This article is part of the Sing Pappy series.
Dear M. Usher,
I was cutting on damatas fer a muffuletta yessaday when I heared a caterwaulin fit to scare bones out de tomb. I recognize it was Maw Maw Pettipas hollerin all de way from de Gooee Crick.
I near on dropped de pickle hog for de cocodrie in my rush to gwon see what crawed up her skirts.
Turn out she bought herself a radio an tune it up to de news. Hear about de Bebe Bieber gwon got hisself in some fierce troubles.
Oh, my lawd, M. Usher. What he done do now? I figure we get dat gree gree vexing him wit de counter of de white voodooo, but ain't nothin' of the sort been done.
He evil, I fear to say. A sorceries upon him. Red scratch hisself jump up out de heat and de bebe been fooyay wid him.
Constable say de bebe gwon a tear racing his lambugeenus and drinking up all dem s'mores vodkas and coconut rums till he gone chockay. De drink been de rune of many a poor bebe. Lord only know I near was one myself.
Now, trust me when I say ya can't cage up de bebe. His spirit free as de dove. Do watchu can to make dat baby comfort. I sends over de jaws full up with de pickle yawm yawm peppers he get hisself a grumble for. Sorry ain't no saw for de bars in dem peppers.
I also include de name of a good lawya from Baton Rouge by de name of Maurice Bugeaud help on dem litigations. Maurice old as a crow's tooth, fat as a tick on a sleepin' dog, but ya give him a paddle to cool hisself and room enough to pace and he will come up wit de case.
He got my papere off de mudha charge after he kill a turtle wit de loan motor. Whole jury of turtle, maw maw think there ain't no chance, but sure as night water M. Bugeaud done got him off.
Turn out dem turtle lawmans fail ta read him de rights and force a confessions by cussin' and snappin' at my papere's finguhs.
Hope de bebe ain't got no turtles snappin'. Ball them up into turtle gumbo if they snap a fingynail off dat bebe. You wait on M. Bugeaud and ya just keep bebe quiet. Lawman ain't got no love for de music. Turtle or no, lawman shut down a roody dance cause he'd rather heard bugs singing than fine ladies. Shoot a pissile at de coon dog for barkin trees and kick a bebe in de nappy cloth.
Now, M. Usher, ya got to listen because I fear we gwon from gree gree to flesh and buckets devil troubles. I just lay it out there: I think ya done hired up de wrong swagga coach.
That's right. I sayed it. Ya got him a swagga coach name of Jazzy Charms. I saw that in de TMZs. Skinny fella, wear snakeskin and look like Nicolas Cages in Zandalee?
Hows about you, me, and five uncomfortable minutes in my basement apartment next to the dusty Christmas tree that's still up from my last visit with my estranged children.
The Upper Kitchen Cabinet Where Your Roommate Keeps His Food: You’ll 'need the footstool' to reach your roommate’s 'fine selection' of 'stale cereal,' but he'll never notice if 'only a little is missing from each box.' Feel less guilty by reminding yourself that Jeff 'acts weird around your girlfriend,' and always 'asks about her.' What a 'creep.'
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A Cajun bayou-dweller who educates singers, notably Justin Bieber, on the ways of music and life.