon and beans fer days and weeks and months and years and decades on end. ...or so it seemed.
"That ol` coot oughta treat us better," Mickey complained.
"Yeah. We-uns is descended from royalty, ya know," said Dickie.
"...sure cain`t tawk lack it, though," Icky pointed out. "Since when did `can`t` turn into `cain`t` ?"
"Since you started usin` up all thuh apostrophes, ya dumb bunny?" Tricky pointed out.
"Ehhhh, who`s a dumb bunny?" asked Bugs, and then popped back into his hole.
"Dang-blang varmints!" they all grumbled.
"So... royalty, eh?" Chuckwagon said. "What kinda royalty? Royal idjits. Ah betcha you boys was Clown royalty instead-a Crown royalty."
They all puffed their chests out. "You never heard of the Duck and Doo-Chess of Windsor? Man, you really ARE from out in the boonies." They all dissolved in laughter.
"Dang-blang varmints!" CW mimicked "Git back ta work, or there`s no biscuits an` beans fer the lot a ya."
They cheered, threw their hats into the air, retrieved the wrong ones, and went on back to their horses, arguing over which was which. Chuckwagon just sighed, shook his head, and hoped for a better day. ...soon.
Well sir, despite all the shenanigans and Flanagans (Irish side of the duck family. ...what, you never heard of the WooHoo-WooHoo-ligans?), we finally got to Abilene, pulled up short, and gathered `round the campfire to collect our pay. There was hot food and even hotter wimmin in Abilene, and we were ready for a bath and a beer (not necessarily in that order) before settin` off to chase `em.
"Hold on a minute, Boys," sez Chuckwagon. "We ain`t thar yet."
Lefty pointed over his right shoulder. "Sign, rat thar, says `Abilene City Limits.` You got a problem with that?"
Ol` Chuckles nodded. "Yup. This here`s Abilene, Texas. Thuh drive goes to the railhead at Abilene, Kansas. Mah trusty GPS tells me we got another four hunnert fifty one miles."
"Whut`s a GPS?" asked Moe.
"...a Gasoline Powered Sensor?" chimed in Manny. "We use-ta sell some a them thangs, Ah betcha."
"We got all kinda thangs at the shop," added Jack. "...over on aisle 6, between thuh..."
"...which is why you ain`t got a lick-a-sense on the trail, Pep Boys. Now, listen up."
"No, YOU listen up," I said. "They got a railhead rat cheer in Abilene. This is Texas, Chuck. They gots EVERthang in Texas, and they`s all bigger, too."
He frowned. "This here`s the M-K-T, the Missouri-Kansas-Texas line. We got ta git these cattle to the Atchison, Topeka, and the Santa Fe."
I rolled my eyes. "Whale," Ah sez, "why don`tcha jes` buy `em a ticket., then, huh? They kin git off south of Saint Louis, transfer to the Gulf, Mobile and Ohio, then switch to the Illinois Central when they git to Saint Louis proper, and when they git ta Chicago, switch onto the Rock Island until they gits ta the Chicago, Burlington and Quincy, then you run `em west about... uh..."
"Aw, hell," I said, gave up, and spat in the dust. "Le`s go, Guys."
Well, we saddled back up and got back to work. We crossed the Canadian River east of Amarillo, without even an "Ah tolled ya we was lost- - this ain`t Canada" from us twins, Bucko and Ducko. Why it`s called the Canadian, we`ll never know, but it was probably some poor ol` cowhand who figgered he`d gone plum to the end of the earth, only to find that there`s nuthin` there but dust. We kept goin` north a little bit `til we hit the Gummint`s helium stockpile. Why they call it a pile I dunno, `cuz it`s underground. Anyways, everybody was talkin` kinda squeaky and funny, and the cattle started giggling at us, so we turned east, up around Pampa.
Further, or was it farther, we kept on movin`. (editor`s note: it appears that the writer is setting up for a "vowel movement" joke. It is our policy to delete off-color humor on this family-friendly website. ) Northward and eastward we went, redacting jokes faster than we thunk `em up. (Whew!) Pretty soon, we was all puckered, or was it tuckered, out. (Author`s note: this ain`t workin,` ya idjit. Ya want me ta rhyme THAT? Huh? No way!) We pitched camp close to one of the open-air drive-in movie screens that each and every small town in that part of the world used to seem to have, way back then. When the cattle stampeded on the screen, our cattle followed suit. Fortunately, they were out of trumps in that particular suit, soon lost all their tricks, cashed out, settled down for the night, and fell sound asleep, leaving plenty of popcorn and soft drinks fer the cowhands. The second feature, "North By Northwest," came on, and we got all turned around. If it hadn`t been for the bravery of good ol` Chuckwagon, we`d still be milling about today. "Beans is ready! Coffee`s on!" he yelled, and we all started workin` our way away from possible downwind consequences. (Author`s note: how`s THAT, Mister Editor?)(Rude noise and fading footsteps, off-stage.)
The next morning, having freed ourselves of the editor at last, we made the Red River and crossed into Oklahoma. We tasted the gritty air of the dust bowl, got dust in our britches and bacon and beans and biscuits and ever dang thing you can think of that`s brought to you by the letter "B". We passed west of Fort Sill, notable for its dust, but nobody could think of a window sill joke. You may not know it, but just lack the Gummint keeps a stockpile of gold at Fort Knox and a stockpile of helium in the Texas Panhandle, it keeps a stockpile of dust at Fort Sill. ...I suppose, "lest we forget" the Great Depression. We pushed on through the wind and the dust and the storms and... did I mention the dust?
It`s supposed to get colder as you go north, but it got hotter and hotter. It got so hot that all you had to do to cook the bacon was put it into a black cast iron frying pan and set it out for ten minutes. We ran out of flour. Chuckwagon picked up a few rocks, put some-a-that red-eye gravy of his on `em, and nobody could tell the difference. We dodged Dodge City. The grass withered and died. The cattle got skinnier by the minute, to where they was the size of Shetland ponies by the time we started closin` in on Abilene. It was like watchin` the gas gauge in a monster truck, seein` the poor beasts wither.
Finally, ol` Chuckles could put us off no longer. We reached the outskirts of Abilene, then the inner skirts, then the petticoats, and wuz gittin` purty close to the panties, I reckon. ...and I also reckon you know what else was on our minds.
We`d had several minorities sign on with us at the start of the drive, but we all looked alike now- - dust-covered. One of `em grumbled, during one particularly dusty afternoon, "If this is what it`s like bein` a white man, I don`t want NO part of it." ...but dust does not discriminate, and he had no choice.
It was so dusty that... well, "Pay up, Bub, or yer life ain`t worth a plug nickel," somebody in the back grumbled, and we were all so covered with dust that we couldn`t tell who it was.
...didn`t bother ol` Chuckwagon, though. Here`s a guy with so much backbone that he has a built-in spare. "Okay, Wise-guy, what`s a plug nickel worth?" Chuckles shot back.
We looked at each other, and shook our heads. "...no idea," sez one of us. "...me neether," says another.
"Then shut up until we git thar, and you`ll all git paid yer fair share."
Well, fast forward a bit. We steered the steers onward, and cowed the cows into goin` too. We got the cattle safely to the railhead, patted `em on the head, and headed off for a bath and bed. We met for breakfast next morning in the historic Phillips 66 Gas Station Coffee Shop, and rat then and thar, Chuckwagon doled out the cash. We`d been workin` hard, but it was hardly a fortune. ...small one at best. ...REAL small.
Tiny, one of the Bigfoot tribe from Oklahoma, looked at his pay and remarked that "this is smaller than the smallest particles we studied in physics at Oklahoma State. ...oughta make him walk the Planck." Physics jokes aren`t appreciated much in Kansas, especially when told by anyone from a school with rival sports teams, so we all ignored him.
"Withholdin`, ya know. ...taxes," Chuckwagon said.
"What`s the difference between a plug nickel and a wooden nickel?" PeeWee Bigfoot wondered out loud, and several of us chuckled.
...but not Chuckwagon. "Now see here, Boys. I done invested most of your earnings over at the Third National State Bank of Abilene, Kansas. No finer institution in the You-Ess-of-Ay."
"Yeah- - fer stealin` our money," Grumpy grumbled.
"This way, it`s safe," Chuck went on. "Come on, admit it- - you`d spend it all on gamblin` and ice cream and drinkin` and wimmin. Right, Duck?" He looked me in the eye, and we locked for what seemed an eternity.
I was workin` up to say "Sounds good ta me, Bubbie," but out of the corner of my eye, I saw...
[female voice from stage right] "Lunch is ready!!!"
"What`s that, Grandma? Lunch is ready? Well, kids, we`ll have to break it off here for a bit, but after lunch is finished and you`ve all laid down for a spell so`s Ah kin have mah nap,..."
(to be continued)
FURTHER ADVENTURES in which our hero, EL DUCKO, travels North and South through Eastern portions of the West, also starring the directionally-challenged CHUCKWAGON
It`s lots easier sitting here, grandchildren at my knee, re-living these tales of the old west. Back in the day, though, it was lots tougher than the kids have it nowadays. We didn`t study geography, we rode through its dust and can tell you what it tastes like.
Take, for example, a cattle drive that me an` ol` Chuckwagon were on, way back in the last century. Yup, them was the days- - out on the trail with nuthin` but bacon and beans fer days and weeks and months and years and decades on end. ...or so it seemed.
"That ol` coot oughta treat us better," Mickey complained.
"Yeah. We-uns is descended from royalty, ya know," said Dickie.
"...sure cain`t tawk lack it, though," Icky pointed out. "Since when did `can`t` turn into `cain`t` ?"
"Since you started usin` up all thuh apostrophes, ya dumb bunny?" Tricky pointed out.
"Ehhhh, who`s a dumb bunny?" asked Bugs, and then popped back into his hole.
"Dang-blang varmints!" they all grumbled.
"So... royalty, eh?" Chuckwagon said. "What kinda royalty? Royal idjits. Ah betcha you boys was Clown royalty instead-a Crown royalty."
They all puffed their chests out. "You never heard of the Duck and Doo-Chess of Windsor? Man, you really ARE from out in the boonies." They all dissolved in laughter.
"Dang-blang varmints!" CW mimicked "Git back ta work, or there`s no biscuits an` beans fer the lot a ya."
They cheered, threw their hats into the air, retrieved the wrong ones, and went on back to their horses, arguing over which was which. Chuckwagon just sighed, shook his head, and hoped for a better day. ...soon.
Well sir, despite all the shenanigans and Flanagans (Irish side of the duck family. ...what, you never heard of the WooHoo-WooHoo-ligans?), we finally got to Abilene, pulled up short, and gathered `round the campfire to collect our pay. There was hot food and even hotter wimmin in Abilene, and we were ready for a bath and a beer (not necessarily in that order) before settin` off to chase `em.
"Hold on a minute, Boys," sez Chuckwagon. "We ain`t thar yet."
Lefty pointed over his right shoulder. "Sign, rat thar, says `Abilene City Limits.` You got a problem with that?"
Ol` Chuckles nodded. "Yup. This here`s Abilene, Texas. Thuh drive goes to the railhead at Abilene, Kansas. Mah trusty GPS tells me we got another four hunnert fifty one miles."
"Whut`s a GPS?" asked Moe.
"...a Gasoline Powered Sensor?" chimed in Manny. "We use-ta sell some a them thangs, Ah betcha."
"We got all kinda thangs at the shop," added Jack. "...over on aisle 6, between thuh..."
"...which is why you ain`t got a lick-a-sense on the trail, Pep Boys. Now, listen up."
"No, YOU listen up," I said. "They got a railhead rat cheer in Abilene. This is Texas, Chuck. They gots EVERthang in Texas, and they`s all bigger, too."
He frowned. "This here`s the M-K-T, the Missouri-Kansas-Texas line. We got ta git these cattle to the Atchison, Topeka, and the Santa Fe."
I rolled my eyes. "Whale," Ah sez, "why don`tcha jes` buy `em a ticket., then, huh? They kin git off south of Saint Louis, transfer to the Gulf, Mobile and Ohio, then switch to the Illinois Central when they git to Saint Louis proper, and when they git ta Chicago, switch onto the Rock Island until they gits ta the Chicago, Burlington and Quincy, then you run `em west about... uh..."
"Aw, hell," I said, gave up, and spat in the dust. "Le`s go, Guys."
Well, we saddled back up and got back to work. We crossed the Canadian River east of Amarillo, without even an "Ah tolled ya we was lost- - this ain`t Canada" from us twins, Bucko and Ducko. Why it`s called the Canadian, we`ll never know, but it was probably some poor ol` cowhand who figgered he`d gone plum to the end of the earth, only to find that there`s nuthin` there but dust. We kept goin` north a little bit `til we hit the Gummint`s helium stockpile. Why they call it a pile I dunno, `cuz it`s underground. Anyways, everybody was talkin` kinda squeaky and funny, and the cattle started giggling at us, so we turned east, up around Pampa.
Further, or was it farther, we kept on movin`. (editor`s note: it appears that the writer is setting up for a "vowel movement" joke. It is our policy to delete off-color humor on this family-friendly website. ) Northward and eastward we went, redacting jokes faster than we thunk `em up. (Whew!) Pretty soon, we was all puckered, or was it tuckered, out. (Author`s note: this ain`t workin,` ya idjit. Ya want me ta rhyme THAT? Huh? No way!) We pitched camp close to one of the open-air drive-in movie screens that each and every small town in that part of the world used to seem to have, way back then. When the cattle stampeded on the screen, our cattle followed suit. Fortunately, they were out of trumps in that particular suit, soon lost all their tricks, cashed out, settled down for the night, and fell sound asleep, leaving plenty of popcorn and soft drinks fer the cowhands. The second feature, "North By Northwest," came on, and we got all turned around. If it hadn`t been for the bravery of good ol` Chuckwagon, we`d still be milling about today. "Beans is ready! Coffee`s on!" he yelled, and we all started workin` our way away from possible downwind consequences. (Author`s note: how`s THAT, Mister Editor?)(Rude noise and fading footsteps, off-stage.)
The next morning, having freed ourselves of the editor at last, we made the Red River and crossed into Oklahoma. We tasted the gritty air of the dust bowl, got dust in our britches and bacon and beans and biscuits and ever dang thing you can think of that`s brought to you by the letter "B". We passed west of Fort Sill, notable for its dust, but nobody could think of a window sill joke. You may not know it, but just lack the Gummint keeps a stockpile of gold at Fort Knox and a stockpile of helium in the Texas Panhandle, it keeps a stockpile of dust at Fort Sill. ...I suppose, "lest we forget" the Great Depression. We pushed on through the wind and the dust and the storms and... did I mention the dust?
It`s supposed to get colder as you go north, but it got hotter and hotter. It got so hot that all you had to do to cook the bacon was put it into a black cast iron frying pan and set it out for ten minutes. We ran out of flour. Chuckwagon picked up a few rocks, put some-a-that red-eye gravy of his on `em, and nobody could tell the difference. We dodged Dodge City. The grass withered and died. The cattle got skinnier by the minute, to where they was the size of Shetland ponies by the time we started closin` in on Abilene. It was like watchin` the gas gauge in a monster truck, seein` the poor beasts wither.
Finally, ol` Chuckles could put us off no longer. We reached the outskirts of Abilene, then the inner skirts, then the petticoats, and wuz gittin` purty close to the panties, I reckon. ...and I also reckon you know what else was on our minds.
We`d had several minorities sign on with us at the start of the drive, but we all looked alike now- - dust-covered. One of `em grumbled, during one particularly dusty afternoon, "If this is what it`s like bein` a white man, I don`t want NO part of it." ...but dust does not discriminate, and he had no choice.
It was so dusty that... well, "Pay up, Bub, or yer life ain`t worth a plug nickel," somebody in the back grumbled, and we were all so covered with dust that we couldn`t tell who it was.
...didn`t bother ol` Chuckwagon, though. Here`s a guy with so much backbone that he has a built-in spare. "Okay, Wise-guy, what`s a plug nickel worth?" Chuckles shot back.
We looked at each other, and shook our heads. "...no idea," sez one of us. "...me neether," says another.
"Then shut up until we git thar, and you`ll all git paid yer fair share."
Well, fast forward a bit. We steered the steers onward, and cowed the cows into goin` too. We got the cattle safely to the railhead, patted `em on the head, and headed off for a bath and bed. We met for breakfast next morning in the historic Phillips 66 Gas Station Coffee Shop, and rat then and thar, Chuckwagon doled out the cash. We`d been workin` hard, but it was hardly a fortune. ...small one at best. ...REAL small.
Tiny, one of the Bigfoot tribe from Oklahoma, looked at his pay and remarked that "this is smaller than the smallest particles we studied in physics at Oklahoma State. ...oughta make him walk the Planck." Physics jokes aren`t appreciated much in Kansas, especially when told by anyone from a school with rival sports teams, so we all ignored him.
"Withholdin`, ya know. ...taxes," Chuckwagon said.
"What`s the difference between a plug nickel and a wooden nickel?" PeeWee Bigfoot wondered out loud, and several of us chuckled.
...but not Chuckwagon. "Now see here, Boys. I done invested most of your earnings over at the Third National State Bank of Abilene, Kansas. No finer institution in the You-Ess-of-Ay."
"Yeah- - fer stealin` our money," Grumpy grumbled.
"This way, it`s safe," Chuck went on. "Come on, admit it- - you`d spend it all on gamblin` and ice cream and drinkin` and wimmin. Right, Duck?" He looked me in the eye, and we locked for what seemed an eternity.
I was workin` up to say "Sounds good ta me, Bubbie," but out of the corner of my eye, I saw...
[female voice from stage right] "Lunch is ready!!!"
"What`s that, Grandma? Lunch is ready? Well, kids, we`ll have to break it off here for a bit, but after lunch is finished and you`ve all laid down for a spell so`s Ah kin have mah nap,..."
(to be continued)
Experience - the ability to instantly recognize a mistake when you make it again.
-
Chuckwagon
- Veteran
- Posts: 4494
- Joined: Tue Apr 06, 2010 04:51
- Location: Rocky Mountains
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grasshopper
- Passionate
- Posts: 214
- Joined: Wed Feb 22, 2012 21:53
- Location: pine city mn
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Chuckwagon
- Veteran
- Posts: 4494
- Joined: Tue Apr 06, 2010 04:51
- Location: Rocky Mountains
Mike, ol' bud, I think that 110 volt Duk has been running on 220! He's finally burned out. He's up to 9 G's in his centrifuge! Gosh, it's a good thing his feet are webbed instead of pointed! Otherwise, while spinning as fast as he is, he could inadvertently screw himself into the sidewalk! 
Gosh, it's a good thing his feet are webbed instead of pointed! Otherwise, while spinning as fast as he is, he could inadvertently screw himself into the sidewalk! If it looks like a duck, walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, it probably needs more time on the grill!
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Chuckwagon
- Veteran
- Posts: 4494
- Joined: Tue Apr 06, 2010 04:51
- Location: Rocky Mountains
That cracked up Duck is at it again! He wrote:
Why you feathered, flippant, fanatic..., the last thing I want to do is hurt you, but it's still on the list... you.... you.... you feebleminded fowl! Are you still tripping over your cordless phone? And just who are you calling a "coot"! 
Rock Chuck
El Duk, you are a perfect example that growing old is mandatory, but growing up is optional! You wrote:Well, I had a revelation last night. (Yes, I admit, the beer helped.) Does a chicken or beef or pork or bean enchilada qualify as a sausage? ...and shouldn't tacos get credit too, especially soft tacos? After all, tortillas make excellent casing. In some ways, working with tortillas is like working with collagen- - don't wet them too much, or twist them too much, or they'll come apart. However, they are excellent at doing what casings do best, containing the mixture of meat, spices, cheese and whatnot.
Hmmm... Maybe I should make up a couple of batches to prove it. ...be right back. (...sounds of rummaging through kitchen cabinets, drawers, Fibber McGee's closet...)
Why you goofy Texas wingnut! I got to thinking... this Halloween I`m going to try scaring you half to death... TWICE! I made up my mind to never argue with an insane duck! I`m sure you would drag me down and beat me with experience!Does a chicken or beef or pork or bean enchilada qualify as a sausage?
Why you feathered, flippant, fanatic..., the last thing I want to do is hurt you, but it's still on the list... you.... you.... you feebleminded fowl! Are you still tripping over your cordless phone? And just who are you calling a "coot"! Rock Chuck
Last edited by Chuckwagon on Mon Apr 14, 2014 06:21, edited 1 time in total.
If it looks like a duck, walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, it probably needs more time on the grill!
Well, I just have to do SOMETHING. The poor man is in serious danger of hurting himself.Chuckwagon wrote:...And just who are you calling a "coot"!
Rock Chuck
Don't worry, though. I've called, and soon the little men in white coats are coming to take...
Uh... Wait. Is it "the little white men in their coats"?
No. Maybe it's... "The men in their little..."
Hmmm. Maybe we'll let him off this time, and instead concentrate on... Uh...
I know! We'll call it "Coot Conservation." Yeah. That's the ticket! We can probably get a grant for this.
Now, then, where's my net???
Experience - the ability to instantly recognize a mistake when you make it again.
In Which The Adventure Winds Down as Our Hero, El Ducko, Travels Homeward with CW and Gang
I stepped up to the little improvised table and looked ol` Chuckwagon in the eye. "Okay, gimme my pay and we`ll call it even."
"...no salute? ...no `Please give me my pay, Kind Sir` ? Where`d ya grow up, Duck? Ain`tcha got no manners?"
I started to say, "Left `em where your grammar packed in, back down the trail," but I thought better of it. After all, I was there to collect my pay at the end of long, arduous ( which I think means dusty) trail.
"Never mind, Duck. We don`t stand much on formality, `round here."
I bit my tongue. "Ow!", I said instead.
"How...? Whale, lack Ah done tolled ya..."
I held up a wing, to stop him. "Thas okay, Chuck... uh... Mister Wagon."
"Tha`s better," he said. "Okay, now, Duck, sez here..." and held up a dusty sheet of paper," that you done completed the cattle drive in good standing and that we gotta settle up. Tell me- - you gonna ride back with us? It`s a long walk if`n ya don`t."
It made sense. "Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Pardner."
He frowned, then looked back down at the paper and wrote something. "Gonna need a horse, then, huh?"
"Yup. Guess so."
He wrote something else. "...you like that nag what you rode in on, or do ya want a nice, friendly one?"
To be honest, I never had bonded very well with any of the horses that I rode. We had to switch `em off as they got tired, so at one time or other I had ridden most of them. "...friendly one would be nice," I replied.
He wrote something else. "...meals, of course?" I nodded. He wrote, then asked, "...breakfast sausage with `em?"
"...throw in some grains and yer on." ...nod. ...scribble.
"...bedding?" ...another nod, another scribble. "...bonus, if ya sign up again next year, seein` as how ya finished this year`s drive without killin` yerself or any of the cattle. ...mostly."
I remembered the sausages. They were good. "Yup." ...scribble.
He wrote some more, drew a line underneath it all, and totaled it up. "Sign here, Duck."
I made my "X," thought a moment, then circled it with an "O." He took the paper back, looked it over, and nodded.
"Good enough," he said. "You owe me twelve dollars and eighty seven cents."
"Now hold on, you dirty..." I started, but he was looking at me hard, and that look on his face wasn`t the benevolent face that usually... Well, come to think of it, `benevolent` wasn`t the right word. In fact, we don`t use words like what it looked like on a family website like this `un.
"You signed, rat cheer," he said, and pointed to my mark."
"...cain`t prove it, Bubbie. See that "O"?"
"Yeah," he said. "So...?"
"I never sign my real name when I`m out of town," I said. "That`s why I circled it.
A hush fell over the crowd- - us ducks, make that we ducks, stick together in a crisis.
"You better be packin` iron," CW said, and reached for his sidearm.
Well, I dunno about you, but if you have ever tried to fly with what seems like a fifteen pound piece of iron tied to your hip, you`ll crash and burn faster than the TSA can yell "Drop it." I reached for the sky. Besides, I couldn`t have hit the broad side of a barn from inside the barn.
"Pay up, Duck," CW ordered.
"YOU`re supposed to pay ME," I corrected him. "It`s payday."
He shoved the piece of paper toward me. "Read, Duck."
The line items included charges for meals on the way home, horse rental, an add-on for "friendly" horse, triple charge for gourmet breakfast grains and for sausages, a surcharge for trail guidance, and a 30% deduction for next year`s sign-up bonus.
He saw me eyeing that last part. "Ya sign up, ya get the bonus."
"But you deducted it. That was money I earned THIS year."
"...ain`t how it works, ya green-headed greenhorn. Ya sign up again, ya gitcha money again."
The logic on that one baffled me, but I was fighting a losing battle. "Okay, okay," I said, and forked over the cash. "...but I want a receipt."
"...give it to ya when ya sign on again, Duck, jes` lack Ah said." He spread his hands in a benevolent shrug.
"If`n Ah sign on again, does Ah hafta tawk lack thet?" I asked him, in probably the worst voice mimic attempt I`d ever done. The crowd howled with laughter. Ol` CW reddened. I beat a hasty retreat. "Next...?" he hollered. ...uh, yelled. Everyone moved up one in line, crowding me out.
"So much for spending a little time on the Kansas Rivera," Nortie said. He was at the end of the line, along with his brothers, Shorty and Bob. (Bob was a late hatchling, I guess.) "I figured we`d soak up some rays and some grain on the way back. Now, I`m not so sure."
"Yeah," said Shorty. "Look at all this wheat. As far as the eye can see, it`s wheat, wheat, wheat. I`m sure glad I haven`t signed that paper yet. The breakfasts alone aren`t worth... uh... how much, Ducko?"
"Don`t ask," I grumbled, and stalked off to try and find a friendly horse.
Well, kids, as it turned out, most of the flock didn`t sign up for the trip back. In fact, they formed up overhead, flew over to the Dairy Queen, next county over, and settled into the wheat fields behind it for a night of debauchery amidst grain a-plenty. At first light, they were gone. As for me, I was obligated to ride back south with CW and his group.
Actually, it wasn`t too bad. The cooking improved, several of the old hands shared sausage recipes from Poland and Hungary and Italy and Spain, and my horsie realized that we were headed back to the barn and behaved itself. We were proud members of a successful expedition, buoyed by the knowledge that we had accomplished our assigned task.
...and every danged one of us swore we`d never do it again.
I stepped up to the little improvised table and looked ol` Chuckwagon in the eye. "Okay, gimme my pay and we`ll call it even."
"...no salute? ...no `Please give me my pay, Kind Sir` ? Where`d ya grow up, Duck? Ain`tcha got no manners?"
I started to say, "Left `em where your grammar packed in, back down the trail," but I thought better of it. After all, I was there to collect my pay at the end of long, arduous ( which I think means dusty) trail.
"Never mind, Duck. We don`t stand much on formality, `round here."
I bit my tongue. "Ow!", I said instead.
"How...? Whale, lack Ah done tolled ya..."
I held up a wing, to stop him. "Thas okay, Chuck... uh... Mister Wagon."
"Tha`s better," he said. "Okay, now, Duck, sez here..." and held up a dusty sheet of paper," that you done completed the cattle drive in good standing and that we gotta settle up. Tell me- - you gonna ride back with us? It`s a long walk if`n ya don`t."
It made sense. "Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Pardner."
He frowned, then looked back down at the paper and wrote something. "Gonna need a horse, then, huh?"
"Yup. Guess so."
He wrote something else. "...you like that nag what you rode in on, or do ya want a nice, friendly one?"
To be honest, I never had bonded very well with any of the horses that I rode. We had to switch `em off as they got tired, so at one time or other I had ridden most of them. "...friendly one would be nice," I replied.
He wrote something else. "...meals, of course?" I nodded. He wrote, then asked, "...breakfast sausage with `em?"
"...throw in some grains and yer on." ...nod. ...scribble.
"...bedding?" ...another nod, another scribble. "...bonus, if ya sign up again next year, seein` as how ya finished this year`s drive without killin` yerself or any of the cattle. ...mostly."
I remembered the sausages. They were good. "Yup." ...scribble.
He wrote some more, drew a line underneath it all, and totaled it up. "Sign here, Duck."
I made my "X," thought a moment, then circled it with an "O." He took the paper back, looked it over, and nodded.
"Good enough," he said. "You owe me twelve dollars and eighty seven cents."
"Now hold on, you dirty..." I started, but he was looking at me hard, and that look on his face wasn`t the benevolent face that usually... Well, come to think of it, `benevolent` wasn`t the right word. In fact, we don`t use words like what it looked like on a family website like this `un.
"You signed, rat cheer," he said, and pointed to my mark."
"...cain`t prove it, Bubbie. See that "O"?"
"Yeah," he said. "So...?"
"I never sign my real name when I`m out of town," I said. "That`s why I circled it.
A hush fell over the crowd- - us ducks, make that we ducks, stick together in a crisis.
"You better be packin` iron," CW said, and reached for his sidearm.
Well, I dunno about you, but if you have ever tried to fly with what seems like a fifteen pound piece of iron tied to your hip, you`ll crash and burn faster than the TSA can yell "Drop it." I reached for the sky. Besides, I couldn`t have hit the broad side of a barn from inside the barn.
"Pay up, Duck," CW ordered.
"YOU`re supposed to pay ME," I corrected him. "It`s payday."
He shoved the piece of paper toward me. "Read, Duck."
The line items included charges for meals on the way home, horse rental, an add-on for "friendly" horse, triple charge for gourmet breakfast grains and for sausages, a surcharge for trail guidance, and a 30% deduction for next year`s sign-up bonus.
He saw me eyeing that last part. "Ya sign up, ya get the bonus."
"But you deducted it. That was money I earned THIS year."
"...ain`t how it works, ya green-headed greenhorn. Ya sign up again, ya gitcha money again."
The logic on that one baffled me, but I was fighting a losing battle. "Okay, okay," I said, and forked over the cash. "...but I want a receipt."
"...give it to ya when ya sign on again, Duck, jes` lack Ah said." He spread his hands in a benevolent shrug.
"If`n Ah sign on again, does Ah hafta tawk lack thet?" I asked him, in probably the worst voice mimic attempt I`d ever done. The crowd howled with laughter. Ol` CW reddened. I beat a hasty retreat. "Next...?" he hollered. ...uh, yelled. Everyone moved up one in line, crowding me out.
"So much for spending a little time on the Kansas Rivera," Nortie said. He was at the end of the line, along with his brothers, Shorty and Bob. (Bob was a late hatchling, I guess.) "I figured we`d soak up some rays and some grain on the way back. Now, I`m not so sure."
"Yeah," said Shorty. "Look at all this wheat. As far as the eye can see, it`s wheat, wheat, wheat. I`m sure glad I haven`t signed that paper yet. The breakfasts alone aren`t worth... uh... how much, Ducko?"
"Don`t ask," I grumbled, and stalked off to try and find a friendly horse.
Well, kids, as it turned out, most of the flock didn`t sign up for the trip back. In fact, they formed up overhead, flew over to the Dairy Queen, next county over, and settled into the wheat fields behind it for a night of debauchery amidst grain a-plenty. At first light, they were gone. As for me, I was obligated to ride back south with CW and his group.
Actually, it wasn`t too bad. The cooking improved, several of the old hands shared sausage recipes from Poland and Hungary and Italy and Spain, and my horsie realized that we were headed back to the barn and behaved itself. We were proud members of a successful expedition, buoyed by the knowledge that we had accomplished our assigned task.
...and every danged one of us swore we`d never do it again.
Experience - the ability to instantly recognize a mistake when you make it again.
-
Chuckwagon
- Veteran
- Posts: 4494
- Joined: Tue Apr 06, 2010 04:51
- Location: Rocky Mountains
...humbly. ...very humbly. (...or perhaps warily.)
Actually, Folks, I don't mean to portray our beloved Moderator in a negative light. He is a shrewd businessman, an intelligent judge of character, a gentleman with a heart of gold (Hmmm... cold-hearted?), plated many a great meal both real and imagined, always with amazing results. (Some have, no doubt, made medical history.) On most of these cattle drives of the imagination, he has watched over his flock, as well as his herd, with the vigilance of a... um...
Wait! Did I say gold-plated? ...shrew?
It's all in fun, Folks. Well, most of it. ...except for that part about the mustache.
Naw, we won't go there. Instead, let's all hail the man who works so hard on our behalf, bringing you a wealth of knowledge of the the voluminous yet barely-seen world of microbiology. (Hailstones ready? On my signal, throw!) Next time you're ready to gnaw the hash off your hash tag, think of the wonderful recipes that have been posted and moderated, that originated in (or were plagiarized by?) his fertile brain. Yup, back there behind the hippocampus and the hippopotamus, lies an amazing wealth of...
Well, the way I figure it, it's kinda like a peat bog- - gonna make some fine Scotch whiskey, one of these days, but for now, it's fuel for the imagination.
That's my explanation, and I'm sticking to it.
Actually, Folks, I don't mean to portray our beloved Moderator in a negative light. He is a shrewd businessman, an intelligent judge of character, a gentleman with a heart of gold (Hmmm... cold-hearted?), plated many a great meal both real and imagined, always with amazing results. (Some have, no doubt, made medical history.) On most of these cattle drives of the imagination, he has watched over his flock, as well as his herd, with the vigilance of a... um...
Wait! Did I say gold-plated? ...shrew?
It's all in fun, Folks. Well, most of it. ...except for that part about the mustache.
Naw, we won't go there. Instead, let's all hail the man who works so hard on our behalf, bringing you a wealth of knowledge of the the voluminous yet barely-seen world of microbiology. (Hailstones ready? On my signal, throw!) Next time you're ready to gnaw the hash off your hash tag, think of the wonderful recipes that have been posted and moderated, that originated in (or were plagiarized by?) his fertile brain. Yup, back there behind the hippocampus and the hippopotamus, lies an amazing wealth of...
Well, the way I figure it, it's kinda like a peat bog- - gonna make some fine Scotch whiskey, one of these days, but for now, it's fuel for the imagination.
That's my explanation, and I'm sticking to it.
Experience - the ability to instantly recognize a mistake when you make it again.
