Pardon My French

Pardon my French or rather my lack of. While you’re at it please pardon my inability to speak any language that doesn’t include ain’t and y’all. I’m a Hick. There, I’ve said it.

I have at times been mistakenly called a hillbilly but that is not the correct terminology. For the record I am not a hillbilly. The only hills in my neck of the woods are inhabited by moles. I, sir or madam am a Hick. A Hick from the sticks, residing in a rural wooded area shared with other uncouth creatures and Hick type peoples. I do not live in a mobile home but would like to when I get rich.

I am however a worldly Hick.  My electronic travels have taken me places I never knew existed, far beyond the bounds of a barbed wire fence. I converse with all sorts of people from different creeds, castes and cultures made possible by use of a translator tool. I am getting quite an education.

I speak Hick and a little bit of French. You see around here we say “pardon my French” in conjunction with cursing. It is a built in irrevocable vindication. Calling it French makes it completely pardonable, e.g.  “He is a lousy son of a bitch, pardon my French.”

I think the translator tool is an awesome invention but sometimes what one intends to convey gets a tad bit distorted in the conversion. (Note: English is the closest dialect to Hick currently available)

Here is an example of how the aforementioned statement describing a worthless man can get misconstrued in a non- Hick translation.

From English to French “iI est un fils de pute moche”

From French back to English “He is a son of a ugly bitch”

No, no, no! Calling him a ‘lousy son of a bitch’ was about him. Calling him ‘a son of a ugly bitch’ directs the insult to his mother. (Whom you may happen to like very much)

I suppose calling someone a son of a bitch is technically an insult to their mother regardless, but calling her ugly just seems too rude.

Linguistics. Now that is some interesting sh*t.  Pardon my French.

Crazy Conversations (The Diner)

Cotton, peas, your friends, your seat, your nose… There are a lot of things you can pick. Family isn’t one of them. Disclaimer: Life is crazy, people are crazier and my family… well they get the crazy award if there is one. This is a work of ‘true fiction’ inspired by family. The names have been changed to protect the guilty. CAUTION: They cuss.


Milwaukee Road diner car interior

Teddy: Let’s hurry and order. I’m having my hair colored in an hour.

Beth: Are you kidding? You look fabulous with gray hair Teddy. Don’t you dare dye it! You’re one of the rare few who can gray naturally and look so good. It’s beautiful dear, be proud of it – you can’t get that color in a bottle you know.

Gene: You can’t get shit in a bottle either.

Beth: Did you just say your wife’s hair looks like shit Gene?

Gene: No, I said you can’t get shit in a bottle. That’s all I said.

Beth: Sure you can. Of course you can. You can get shit in a bottle, can’t you Teddy?

Teddy: I think I’ll have a double martini.

Gene: No you can’t. Well maybe you could put it in there yourself if you wanted to but you can not buy it.

Beth: I know darn well you can. You can buy anything you want in a bottle. You can buy deer and coyote urine… I imagine you could buy duck pee if the urge struck you.

Gene: Yeah but you can’t buy shit Beth and you know that’s the truth!

Beth: Baloney! That is not the truth. And what do you know about the truth you dumb son of a bitch.

Gene: Come now, you’re being ridiculous. You surely know you can’t buy a container of feces.

Beth: Don’t you speak condescending to me you lying little maggot. I’ll buy you a bottle of shit just to prove it can be done.

Gene: Why would I want a bottle of shit?

Beth: How would I know? You’re a pervert – what you do with it is your business.

Gene: I don’t want to do anything with it.

Beth: Then what do you want it for? Just so you can say you have a bottle of shit in your pantry? That’s crazy.

Gene: I’m not crazy and I do not appreciate your wisecrack. I’m on an antidepressant Beth, I am not insane.

Beth: Oh really? How many other people do you know that want a bottle of shit in their kitchen cupboard?

Gene: I don’t want a bottle of shit!

Beth: My heavens man then tell me what is it that you want?

Gene:  I don’t want anything.

Teddy: Are you sure dear? I think I’ll have the chowder.