The Mudcat Café TM
Thread #59418   Message #1860476
Posted By: Rapparee
16-Oct-06 - 01:16 PM
Thread Name: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
How The Brought The Great Pox From Ghent To Aix

I spring to the stirrup, and Joris, and he;        
I gallop'd, Dirck gallop'd, we gallop'd all three;        
We gallop'd and gallop'd and gallop'd all three;
And gallop'd and gallop'd, 'twas quite easy to see
We gallop'd and gallop'd and gallop'd 'thout water,
And into the coinbox we dropped a new quarter.        

Not a word to each other; not on speaking terms we        
Neck by neck, stride by stride (Joris stood up to pee).        
I turn'd in my saddle and made its girths tight,        
Then shorten'd each stirrup, and set the pique right,              
Rebuckled the cheek-strap, chain'd slacker the bit,        
And fell off of my horse like a bloody half-wit.

At Dundee up leap'd of a sudden the sun,        
And against him the cattle stood black every one,              
To stare thro' the mist at our galloping bustle,
No sheriff on our tail, and no cattle to rustle.
With resolute shoulders, each butting a bump
Those cattle just stood there, each dumb as a stump.

By Fort Worth, Dirck groan'd; and cried Joris "Stay spur!        
Your Roos gallop'd bravely, the fault's not in her,        
We'll remember at lunch"—for one heard the quick wheeze        
Of her chest, saw the stretch'd neck and staggering knees,        
And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank,              
As down on her haunches she shudder'd and sank.        

So, we stopped and had lunch, Joris and I,        
Then past Taos and Dee-troit, no cloud in the sky;        
The broad sun above laugh'd a heartless "Ha ha!",        
While our feet slipped and slid in the equine ca-ca.
Till over by Canberra a dome-spire sprang white,        
And "Gallop," gasped Joris, "Vladisvostok's is in sight!        

Then I cast loose my buffcoat, my codpiece let fall,        
Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all,              
Stood up in the saddle, lean'd, patted my rear,        
Call'd my Roland his pet name, killed off the last beer;        
Clapp'd my hands, laugh'd and sang, any noise, kept a beat,        
Till at length my pants fell 'round my ankles and feet.

And all I remember is, cops flocking round              
As I sat with my pants 'neath my knees on the ground;        
And no voice but was praising this physique of mine,        
As I pour'd down my throat a few liters of wine,        
Which (the burgesses voted by common consent)        
Was no more than my due, then they told me, "Get bent!"


         -- "Bubba" Browning, Tales (privately published, 1607)