ever wanted to learnhow to speak “boomhauer-ese” (which is my term for hismumbing)? well, the trick is to say what you’re trying to say, butrepeated throw in the phrases “talkin’ ” and “dangol'”, and end it with “man”. which is how you cantranslate his story.
reviews wanted, flamesnot. enjoy!
“All right, that’sit.” Dale aimed carefully and squeezed the trigger, sending abullet in the direction of seemingly nothing.
“The governmentthinks they can send mosquitoes equipped with microscopic spy camerasto keep twenty-four-seven surveillance on me,” he said proudly,mocking the government that in all honesty didn’t give a hangabout him. “Well they’re wrong.”
“Dammit, Dale,”Hank sighed. “Don’t waste our ammo.”
“You wouldn’t thinkit’s such a waste if the FBI came to drag me off for knowing toomuch. I take out their trained spy bugs, and they have nothing onme.”
Hank shrugged–it waspointless to be the voice of reason when Dale was so obviously deafto it–and went back to trying to de-tangle the fishing lines, whichhad knotted about three of the fishing poles together. He shouldnever have left it up to Bill to put the camping gear in the truck.By merely laying them in there, he’d managed to hopelessly entanglethem.
Then again, leavinganything up to Bill was a bad idea. Including starting thecampfire.
“Come on… comeon… D’oh, why can’t I start a fire?” Bill laid the sticksaside and hung his head in shame at his own stupidity.
“Dang, man, talkin’..try usin’ dang ol’ matches, man,” Boomhauer advised.
“That’s a good idea.Say, toss me that matchbook on the log beside you, Boomhauer.”
The matchbook sailedthrough the air in a perfect arc, and Bill backed up a couple ofsteps to catch it.
Thus tripping over theedge of the fire pit and falling backwords into the wood.
“Ow! Splinters!”Bill ran circles around the fire pit a few times in a blind panic,before slipping and falling back into the pile of wood. Weakly heheld up the matchbook. “Found ’em.”
Bobby and Joseph sat onthe log adjascent to Boomhauer’s, bearing witness to this withouteven a slight stirring of amusement. They’d become immune to Bill’sstupidity
“I’m bored,”Bobby complained.
“Yeah, me too,”Joseph added.
“Tell you what, man,tell ya ’bout, talkin’, tale of the golden arm.”
“I never heard thatone before,” Bobby said, nudging Joseph. “Have you?”
“No. Tell us.”
Boomhauer cleared histhroat, which wasn’t all that necessary, since the boys onlyunderstood about half of his incoherent mumbling anyway.
“Tell you what, ‘slike this. Was this man, was lookin’ for this treasure. Looked,talkin’, maybe twenty years.
“Then he looked inthis ol’ dark cave one night, tell ya, an’ found him that treasurechest, sittin’, man, right there on the dang ol’ floor o’ the cave.
“An’ he hears thisnoise, man, talkin’ looks up an’ there’s this dang ol’ huge grizzlybear. Talkin’, bear rips off his arm, ‘fore he shoots it an’ dragsoff the treasure.
“Talkin’, now theguy’s rich, an’ he buys him a dang ol’ golden arm. Then he dies, man,an’ night ‘fore he gets buried, dang ol’ grave-digger steals it and,talkin’ starts walkin’ home.
“An’ all the wayhome, he hears this voice, right. ‘Whoooo stole my golden arm.Whoooo stole my dang’ ol golden arm?’
“‘Whooooooo stolemy golden arm, man?’ An’ then, right by his dang ol’ ear, says realloud, man,
“IT WAS YOU, man!”
Startled, Bobby fellbackwards off the log.
Weakly, as he struggled toget his clearly overweight self back onto the log, he said, “Thatwas a great story.”
“Yeah,” Josephagreed. “I bet it would be even scarier if I knew what he wassaying.”