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Origin: Cock Up Your Beaver (Robert Burns?)
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Subject: RE: Origin: Cock Up Your Beaver (Robert Burns?) From: Rasener Date: 22 Feb 08 - 11:07 AM Don't they give a brazilian to beavers these days Big Al? |
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Subject: RE: Origin: Cock Up Your Beaver (Robert Burns?) From: Bill D Date: 22 Feb 08 - 10:47 AM I guess my mind is not as demented as some...(yes,I GET the reference)...'cause when I opened this old thread, the first thing I thought of is how much I miss Bruce O.\ (All the technical reference about the song he posted are still available here at Mudcat in the menu.) |
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Subject: RE: Origin: Cock Up Your Beaver (Robert Burns?) From: catspaw49 Date: 22 Feb 08 - 09:32 AM Actually Guest, Doh!, Cletus is just a good ol' boy who means well but along with his friends Paw and Buford, fell through the cracks of the American Dream. They have three other buddies, a trio of brothers from Canada all named Reg. The whole group can often be found hanging out around my house until they come up with some new get rich scheme like their Porta-Potty business, "Crappers on Casters." Every now and again I vent some and tell of their latest debacles which sadly are generally visited upon me. Here's a few if you have a spare half hour or so................................Here's the first.... An account of how I first met Cletus, Paw and Buford: Every year as Christmas approaches I can't help but remember the first time I met Cletus, Paw, and Buford...... I had noticed an area on Rt. 664 just outside of our little village being carefully prepared and roped off as I drove by and every now and then there were these three guys working there, building a little shed and driving stakes into the ground about 6 feet apart. It finally dawned on me that they were getting ready to sell Christmas trees. Now I have always gotten ours from the same place for years, but the prices were getting pretty steep so I kept an eye out for new sources. The day they put up the lights, I stopped to see when they'd be bringing the trees in. As I got out of the van I couldn't help but notice that these three, from all appearances, were a bit "down on their luck" and it made me want to help them out a bit. Cletus came up to me and introduced himself and I asked about the trees. He was glad to tell me all about them in that way which I've since learned to interpret. At that time however all I could seem to understand was that they were "working on them." These many years later, that kind of phrase would set off alarms, but I didn't know Cletus then so I thought it was just an odd hilljack way of phrasing things. Paw came over and I liked the old guy a lot right away. He said he'd seen me before and I remembered something about the sewage plant and the day it exploded. I couldn't place what it was that this guy had to do with it but the correlation seemed quite vivid. I shook his hand and he farted in return. I had never met anyone who was quite so casual with flatulence. Paw used it almost as punctuation......."How ya' doin'?" (rriippp) "Purty day ain't she?" (bbraawwmmpp)..........Let's say it took some getting used to and made it easy to understand why this old coot could probably not find gainful employment. But for all that, he was a friendly cuss who told me they called him Paw because he was from Paw-Paw, West Virginia. He pointed out the other fellow named Buford who was involved in extricating himself from a string of Christmas lights that seemed to have attacked him. Even from a distance, the unmistakable smell of Iron City brew was pretty strong. I figured he spilled about the same amount on himself as he drank and I later found this to be not only true, but the amounts involved were prodigious. All in all, I couldn't help but like them even if they were, well, let's just call them odd and drop it right there. They told me the trees would be in and they'd be open for business on Friday at 6 PM. I left shaking my head at the idea of bringing Karen and the kids to "pick out the tree" as was so traditional with our family. What the hell? We could at least check them out. On Friday afternoon Karen and I were going into Lancaster and as we passed by I pointed out the place, not that it was really necessary to point. I'd never seen anything quite so garish in my life but it was one of those gray Ohio days, very cold and occasionally spitting snow so perhaps it was the contrast......perhaps not. Karen was making comments about the place, but as we drove past we could both see the trees that were now in place quite well. Surprisingly enough, they looked magnificent! All were very full and perfectly shaped and a greener bunch of Christmas trees I'd never seen. Even at 65 mph, Karen saw one on the far end of the first row that she said was absolutely "the one!" Since she and our kids were going to spend the night with Connie and go shopping on Saturday, I promised her I'd stop back and get the tree and forget the tradition for one year. So on my return trip I looked at my watch and saw that I'd arrive about the time Cletus told me they would open and sure enough, I was the first one there. Cletus, Paw, and Buford, greeted me as a long lost friend. They were really in the Christmas Spirit and offered me some of their "spirits." Friends, there is 'Shine and then there is 'Shine and whatever it was they had in the Mason jars was not. I found out later that this was a homebrew of their own and made not from corn, but soybeans instead, and distilled through an old radiator off a Mack. Luckily I only tasted it, but that single gulp went down like a 4-stage rocket, taking my breath away, and immediately starting to bore a hole in my stomach. After the coughing subsided I gave them the common courtesy line you use upon tasting any 'Shine..........."Smooth!" They were all adorned themselves with some of the seediest Santa hats I had ever seen and were ready for business. They said I was the first customer and I nodded appreciatively while glancing about at the trees. Even up at a closer viewing they seemed almost perfectly formed and beautifully green and I thought the light snow must be the reason they glistened so under the glaring bulbs. It was dark now and the temperature had dropped to about 25 with a nasty northwesterly blowing in a chill from Alberta. My eyes were no longer crossed from the 'Shine and I slowly became aware that something was odd about the trees. They weren't moving at all. Not a branch, not a needle, absolutely nothing was moving although the breeze was pretty stiff. Paw commented on the weather and let fly an air biscuit as I walked over to the tree Karen had seen earlier. I reached out to touch it and it was positively stiff! I felt several branches and the whole thing down to the smallest needle was like glass. I put a little extra pressure on a needle and it shattered in my gloved hand. What the hell was this anyway? Cletus came up and asked how I liked them as Paw and Buford tossed wood in a barrel to start a warming fire. I said I thought these were real trees, but they seemed to be artificial. Cletus protested they were real.......and recycled. Once in awhile you hear sommething that is so completely ridiculous that it takes some time before you can absorb the fact that the speaker is completely serious. Recycled Christmas trees. My mind was slowly opening to the sound of Cletus' voice proudly telling the tale of how they collected them last year and then formed them up, glued in branches with rubber cement, gave them several coats of shellac, painted them with spray cans of "Yew Be Green" epoxy, and topped the job off with several coats of lacquer. I stared at the tree. I stared at Cletus. I stared at the tree. I stared at Cletus. I stared at the tree. I stared at Cletus. Cletus noticed I was a bit pale and pulled me by the arm over to the shed where Paw and Buford had finished filling the barrel and were dumping gasoline onto the contents. Cletus said that I should have another drink and then Paw asked if I was cold. I nodded vacantly, my mind still unable to absorb the insanity which surrounded me. Then I heard Cletus say, "Hey Paw, show him how we light a fire." With that, Paw bent over pointing his butt at the barrel, Buford held a Zippo to his ass, and Paw ripped a monster of a fart, something akin to a Cherry Bomb in it's magnitude. An enormous flame shot out of his ass and ignited the barrel which flared high in the air. But it was a truly huge blaster and the flames not only ignited the barrel, but the nearest recycled Christmas trees. Coated as they were with such a combustible mixture, they didn't catch fire, they friggin' exploded! Bits of flaming plastic-like shards went flying away on the wind to explode the next tree, and the next, and the next. Within 30 seconds the remnants of every tree was flaming brightly and in less than a minute the flames were gone and 50 smoldering sticks were all that remained. None of us had moved and Paw was still bent over and looking over his shoulder at the charred remains of their business. The next day when I picked Karen up, we stopped at our usual place and picked out a lovely Frazier Fir. I had told her the story and that I figured that here was a case where a single fart may not have saved the world, but at least did save 50 home fires. We stopped at their place and the boys were cleaning up the mess and told us it probably meant a Christmas that would be a little bleak for them. Karen is a kind soul and right then and there invited them to our place for Christmas Day. She said they should come early and maybe Santa will have left something for them and that they would be welcome for Christmas dinner too. As we drove home I tried to explain that this probably wasn't a great idea but Karen felt pretty bad for them and they had cheerfully accepted her invitation. On Christmas morning they arrived at 6 AM and the day went downhill from there. But that's another story. So friends, no matter how bad it is and how you feel, there is always a friend out there for you. Even if you're obnoxious, nasty, and haven't bathed in a month, there is always the chance that if you can light a good fart, miracles will occur. Spaw ********************************************************************** ********************************************************************** Then there is the great celebration they had in my backyard one night resulting in a new religious icon and a visit from the local sheriff: It became a joyous evening of the three of them and the Reg boys getting drunk on "Iron City" and 'Shine and roasting a hog out in my backyard alongside the garage. Of course, after a while, Paw started lighting up farts as is his wont, and that's what I now have come to believe is one of those things best left unexplained. The neighbors began to complain about 11 o'clock or so after one of Paw's flamers had ignited the hedge on his property. That would have passed as the boys got it put out pretty quick, being full of Iron City and all, but when a major rip set fire to his wife's bird feeder....well, that was it. I tried to calm the guy down and assured him nothing like that would happen again. He went back into his house dragging the charred remains of the feeder and a roasted squirrel that had been looting it when Paw let fly with that fiery thundersprecht. Anyway, I got them situated again and since my house has aluminum siding, my only request was that they point Paw towards the wall. I figured a good hosing would clean off the worst of it in the morning. I went inside and the revelry continued at a somewhat decreased decibel level with only the occasional flash lighting the window of my den. Around 2 AM the boys came in for a final pee call and of course they couldn't just go. I heard either Reg or Reg in my pantry and before I could get up there, the whole crew was playing sink the Cheerios in my downstairs bathroom. Karen, my wife who is usually blessed with some patience for them, came downstairs at this point and threw a fit since our kids watch everything "The Boys" do and we were spending a fortune in Cheerios. After a severe ass-reaming from Karen, I herded them back outside and suggested they get some sleep around the smouldering pig carcass. I went back in and after cleaning and disinfecting the bathroom and taking a shower, I again settled down in front of the TV to watch a half-hour Infomercial on how I could make thousands a week by selling quinnine pills through Direct Mail Order and running tiny little ads. They were just getting to the good part with the testimonials and all when there was this giant blast from the backyard and the night sky lit up like a Buddhist monk. There was a moment of silence and then I heard Cletus yell, "HOH-LEE SHEEEEIT!!!" Well, there wasn't anyway I could avoid it, so I went out through the garage into the backyard and there they stood, the whole damn bunch of them, except for Buford who was throwing up Iron City and pork fat down his bib overalls over by the smoking hedge. They were staring at an image that Paw's last fart had scorched onto the siding with their mouths hanging open. I stepped back and looked and my first thought was, "Well this ain't gonna' clean off too good and Karen will be really pissed." But when I started to say something Cletus stopped me and I noticed that the look on all of their faces was almost reverent. Paw was standing with his mouth agape and the others seemed awestruck as well, so I looked again. Cletus turned to me and said, "Doncha seez it Catspaw? Its rite thar!!! Paw done farted Jerry Falwell out his ass!!!" Well, I kinda' had to admit, it DID resemble him in the flickering light of the burning porker on the spit, but I was too much in fear of what the morning would bring from Karen to say anymore than tell them to get some sleep. Problem was, they didn't. I went back inside, the group outside quieted down, and I nodded off before I could get the 800 number for the "501 All-Time Polka Greats" by Myron Kopetz and the Nose Flute Kings. What I didn't know was that the group had gone off and gotten Pastor Sharphorn, his wife, the Ladies Auxillary, and the Deacons, from the "Church of Evangelical Brethren and Tongue Talking Mohunkers" and they arrived for a look-see about sun-up. When I woke up to the commotion outside it was about 6 AM I guess. The sight that confronted me was reasonably bizarre. At least 150 people were assembled in the backyard and I could see more coming down the alley. A small altar had been erected out of the remains of my stockade fence which was now on the ground, the crowd overflowing into my neighbor's backyard and trampling his stupid-ass garden gnomes into powder....it was the only high spot of the day. Those kneeling at the altar would place small plastic Madonnas and Jesus statuary at the foot of the garage wall and say a little prayer and move on to the donation box that Cletus was guarding. It was then that I noticed that everyone donating more than $25.00 was getting a "Holy Relic" to commemorate their visit to this newest religious icon which had previously only sheltered my vehicles and assorted cans of dried out wax and rubbing compound. There, perched upon a throne-like affair that I noticed had been assembled from our porch furniture, was Paw. As each person gave his donation, Buford would cut a small piece from Paw's overalls and hand it to them. For $50. they got a piece from the seat, and for $500. a snippet from the flap of his longjohns. It was a kind of poor man's "Shroud of Turin" I guess. Business must have been good since Paw was missing one entire leg of his bibs and he was about bareassed already. I was dumbfounded and I was just considering how to set this up as an infomercial and start booking tours when the County Sheriff showed up and ran everybody off. Then he proceeded to fine me for 19 different offenses and gave me a summons to appear in court for destruction of my neighbors property. I was able to head off Cletus and the money, which covered almost all of the fines and my neighbor's friggin' gnomes, but it cost another 50 bucks to get rid of the Falwell image. Now if I could just get shed of the real one for the same price.......................Anyway, I haven't been able to figure out how that happened and I suppose it is one of those things best left unexplained. I've always thought that Falwell was talking out his ass, but I never figured you could blow him out your ass as well, but Paw's a really religious ol' coot so I guess you just never know. Really, I think Cletus had it right with his first two words, "Holy Shit!!" The Sheriff suggested that they "get out of the county" at least for awhile and they left this morning for a festival in either Alabama or Mississippi where they had a contract for the porta-potty business they have been trying to run called "Crappers on Casters." I'm off now to have a chat with the SPCA about the squirrel. Spaw ********************************************************************** ********************************************************************** The Boys have always been interested in science and this tale tells of a medical experiment wherein they take up the the study of the healing power of magnetism: Paw's flattulence when combined with his passion for 'shine and hot wings used to be a big problem for him whenever his roids would flare up....so to speak...and it got to the point that little rubber donut pillows and Preparation H just weren't doing the job anymore. Clete's 6th wife was into all the weird and wacky cures so Cletus was always coming to Paw with his suggestions that he'd heard from her. When Cletus told Paw about acupuncture, he disappeared for about two weeks and I'll be damned if anyone could find him. The Reg Boys too had their share of wacky cures for everything from the Great White North of Canada, but most of them involved bear grease and other vile and foamy liquids. Then it happened. The whole lot of them were watching my TV down in the den one night and had been subjected to at least nine hours of infomercials while they slugged down Iron City. I had learned from experience to unplug the phone and hide my credit cards on these nights which only took place when Karen was gone. I'm still paying for that quonset hut in the Aleutian Islands and I have the complete collection of Pan Flute Favorites so I have learned, albeit slowly. I think the one that finally got me was the "Great Michigan Getaway Weekend" which they bought and gave to Karen and I for an anniversary present. It was a month before I found out that they had billed it to my Visa and when we went for "rest and relaxation" in beautiful Michigan, it turned out to be clapped out motel run by a Pakistani in downtown Flint, just across from a closed GM factory. I guess it was about 5:30 AM when Cletus woke me up and said they had the cure for Paw's hemorrhoids. This was more than I wanted or needed to know at 5:30 so after verifying that it wouldn't cost me anything, I said have at it and went back to sleep. When I woke up about 7 I had one of those vague feelings of dread. You know what I mean? Nothing was wrong that I could think of and yet I just felt the world was going to come after me that day. It turned out to be Old Man Rafferty instead....but I'll come to that. The "boys" arrived back at my place about noon having already left when I woke at 7. They were lugging some huge electric motors into my garage and looking about for tools when I walked in and asked what the hell was going on. Cletus then launched into their "cure" and the reasoning behind it. It seems they had watched an infomercial about the "healing power of magnetism" and saw immediately that this was the way to fix Paw's 'roids. Slowly it all began to come together for me and I began to wonder how in the hell these guys could even remember how to breathe! In any case, they'd picked up the motors from out back of Bernie's Electrical Supply and were now going to remove the large magnets inside. They idea was to cut a slit in Paw's rubber donut, insert the magnets, and then duct tape the thing back together. I noticed that Buford had an old jockstrap (with cup) that they evidently were going to use to strap the magnets to Paw's ass, again using liberal amounts of duct tape. Listening to Cletus explain all of this and their newfound theory made me begin to question my own existence, as though I really didn't exist in the world I had come to know, but was simply a bit player in a leftover Rod Serling story. Things started going downhill pretty quickly as the magnets were removed and now were flying across my garage, affixing themselves to various steel things....like my van, my lawnmower, my golf clubs, and a little steel reinforced concrete rabbit that someone had once given us as a joke. I figured that I was going to be better off if they'd finish up somewhere else so I suggested they take all the stuff and head for the pleasant little roadside picnic area on the edge of the village where they could finish rigging Paw up and with any luck, I'd never know anything more about it. After removing the magnets, scratching the hell out of my van, breaking off the head of a 5 iron and the left ear of the rabbit, they left. The picnic area was only about a half mile off, just a bit down Rt.664 and I told them to let me know how it all worked out. Curiosity is a terrible thing sometimes and about an hour later I grabbed my Weimaraner and his leash and set out as though I were just walking the dog. As I turned on 664 I saw the Boys all walking towards me from the little picnic grove. Paw's ass seemed to be a bit large and he was walking funny, but from a distance I could tell they must have done a good job circling his ass in magnets because outside of a slight limp and a big bulge at the rear of his bibs, Paw looked pretty normal. Then it happened. Trailing the others, Paw walked past Old Man Rafferty's mailbox, a new heavy duty steel one to foil the kids with cars and bats. He first slowed, stopped, then flew backwards and before you could say "dumbfuck" he was hanging from his ass on the mailbox. Ol' Man Rafferty was washing his aging Electra deuce and a quarter and looked up to see what was happening. By that time, Cletus, Buford, and the Reg Boys all were tugging on either Paw or Rafferty's mailbox and though they got him off the mailbox was smashed in and the pole was a goner. Well I tell you, Rafferty came flying down the drive, gravel spitting up from his shoes, and swearing a blue streak. Paw was laying about 10 foot up the drive where he'd landed after the force of being ripped from the mailbox sent him sailing through the air. Rafferty bent over him and started yelling in his face and Paw was trying to stand up but being weighed down by the Magnetic Ass-Healing Ring. I got up there and tried to get Rafferty to calm down some as the others stood around looking bewildered. Rafferty started blaming me for allowing such "dumbass shitkickers" to stay here and how I should let them rot somewhere else. Before he could say another word, things continued to deteriorate. Paw had gotten to his feet about 15 feet from the Buick and there was a loud clanging thump as one of the hubcaps flew off and affixed itself to Paw's rump. Rafferty grabbed the hubcap and started pulling for all he was worth swinging Paw round and round in a circle. The hubcap folded and broke loose and Paw landed by the side of the road while Rafferty began to rage about his rump-sprung hubcap and twisted mailbox. I got out my checkbook and with a stern look to Cletus asked how much this would cost to keep from calling the police. The sight of my checkbook calmed Rafferty down and my Weimaraner had gone over to the side of the road and was licking Paw's face. Rafferty calculated a sum which I figured was enough to buy a new set of tires and an exhaust system for the Buick and build a brick mailbox, while forcing me nearer to bankruptcy. Cletus and the rest were circled around me as I handed Rafferty the check and when I turned to go, I saw Paw had gotten to his feet again and was bent over stroking Jaeger's head. The dog has always had a soft spot for Paw and when I whistled for him he reluctantly came back up the drive. Bending over to pick up his leash, I heard Cletus say, "Aw Sheeitt!" Right then I couldn't imagine how things could get worse, but I looked up just in time to see Paw lifted from his feet and his ass attach to the exhaust stack of a passing Peterbilt. I watched as the truck roared off, Paw flailing around and in a blind spot where the driver couldn't see him, and the dumbass Reg boys waving "bye-bye" as the Pete rounded a curve down by the Hopewell place. We found Paw at the truckstop at Rt.37 and I-70 where the driver had stopped for fuel. When we arrived, the Magnetic Ass-Healing Ring was nowhere to be seen and Paw was sitting on a bag of ice trying to cool the burns from riding 27 miles on an exhaust stack. But I tell you what.....Perhaps it was the scar tissue from the burns that did it, but Paw hasn't had trouble with 'roids since then. Maybe there is something to the power of magnetism..................... Spaw ********************************************************************** ********************************************************************** Then a few Easters ago I enlisted the Boys' help to try and save khandu from himself. Several of us had become concerned over his brownosing of Joe Offer and something had to be done: Well it's over.......The first, and I hope last, Super Mind Altering and Semi-Patriotic Fireworks and Flaming Asshole Gala. I don't know why or how this stuff starts but anytime I use Cletus for anything, the one sure thing is that I'll end up with a long list of people wanting money from me. It started off so well............ The plan was simple. All we wanted to do was bring khandu back to his senses and knowing that a good cross burning might do the job, we started there. I mean hell, he's Mississippi boy and cross burning is a genetic trait. He had become a slave and a brown noser to, of all people, Joe Offer. Something had to be done. Somehow we got carried away. Tweed acquired through Bobertz, some Patty Poopchute and Harry Hardtool anatomically correct party dols and we thought we might possibly use them as well. It's my fault though.....Has anything ever gone right when Cletus, Paw, Buford, and the Reg boys are involved? Paw went down to the lumber yard and liberated some skids and the Reg boys ripped them apart. The plan was to make 143 crosses with the skid wood and duct tape. Buford got involved and said the first one didn't look right to him. Why in the hell anything would look right to Buford is beyond me as the boy is always tanked up on Iron City and when he's not burping, he's whizzing on Mrs. Clanahan's peonies. But Paw agreed with him and they headed off to find a cross for a model. They ended up going to the Church of Evangelical Hollering and Tongue Talking Mohunkers where the good folks were happy to oblige. Of course the Rollers misunderstood the reasons here and, this being Good Friday and all, thought the crosses were being made for a religious ceremony and Paw told them to come by at 8 PM, or a little before so as to get a good seat. I wish he had told me........ About 3 PM the crosses were finished and the Boys started taking things up to the little picnic grove on 664 adjoining Ol' Man Rafferty's place. For all his faults, Rafferty is a religious old coot and was excited to see the crosses being erected on Good Friday. I guess he thought Cletus had turned over a new leaf. Paw went over to talk with him even though Rafferty still held him responsible for the destruction of his mailbox and a Buick hubcap after the Great Magnetic Ass-Healing Ring debacle. Paw commented on the new mailbox and hubcap while once again Rafferty was washing the aging Buick deuce and a quarter. Rafferty said he and his very religious wife would certainly be sitting out on their porch and it would be even better than going to Church as they had planned. Once again, I wish someone had told me.................. Since the Reg boys aren't any too talkative they were given the job of blowing up the Harry Hardtool dolls and stuffing their "tools" with Roman candles and bottle rockets (with whistle and report). It was a big job but they got it done. Meanwhile Cletus and Paw had filled the Patty Poopchute dolls with propane. They all worked together to drive the crosses into the ground and attached the Patty Poopchute dolls to the top. Cletus said they wouldn't be soaking the crosses in kerosene until just before they lit them which seemed okay to me. I had arrived to check in on all of this at about 5:30 and truthfully, I was impressed at what they had accomplished! Now I knew that these good feelings were generally the portend of bad things to come, but the mind is a funny thing and we often forget the past in an effort to hold out hope for a new beginning. This seems to be what happened to me as I felt genuinely good about trying to bring this thing off and that perhaps, for once, Cletus, Paw, Buford, and the Reg boys may have gotten it right. Once again, I should have relied on past experience............. The crosses were in the ground on a slight embankment with a propane filled Patty Poopchute mounted atop each one. Leaning against the embankment and in front of each were the Harry Hardtool dolls with their dorks pointing skyward and filled with Roman candles and bottle rockets (with whistle and report). This is a pretty conservative little place so I thought maybe the dolls would be better if they were covered or clothed and I ask the Boys to do so and they told me they'd do it....."No Problem Spaw." That should have clued me in but it didn't. My other suggestion was that because a light breeze had come up, it might be good to tie the Harry Hardtools to something so they didn't blow away. Again, I don't know what the fuck I was thinking.................. I should now take this chance to thank those who so valiantly helped in this and I want to extend my thanks to them for their part in trying to save Brother khandu. Carol, Tweed, Young Will, even Bobertz.......You all did your jobs and performed magnificently. I cannot thank you enough and to prove it, I have kept your part in this as well as your names out of the Sheriff's report. Additionally, you are free to disavow any knowledge of me or that you were ever even within a hundred miles of here. You have to admit though, it was one helluav' show! On the chance that we might need the services of the Neil Young Center for the Terminally Screwed, I asked for the Insanevac Chopper to be standing by. I spent the next few hours at home with Karen and the kids, eating supper and coloring Easter Eggs. When I heard the sound of the chopper I realized that several hours had passed and I was almost late for the show. I leashed up the two Weimaraners and headed for the park. Karen and the kids wanted to go but I suggested they stay home in case something went awry. This was the only good decision I made in the entire day. Besides, the "Royal Forkers" khandu had sent to surround my house had instead turned out to "mortar forkers" and had just completed the new barbeque out back and were busy working on a smokehouse. I told Karen it was better for her to keep an eye on them to be sure they were working according to plan. With Jaeger and Sissy happy to be going for a walk, I headed for the gala event. When I arrived, a few things caught my eye right away, but it was too late to turn back. First, each Patty Poopchute doll had a purple robe like affair on them. I realized right away that the material had come from a hot air balloon that Cletus and Paw had accidentally shot down a few years ago (that's another story). Sitting atop the crosses in their purple robes, they were really quite attractive. Additionally, the Harry Hardtool dolls all were wrapped about waist with old towels in a loincloth sort of get-up. To keep the Harry dolls in place, they had tied each wrist to something or another which left their arms outstretched. Also, out front of everything was the biggest Dago Bomb I ever saw. It turns out Cletus and the Boys had bought it down in Tennessee on one of their trips south to a festival where they had contracted for the porta-potty business with their company, "Crappers on Casters." And....they had been good enough to park one of their C on C's about 50 feet to the left, over toward Rafferty's place. I stood for a moment and took it all in. Suddenly it hit me. In the purple robes and loincloths, with the outstretched arms and crosses, this looked like some Christian tableau from Hell! There they were, 143 Virgin Marys, atop 143 crosses, with 143 Jesus Christs below! My mind went numb as I began to realize that somehow this extravaganza was not going to go well at all............. Before I could utter a word I saw Ol' Man Rafferty and his wife on their porch in prayer. About then the Church Bus bearing the members of the Church of Evangelical Hollering and Tongue Talking Mohunkers arrived in the grove. They literally ran off the bus dropping to their knees. I tell you they went down faster than a cheap whore on a Liberian tanker. I was rapidly becoming almost paralyzed. I couldn't speak although I wanted to scream. The main thing I wanted to scream was "NO" but the best that came from my throat was a tiny croak like a dying frog with laryngitis. Not over yet though................ Tweed drove a van in and he and Carol emerged from the front with a look of trepidation on their faces as they took in the scene before them. Wrongly figuring that I had this planned, they opened the back doors and Will and Bobertz hopped out. They all four then removed khandu. Okay, it wasn't their fault they had to subdue him...I know that. And frankly it was very creative the way they had wrapped him up in duct tape from head to foot with only his eyes looking out. Even from where I was I could see he was mad. But I still thought that this cross burning gone haywire might cure him of his shameless brown nosing of Joe Offer. But the way he was wrapped reminded the church folk of Jesus in the tomb I guess, with the duct tape as a sticky Shroud of Turin. In any case they turned and started praying in that direction also. Tweed, Carol, Will, and Bobertz, were busy propping khandu up so he could see when I noticed that the Reg boys were liberally soaking the crosses and the ground in between with kerosene. I had to stop this............... Cletus and Paw were all smiles, quite proud of what they had done and when I came stammering up to them they were a bit confused. I tried to somehow make them see what I saw but it wasn't working because my mind was moving faster than my mouth and these guys were never too sharp on the best of days. Each of the Weims was licking one of Paw's hands when I finally got through a bit to Cletus. After listening to the whole thing he said, "Don't worry Catspaw, even I know that Jesus had blonde hair and that guy don't look nothin' like him." This made no sense and once again I was so dumbstruck I was speechless. Cletus capped that with, "Besides look how happy Jaeger and Sissy are!" After what seemed like an hour, but was probably only a few seconds of pondering that inanity, I blurted, "You stupid shit!! They're fucking DOGS!!!!" This didn't bother ol' Clete in the least and he and Paw walked off happily to get the show started. I swear to you all, I would have done anything to stop it, but the whole thing had moved not only beyond my control but into another dimension as well. From this point on, it seemed as though I watched what happened as a sort of out of body experience; just a casual observer noting the events unfolding. In a scene like none imagined by Machiavelli it all began. Paw bent over by the crosses and flared off a monster fart. The flame shot across to the nearest cross, much like what happened in their Christmas tree disaster, and within seconds, 143 crosses were burning brightly. Cletus ran to the front and lit the monster Dago Bomb. There was one more realization to go though. Turns out they had tied the wrists of the Harry/Jesus dolls to the ankles of the Patty/Virgin Mary dolls which explained the outstretched arms. This realization only came to me as the flames ignited Patty/Mary's poopchute where the plastic was thinnest and melted first. The propane ignited and up they went......each dragging a Harry/Jesus behind. Maybe halfway to the top of their trajectory the flames ignited the Roman candles and bottle rockets in the Harry/Jesus dicks. I gotta' tell y'all........It was a sight to behold. 143 Virgin Marys launched off of flaming crosses with their assholes trailing flame while 143 Jesus Christs ascended behind them, twirling gaily with their cocks spouting red, white, and blue balls and rockets (with whistle and report) screaming off in all directions followed by a series of bangs. Simply amazing. The church members lost all control and began flopping around on the ground, talking in tongues, and generally having a pretty good time. Rafferty's wife on the other hand seemed to be having a possible heart attack. But it gets worse.......... Cletus was so shocked at the sudden ignition of the crosses that in trying to get away from the Dago Bomb he knocked it on it's side. A massive fireball shot out and smashed underneath the porta-potty. Obviously they hadn't cleaned it or something and the methane fumes had built up. The crapper shot skyward too and the methane must have been in prodigious quantities as the fiery outhouse travelled over a mile before crashing through the roof of the condom factory, setting it ablaze. Several explosions have come from that direction and a paramedic attending Mrs. Rafferty said that a vat of latex had blown and completely covered the Church of Evangelical Hollering and Tongue Talking Mohunkers which is located just across the street. The missing outhouse now opened the range and the Dago Bomb fired off another even more monstrous ball of fire. This time the charge landed underneath Ol'Man Rafferty's Buick and it blew up right there in his driveway. About this time the cops showed up and an ambulance was called for Mrs. Rafferty. Tweed, Carol, Bobertz, and Will were shell shocked as I was, but what was really important to us was our friend Ken. Had we brought him back? We quickly ripped the duct tape off removing small portions of skin and hair in the process. The church folks were gathering up the tape remnants which I suppose they think are now Holy Relics. I dunno' what the hell they're going to think when they arrive back at their church....which should be about now. Khandu lay on the gurney and the anger was gone from his eyes. As a matter of fact, everything was gone from his eyes! He was completely catatonic. We loaded him aboard the NYCFTTS Insanevac Chopper for a trip to the new wing where the James Taylor Rehab Unit on Catatonic Blandness is located. We can just hope I guess....... As for me, I foresee a long night of police and fire reports, possible fines, lawyer fees, and threats of incarceration, racing around my brain. Sweet Jesus, I need some drugs.............. Spaw |
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Subject: RE: Origin: Cock Up Your Beaver (Robert Burns?) From: Big Al Whittle Date: 22 Feb 08 - 08:57 AM Its hard to believe, but even in this day and age, if you go round Scotland asking if anyone fancies a cock up your beaver - it has been known to cause offence. |
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Subject: RE: Origin: Cock Up Your Beaver (Robert Burns?) From: Ian Date: 22 Feb 08 - 08:47 AM Did I read somewhere that a beaver (skin) Top Hat had the ability to be folded flat. Thus to cock up the hat was to unfold it. Hence the phrase - knock that into a "cocked hat" or into an opened out hat. |
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Subject: RE: Origin: Cock Up Your Beaver (Robert Burns?) From: GUEST,Doh! Date: 22 Feb 08 - 07:33 AM "Cletus" as in "the slack-jawed yokel" from "The Simpsons"? I hope some folk'll answer.... |
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Subject: RE: Origin: Cock Up Your Beaver (Robert Burns?) From: catspaw49 Date: 22 Feb 08 - 02:26 AM There is STILL a Cletus story in this one just waiting......... Spaw |
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Subject: RE: Origin: Cock Up Your Beaver (Robert Burns?) From: GUEST,nateba Date: 22 Feb 08 - 02:10 AM DOes beaver mean a hat? |
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Subject: RE: Origin: Cock Up Your Beaver (Robert Burns?) From: Cluin Date: 21 Feb 08 - 10:23 PM Aaaaah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha Ah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha Ah hah ha ha ha ha ha ha Cock up your beaver! Ah ha ha hah ha ha ha ha ha ha Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha |
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Subject: RE: Cock Up Your Beaver - Burns From: Artful Codger Date: 19 Jul 07 - 07:00 PM Or, to continue the bestial theme, you could pair it with "Fly Up My Cock" (or is that an ad for Viagra?) The pieces are starting to fit together: now we know why the old woman swallowed the fly, though as for the rest... |
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Subject: RE: Cock Up Your Beaver - Burns From: redsnapper Date: 19 Jul 07 - 09:08 AM Following Masato's link to the D'Urfey version, I tried this out at lunchtime break today with my fiddle virtuoso friend Kay. It's a fine tune (in F) with a couple of interesting twists. RS |
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Subject: RE: Cock Up Your Beaver - Burns From: Flash Company Date: 19 Jul 07 - 05:25 AM Foolestroupe....I have the words to The Widow who keeps 'The Cock Inn' somewhere, I'll try to look them out. As I recall it is a boozers catalogue of landladies, his favourite being 'The dear little widow who keeps 'The Cock Inn'' Brian Q |
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Subject: RE: Cock Up Your Beaver - Burns From: GUEST,Rev Date: 19 Jul 07 - 01:51 AM In Claude Simpson's "The British Broadside Ballad and Its Music" he attributes "Cock up thy Beaver" to Thomas D'Urfey, or at least he notes that the tune was first published in D'Urfey's "Choice New Songs" in 1684, as the tune for a song called "The Horse Race." The last line of the song's refrain was "Hey brave Johnnie lad, cock up your beaver." The tune also came to be known as "Johnny, cock thy beaver" and "To Horse brave Boys." |
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Subject: RE: Cock Up Your Beaver - Burns From: Celtaddict Date: 19 Jul 07 - 01:02 AM I have always wanted to do a set pairing 'Cock Up Your Beaver' with 'Nine Inch Will Please a Lady' which, obviously, is about lace at the cuff. A haberdashery medley. |
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Subject: RE: Cock Up Your Beaver - Burns From: The Fooles Troupe Date: 18 Jul 07 - 11:47 PM Ah! Now this thread reminds me of the old song "The Widow who keeps the 'Cock Inn'" from Pills to Purge Melancholy - which I can't put my hand for the moment, if you'll pardon the expression... Didn't see it in DT... |
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Subject: RE: Cock Up Your Beaver - Burns From: masato sakurai Date: 18 Jul 07 - 11:29 PM D'Urfey's version ("To Horse, brave boys of Newmarket, to Horse) is in Songs compleat, pleasant and divertive, set to musick (1719), pp. 332-333 (with tune). |
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Subject: RE: Cock Up Your Beaver - Burns From: masato sakurai Date: 18 Jul 07 - 11:20 PM From James C. Dick's The Songs of Robert Burns (1903, p. 461): No. 277. When first my brave Johnie lad. Scots Musical Museum, 1792, No. 309., entitled Cock up your beaver. The MS., not in Burns's hand, is in the British Museum. A fragment of the old song is in Herd's Scots Songs, 1769, 314. Burns made a few alterations in the. first stanza, the second being entirely his. |
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Subject: RE: Cock Up Your Beaver - Burns From: Cluin Date: 18 Jul 07 - 10:29 PM I've got an old Derek Bell album where the last track is "Carolan's Variations on Cock Up Your Beaver". Well, I'm all for it. Variety is the spice of life, after all. |
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Subject: RE: Cock Up Your Beaver - Burns From: p.j. Date: 24 Aug 00 - 07:34 PM DougR- it seems to me that cumin would be appropriate spice, since you asked...
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Subject: RE: Cock Up Your Beaver - Burns From: GUEST,Bruce O. Date: 24 Aug 00 - 07:00 PM Harpgirl. Quite inaccurate. See Jeremy Barlow's 'The Complete Country Dance Tunes from Playford's Dancing Master', 1985, for reprint of all the tunes, and their dates and edition #, that appeared in all editions of Vol. 1 of 'The Dancing Master', 1651 - c 1728 (but that's only for Vol. 1). My file CNTYDAN1 lists all the tunes in the last edition of vol. 2 and 3, but I don't know when these tunes first appeared, and some tunes originally in volume 1 were later moved to Vol. 2. I have two facsimile reprints (separate publications) of the 1651 edition, and there's no tune in that with 'beaver' in the title. |
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Subject: RE: Cock Up Your Beaver - Burns From: DougR Date: 24 Aug 00 - 06:49 PM Wow, BillD! That sounds terrific! Now, if I can only find myself a beaver someplace. They are pretty scarce on the desert, I guess. DougR |
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Subject: RE: Cock Up Your Beaver - Burns From: harpgirl Date: 24 Aug 00 - 06:47 PM BillD...It's the brown sugar that makes them taste like chocolate... |
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Subject: RE: Cock Up Your Beaver - Burns From: Bill D Date: 24 Aug 00 - 06:42 PM DougR....beaver spicing you want?..Beaver spicing you shall have!..Barbecued Beaver |
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Subject: RE: Cock Up Your Beaver - Burns From: harpgirl Date: 24 Aug 00 - 06:37 PM Bruce , are you saying the date William Lyons gives in the Dufay Collective CD by the same name is inaccurate? I am only an expert on the vicissitudes of the silver beaver, not the musical chaps of the 17th century! |
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Subject: RE: Cock Up Your Beaver - Burns From: GUEST,Bruce O. Date: 24 Aug 00 - 06:32 PM The tune "Johnny cock thy beaver" first appeared in the Dancing Master in the 7th edition, 1686. See file CNTYDAN1 on my website. |
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Subject: RE: Cock Up Your Beaver - Burns From: harpgirl Date: 24 Aug 00 - 06:23 PM The dance tune of the same name (Cock your Beaver) can be found in John Playford's publication "The English Dancing Master (1651). Of course we realize this simply means to tip one's hat in the direction of a possible patron, "a common gesture made by a busker or a beggar." William Lyons, 1996, The Dufay Collection. They like silver beaver in these parts... |
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Subject: RE: Cock Up Your Beaver - Burns From: Peter Kasin Date: 24 Aug 00 - 03:23 AM Art Thieme, that was hilarious! You're too much! |
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Subject: RE: Cock Up Your Beaver - Burns From: MMario Date: 23 Aug 00 - 09:51 PM I haven't counted recently - but we should be about to go below 3000 |
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Subject: RE: Cock Up Your Beaver - Burns From: John in Brisbane Date: 23 Aug 00 - 07:39 PM Thanks to all for the swift and eager responses. We now have another tune for the DT where it is listed as WHEN FIRST MY JAMIE HE CAM TO THE TOWN, but as I said in the first post the DT makes no mention of Burns as lyricist.
MMario, how many more to go? Regards, John
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Subject: RE: Cock Up Your Beaver - Burns From: GUEST,Bruce O. Date: 23 Aug 00 - 06:08 PM The rest of the tunes from Mitchell's 'Highland Fair' are also on Jack Campin's website. (You can click onto it from my homepage). Burns song is in 'The Scots Musical Museum', #309, 1792. James Dick, 'The Songs of Robert Burns', p. 461, 1903, said: A fragment of the old song is in Herd's Scots Songs, 1769, 314. Burns made a few alterations in the first stanza, the second being entirely his. ............. Wm. Stenhouse in 'Illustrations to SMM' pointed out the fragment given by Herd, and printed it, and said at that time (before 1821) he had a manuscipt copy of Burns' song in Burns' handwriting. Burns two verses fit the version of the tune in SMM once through (16 measures of 6/4 time).
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Subject: RE: Cock Up Your Beaver - Burns From: DougR Date: 23 Aug 00 - 05:59 PM Willie-o: Thanks for that suggestion. I know Leena might appreciate a good recipe for baked beaver since she loves to cook. I know I would. What spices, for example, does one use to season a beaver? DougR |
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Subject: RE: Cock Up Your Beaver - Burns From: GUEST,Pedantia Snootflute Date: 23 Aug 00 - 05:35 PM My dear! If it burns, please seek medical attention immediately! You can't ignore these things, you know! |
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Subject: RE: Cock Up Your Beaver - Burns From: Willie-O Date: 23 Aug 00 - 05:27 PM Had a friend who lived on a mountainside--his trapper neighbour would sometimes leave a skinned beaver in the mailbox for him. A bowl of beaver stew is an experience worth having if you're a meat eater. It's on the gamy side--kind of rich. Like chocolate flavoured meat. But do cook up your beaver well before you try it. That's OK, don't bother to thank me for sharing that... |
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Subject: RE: Cock Up Your Beaver - Burns From: catspaw49 Date: 23 Aug 00 - 04:21 PM ME??!!?!?!?!? I did restrain myself........BUT ... I was just about to jump Art as he has now used that gawdawful pun for what I count to be the FOURTH TIME!!!! Ah well....Nothing like a good one................Fart or Art's jokes--You decide. Spaw |
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Subject: RE: Cock Up Your Beaver - Burns From: pastorpest Date: 23 Aug 00 - 04:14 PM MMario, thanks for the tune! John Barker PS And Spaw, behave yourself....sorry, stupid request. |
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Subject: RE: Cock Up Your Beaver - Burns From: GUEST,Phil Cooper Date: 23 Aug 00 - 04:11 PM I didn't realize there were words to the tune. I did find the tune in volume 3 of the Northern Tune Book and played through it because of the title. Must admit, I don't think the tune's very good. At least nothing about screamed out "learn me." |
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Subject: RE: Cock Up Your Beaver - Burns From: Art Thieme Date: 23 Aug 00 - 03:39 PM This linguistic designation/connotation goes back to the grand old song called "Who Killed Cock Robin". As I think I mentioned once before, Cock Robin's real name was Penis Rabinowitz-----but when he migrated to the U.S.A. there was a guy at Ellis Island who had a unique sense of humor. Art Thieme |
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Subject: Tune Add: JOHNNY LAD COCK UP YOUR BEAVER From: MMario Date: 23 Aug 00 - 03:27 PM X:19 T:AIR XIX. Johny, Lad, cock up your Beaver. B:Joseph Mitchell: "The Highland Fair" (1731) Z:Jack Campin M:6/4 L:1/4 K:F d/d/|ccF A>GF|GAG B2d|c2B A2G |Ffc A>Bc | dcd fcA |GAG B2f|c2B AAA/G/|Ffc A2 A | B/A/B/c/d/e/ fFA |GAG B2f|c2B A2G |Ffc A2(G/F/)|]
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Subject: RE: Cock Up Your Beaver - Burns From: MMario Date: 23 Aug 00 - 03:25 PM aw crap! I forgot my line breaks! |
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Subject: RE: Cock Up Your Beaver - Burns From: MMario Date: 23 Aug 00 - 03:18 PM X:19 T:AIR XIX. Johny, Lad, cock up your Beaver. B:Joseph Mitchell: "The Highland Fair" (1731) Z:Jack Campin |
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Subject: RE: Cock Up Your Beaver - Burns From: catspaw49 Date: 23 Aug 00 - 02:48 PM Oh is there ever a Cletus story here............. Spaw |
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Subject: Lyr Add: COCK UP YOUR BEAVER (Robert Burns) From: pastorpest Date: 23 Aug 00 - 02:21 PM Robert Burns - Cock Up Your Beaver
When first my brave Johnnie lad John Barker |
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Subject: Lyr Add: COCK UP YOUR BEAVER (trad Scotland?) From: GUEST,T in Oklahoma (Okiemockbird) Date: 23 Aug 00 - 01:45 PM David Herd, Ancient and Modern Scottish Songs, Heroic Ballads, etc. In two volumes, 1776, Vol 2, page 205: "Cock up your Beaver"
When first my dear Johny came to this town, I like this pre-Burns version. I think Burns's modification of this is good, too. T. |
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Subject: RE: Cock Up Your Beaver - Burns From: MMario Date: 23 Aug 00 - 01:40 PM nope. |
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Subject: RE: Cock Up Your Beaver - Burns From: DougR Date: 23 Aug 00 - 01:34 PM Is it possible that there is a missprint and that the title is actually, "Cook" instead of "Cock?" Just a thought. :>) DougR |
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Subject: RE: Cock Up Your Beaver - Burns From: Biskit Date: 23 Aug 00 - 12:02 PM Yeah! lets hear it for the hairy little vegetarians!-Biskit- |
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Subject: RE: Cock Up Your Beaver - Burns From: Liz the Squeak Date: 23 Aug 00 - 11:59 AM Biskit - go and wash your mind out with soap and hot water!!! Of course I wasn't thinking of anything other than male birds and semi aquatic mammals - who despite living in and around the water, don't actually eat a great deal of fish..... LTS |
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Subject: RE: Cock Up Your Beaver - Burns From: Biskit Date: 23 Aug 00 - 11:49 AM I was thinkin' it was an animal thread as well LtS though not the four legged variaty. -Biskit- |
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Subject: RE: Cock Up Your Beaver - Burns From: Skipjack K8 Date: 23 Aug 00 - 11:42 AM Despite Liz's lyric and 'Tie me Kangaroo Down', Rolf is a genuinely bloody nice bloke. I met him once, well, shouted "He's behind you" at the pantomime. Rolf does a great line in animal TV shows on UK telly, and I think he deserves a knighthood for doing the definitive version of Stairway to Heaven, with his wobble board. Seriously, I like old Rolf. He's a diamond geezer. Skipjack |
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Subject: RE: Cock Up Your Beaver - Burns From: Naemanson Date: 23 Aug 00 - 11:35 AM Is Rolf Haris still around? I remember an old Aussie TV show that aired on our PBS wherein they were taking potshots at Rolf. I had no idea who they were talking about but that skit has stuck in my mind for decades. Was "Tie Me Kangaroo Down" one of his? |
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Subject: RE: Cock Up Your Beaver - Burns From: Liz the Squeak Date: 23 Aug 00 - 11:30 AM Maybe we should post the words to 'Beastiality's best'..... what with all this Rolf Harris and animals around.... LTS |
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Subject: RE: Cock Up Your Beaver - Burns From: Skipjack K8 Date: 23 Aug 00 - 11:22 AM With cuddly Rolf Harris, eh, Liz! "Despite a brave fight, the poor little cock didn't quiet have the strength to make it throuigh the night" From a CD called 'Rolf Breaks It To You Gently', issued by DeadRinger Records.... Next series in November, Liz Skipjack |
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Subject: RE: Cock Up Your Beaver - Burns From: Liz the Squeak Date: 23 Aug 00 - 11:13 AM And there was me thinking it was an animal show..... LTS |
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Subject: RE: Cock Up Your Beaver - Burns From: Peter Kasin Date: 23 Aug 00 - 11:04 AM My post and Pastorpest's crossed - so Pastorpest has the lowdown on the Burns words to this melody. |
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Subject: RE: Cock Up Your Beaver - Burns From: Peter Kasin Date: 23 Aug 00 - 10:57 AM It's Scottish air that pre-dates Burns. Some variations on the melody are attributed to the Irish harper O'Carolan. Burns may have written words to the melody - another mudcatter might know if he did. It's one of my favorite titles - though I've yet to play it and announce the title! Can you imagine performing it and dedicating it to someone in the audience? Well, it really means "tip up your hat." -chanteyranger |
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Subject: RE: Cock Up Your Beaver - Burns From: pastorpest Date: 23 Aug 00 - 10:52 AM My copy of "The Works of Robert Burns" published by the Wordsworth Poetry Library contains Cock Up Your Beaver. The first line is "When first my brave Johnnie lad/Came to this town." According to Ian McIntyre in his carefully researched biography of Burns "Dirt & Diety" Cock Up your Beaver was included in the fourth volume of the Scots Musical Museum. I really recommend "Dirt & Diety" published by HarperCollins ISBN 0 00 215964 3 available in both hardback and paperback. Although acedemic it is a marvelous resource for those interested in Burns. |
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Subject: RE: Cock Up Your Beaver - Burns From: Skipjack K8 Date: 23 Aug 00 - 10:37 AM We can have more fun with this one than Fanny Power! Skipjack |
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Subject: Cock Up Your Beaver - Burns From: John in Brisbane Date: 23 Aug 00 - 10:31 AM Did Burns write this? My copy of 'The Songs of Scotlamd - Vol 2' Edited by Foster claims so, but the DT makes no mention of it. I was researching a missing tune for MMario when I came across it. The DT has a different name for the lyrics. Foster claims this to be penned by Burns to the Air 'Cock Up Your Beaver'. Regards, John |
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