My Inner Bogan

-----------oOo-----------

For Funny Friday yesterday I posted a number of jokes about country and western music and about C & W fans.

Byter Tim B, who hails from the home of country, the U S of A, sent me the following email:

Morning Otto, Good post today.  I love country and western music and oddly enough I have all my teeth, but my favorite C&W song is “I’ll Get You, You Bugger You” by Snotty Jones and his Nine Nosepickers. The lady loved C&W music so much she had a picture of Garth Brooks tattooed on the inside of one thigh and Conway on the other side.  Saturday night at the VFW dance, and for those of you who don’t know what the VFW is, it is a bastion of Hillary Clinton’s deplorables who are veterans ,love their country, and C&W music, she was picked up by Otis who was extremely drunk.  As they were making love, she asked Otis if he recognized the faces of the tattoos. Otis said I don’t know who that is on the right or left, but the one in the middle is Willie Nelson. Have a great weekend Otto, think I’ll go get my geetar and learn some of those songs for my next gig. Tim

Thanks, Tim

Here’s a pic of Willie to add visual impact to Tim’s item . . .

I confess that I have an inner bogan that likes some C & W, including, yes, I will admit it . . . Achy Breaky Heart.  

Country music is unique in that apart from being musical, the songs usually contain a story with beginning, middle and end as well as a moral and life lesson.  Think songs such as:

Coward of the County (“Sometimes you gotta fight when you’re a man”)

The Gambler (“You got to know when to hold 'em, Know when to fold 'em . . .”)

Achy Breaky Heart (“You can tell your ma I moved to Arkansas, You can tell your dog to bite my leg, Or tell your brother Cliff whose fist can tell my lip. He never really liked me anyway”)

Jolene (“And you could have your choice of men, But I could never love again Cause he's the only one for me, Jolene”)

The Night the Lights Went Out in Georgia (“… his cheating wife had never left town. That's one body that'll never be found. You see little sister doesn't miss when she aims her gun”)

I also confess that my inner bogan prefers the bush poetry of Banjo Patterson and Henry Lawson over inscrutable avant garde works,  I like the narrative poetry of Robert Service and even like Edgar A Guest, despite Dorothy Parker's poetic comment that:

"I'd rather fail my Wassermann test

Than read a poem by Edgar A. Guest."

So today I am posting a poem by Kev Gillett, not up with The Banjo and Lawson but worth reading.  Some more poems of such ilk in the future.

-----------oOo-----------

Some Bush Poetry

-        Kev Gillett

WE pensioned off old Blue, our dog

when old age got him down

We sent him for company

to old Grandma in the town

But while Granny was elated

Blue still craved the great out doors

and he would roam the town exploring

while old granny did the chores

So, it was this Sunday morning

Blue was fossicking about

through the paddocks near the township

on his normal daily scout

When a canine gourmet odour

overpowered his sense of smell

though his eyesight had diminished

his old sniffer still worked well

And the sense of his excitement

was reposed down by the creek

where a sheep had met his maker

for the best part of a week

For its woolly corpse was spreading

and the air was far from fresh

from this rancid flyblown carcass

with its seething greenish flesh

It was a dogs idea of heaven

and old Blue, he rubbed and rolled

till he ponged just like the sheep did

and with ecstasy extolled

Then an idea formed within him

as he gave a gentle tug

and he found the carcass followed

like a matted lumpy rug

He would take it home for later

it should last a week or two

if he stored it in his kennel

he could keep his prize from view

So he gripped the carcass firmly

proudly into town he went

but his load proved fairly heavy

and old Blues energy soon spent

And the only shade on offer

was the building with the bell

and he dragged his prize towards

with its flies and feral smell

Then the dog and sheep both rested

in the front porch of the church

old Blue looked up the gangway

at the parson on his perch

He was revving up the faithful

to repent to save their worth

and said Satan was the culprit

for all the rotten things on earth

And he roared of fire and brimstone

and redemption for the throng

up the aisle came Satan’s presence

in this godforsaken pong

And they all cried “Hallelujah”

and they fell as one to pray

but by now old Blue was rested

and he hadn’t time to stay

He proceeded up the roadway

with the woolly corpse in tow

with a shortcut through the nursing home

the quickest way to go

Where the matron, in a panic

counted heads in mortal fright

with a smell like that they’d surely lost

a patient through the night

And the members at the bowls club

lowered all their flags half mast

doffed their hats in silence

for the funeral going past

But old Blue lugged his prize on homewards

travelling past the bowling club

till he took a breather under

the veranda of the pub

There old boozing Bill was resting

sleeping off the night before

to wait the Sunday session

when they opened up the door

When the stench awoke his slumber

which was highly on the nose

and he thought his pickled body

had begun to decompose

And he missed the Sunday session

when he ran home to his wife

to proclaim the shock announcement

he was off the booze for life

Meanwhile Blue could see Gran’s gateway

at the far end of the street

so he started up the pavement

with his ripe and tasty treat

But there was movement in the backstreets

as the town dogs sniffed in deep

they broke chains and climbed high fences

for a piece of Blue’s dead sheep

And Blue felt the road vibrating

from the stamp of canine feet

as this pack of thirty mongrels

came advancing up the street

But he wasn’t into sharing

so he sought a quick escape

and he spied a nearby building

with a door that stood agape

Through this door he sought asylum

but his presence caused a shriek

for he’d chosen the local deli

that was run by Nick the Greek

And Blue shot beneath a table

where the sheep and he could hide

but the dog pack was relentless

and they followed him inside

Now the table Blue had chosen

was a double booked mistake

with the law enforcement sergeant

sipping coffee on his break

And the sergeant sat bolt upright

with a dog between his feet

and his eyes began to water

from the dead decaying meat

Then the sarge leapt up in horror

but in his haste he slipped and fell

falling down amongst Blue’s mutton

with it’s all embracing smell

And he lay somewhat bewildered

in the gore, flat on his back

when the mongrel pack descended

in a frenzied dog attack

With first thought self- preservation

from the rows of teeth he faced

the sarge fumbled for his pistol

in it’s holster at his waist

There were muffled bangs and yelping

as random shots rang out

and the whine of bouncing bullets

off the brickwork all about

As he blasted in a panic

from beneath the blood and gore

a front window and the drink fridge

were both added to the score

And the cappuccino maker

copped a mortal wound and died

hissing steam, it levitated

falling frothing on it’s side

And Nick the Greek, the owner

grabbed a shotgun in his fright

blasting into the confusion

of the frantic canine fight

At short range it wasn’t pretty

dogs were plastered on the wall

there was laminex in splinters

clouds of dog hair covered all

Then the smoke detector whistled

with the gunsmoke in the air

which set off the sprinkler system

and a siren gave a blare

And the echoes still were ringing

when beneath the dying heap

there emerged old Blue, still dragging

at the remnants of his sheep

It’s head was gone and several legs

but it hadn’t lost it’s smell

in the armistice that followed

Blue decided not to dwell

He leapt the fence at Grandma’s

for his feet had sprouted wings

pure adrenalin propelled him

fleeing dogs and guns and things

Now old Gran had influenza

and had lost her sense of smell

with Blues sheep in the garden

that was probably just as well

And she looked out from her front fence

at the town in disarray

at the ambulance, police cars

and you guessed it, the RSPCA

Then the fire brigade rushed past her

flashing lights of rosy hue

and she hugged the old dog tightly

he’d protect her would old Blue

You just stay here like a good dog

Grandma told him with a frown

“cause you’ve no idea the trouble

you can get into in town”