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dovil also requested, Spike and Angel getting married and living happily ever after and raising toy poodles. I really wanted to do something with that. However, since it's taken me most of the day to write the damn Scooby story, I pawned that idea off on uberaeryn.
I will be happy to explain any southern-isms to my non-American, non-southern, okay, non-pissant town Oklahoman friends, but I thought this was freakin' funny.
"Shanshud Happily Ever After" byuberaeryn
“Shanshued Happily Ever After”
byuberaeryn
“Lee! LEE! Oh, Li-UHM!”
The familiar high-pitched shriek startled Lee, and he got to his feet, carrying a Wal-Marts sack full of fresh picked poke salad.
“What in tarnation are you yellin’ about, mother?” Lee walked slowly, limping slightly, from around the back of the teetering old tool shed, followed by a large and vicious mob of about 527 tiny, tiny toy poodles.
Willa sighed and shook his head affectionately. “Silly ol’ man, you’re just as deaf as can be.”
“What?” Lee barked as he made his way toward the back porch, ignoring the poodle that had latched on to the crotch of his overalls and the two that were hanging off of his ass.
“Never mind, hun, I just wanted you to run into town to get a few things,” Willa said, smiling his most simpering smile and fluttering his eyelashes and swishing his skirts and holding his favorite poodle, Bossy, in the crook of his right arm. Bossy snarled at Lee and tried to kill him by ripping out his throat, but Lee was used to this by now and caught Bossy by the scruff of the neck and tossed her back into Willa’s waiting arms.
“Damned dog, no wonder I cain’t never get laid,” Lee grumbled and Willa laughed coyly and handed him a list. Lee peered at it closely. “Cain’t read this, Willa.”
“I need food coloring, shug, all the food coloring they have down at the feed store. And if they ain’t got it there you’ll have to run to the Wal-Marts over in Poteau.”
“I hate the dadblamed Wal-Marts!”
“I know, hun, but while you’re gone I’ll cook up that poke salad real good.” Willa patted Lee on the arm soothingly while Bossy tried to rip his hand off.
“With scrambled eggs?” Lee said hopefully.
“Of course, however else would you make poke salad? I’ll fry up some Spam, too, and we’ll have sweet tea. Oh, and Lee, you got a poodle on your dick.”
“That poodle’s been there three days, you just now noticin’? No wonder I cain’t never get laid.”
“Watch your mouth, you dirty ol’ man, and I don’t know why you’re fussin’, you’ve got to go get your Viagry, you know that. Now get on outta here. I need that food colorin’ somethin’ fierce.”
Lee grumbled and waddled out to his beat up 1976 Chevy pickup truck, opened the door by untying the baling wire that was keeping it closed, shoved 153 more poodles out of the way and slid in, doing his damnedest to ram the dick poodle up against the steering wheel as he started the truck. It growled and hung on. The poodle, not the truck. The truck putted and backfired and finally caught.
Lee sighed. That poke salad better be good, he thought. He hated that goddamned Wal-Marts.
***
Two days later Lee came in from the hayfield, sweatin’ like a pig, and looked around, stunned. In his living room were over a million toy poodles, each of which hated him and tried to kill him whenever they got the chance, and they were particularly pissed today because each of them were now dyed just about every color of the rainbow. They all glared at Lee and snarled and lifted up their upper poodle lips.
“What’re you lookin’ at me fer? This ain’t my fault! WILLA!” he bellowed.
“What, hun?” came the lilting voice of Willa from the kitchen.
“WHAT IN THE HELL HAVE YOU DONE TO THESE DAMNED DOGS??”
“Why, I dyed them, of course.”
“Well, I can see that, but why?”
“Easter!”
“Easter?”
“I thought it would be just so pretty to color ‘em up like this and take ‘em down to church tomorrow for dinner on the grounds.”
“We’re goin’ to church? And celebratin’ Easter?”
“Why, of course! Jesus loves us now that we’re human and not vampires anymore and have repented of our sins. Why, we’re washed in the blood! Of the Lamb, I mean, not that other blood we used to be washed in all the time.” Willa made a moue and shook his head in disgust and started humming Nothing But the Blood.
“Harrumph,” grumbled Lee. “Well, what about . . . you know . . . that other thing? What does Jesus think about that?”
“What other thing, hun?”
Lee rolled his eyes and flopped his wrist around in the international sign for ‘queer as a three dollar bill.’”
“Oh, that. Jesus doesn’t care about that, not when George Bush the Fourth is in the White House.”
Lee sighed. “Hope you’re right. Hate to hafta go to hell after all this redemption and crap.”
“No, hun, no! Not us! We’re Southern Baptists and once saved, always saved! Praise Jesus!”
Lee took off his hat and held in front of his heart. “Amen,” he mumbled.
Willa gasped suddenly. “Oh, dear Lord! Lee, where’s Bossy? Have you seen Bossy?”
“Nope.”
“Lee, she’s in heat! We let her out and one of the Macons’ coon hounds’ll be on her like a duck on a june bug! Lee, we gotta find her!” Willa shrieked and ran callin’ “WILDFIRE!” Oops, no wait. That’s a song. Which Lee really liked, by the way, but that’s neither here nor there.
“BOSSY! BOSSY! BOSSY BOSSY BOSSY OH MY DEAR LORD IN HEAVEN LEE GET OUT HERE RIGHT NOW!!”
Lee hurried as fast he could and found Willa in a semi-faint on the front porch, hanky flailing in the air. “Lee, get her!”
Lee looked up to see Bossy’s ass gettin’ tapped by one of the Macons’ coon hounds. He sighed and yelled and threw rocks but it was too late. By the time he reached her Bossy was knocked up and grinning like a loon.
Lee picked her up and carried her back to Willa, who was sobbing on the front steps. “Oh, Lee! She’s been . . .” Willa looked around to make sure no one was listening, even though their nearest neighbor was 1.24 miles away. “She’s been defiled!” Willa hissed. “Violated! Unpure, unclean, half-breed bastard pups, oh, God, Lee, no poodle in his right mind is ever gonna want her now, oh, I could just kill those darned Macons, lettin’ them dogs run all over the countryside and now my poor Bossy . . .”
“Now, there, there, Willa,” Lee said, patting Willa’s arm. “Once she has this litter of pups I’ll put ‘em in a bag with some rocks and throw ‘em in the pond and no one will ever know. Then we’ll breed her back to her sire. Always bring ‘em back to the sire, remember? Makes you pure, clean. ‘Member?”
“Oh, Lee, of course I remember!” Willa smiled with trembling lips. “Lee, did you get your Viagry when you went to town?”
“Sure as hell did,” Lee grinned.
And so Lee got laid and the half-breed pups got away and didn’t get thrown in the pond and Bossy eventually placed at Westminster and when Willa and Lee died, a long time later, Jesus greeted them with open arms and they didn’t go to hell, although they did get a stern talking-to.
End
A/N: For those of you not familiar with southeastern Oklahoma, er, that is, all of you, Spike and Angel are living out their golden years in Wilburton, Oklahoma, the southeastern capital of Meat Science and Forestry. And, evidentally, poodle miscegenation.
dovil also requested, Spike and Angel getting married and living happily ever after and raising toy poodles. I really wanted to do something with that. However, since it's taken me most of the day to write the damn Scooby story, I pawned that idea off on uberaeryn. I will be happy to explain any southern-isms to my non-American, non-southern, okay, non-pissant town Oklahoman friends, but I thought this was freakin' funny.
"Shanshud Happily Ever After" by
uberaeryn“Shanshued Happily Ever After”
by
uberaeryn“Lee! LEE! Oh, Li-UHM!”
The familiar high-pitched shriek startled Lee, and he got to his feet, carrying a Wal-Marts sack full of fresh picked poke salad.
“What in tarnation are you yellin’ about, mother?” Lee walked slowly, limping slightly, from around the back of the teetering old tool shed, followed by a large and vicious mob of about 527 tiny, tiny toy poodles.
Willa sighed and shook his head affectionately. “Silly ol’ man, you’re just as deaf as can be.”
“What?” Lee barked as he made his way toward the back porch, ignoring the poodle that had latched on to the crotch of his overalls and the two that were hanging off of his ass.
“Never mind, hun, I just wanted you to run into town to get a few things,” Willa said, smiling his most simpering smile and fluttering his eyelashes and swishing his skirts and holding his favorite poodle, Bossy, in the crook of his right arm. Bossy snarled at Lee and tried to kill him by ripping out his throat, but Lee was used to this by now and caught Bossy by the scruff of the neck and tossed her back into Willa’s waiting arms.
“Damned dog, no wonder I cain’t never get laid,” Lee grumbled and Willa laughed coyly and handed him a list. Lee peered at it closely. “Cain’t read this, Willa.”
“I need food coloring, shug, all the food coloring they have down at the feed store. And if they ain’t got it there you’ll have to run to the Wal-Marts over in Poteau.”
“I hate the dadblamed Wal-Marts!”
“I know, hun, but while you’re gone I’ll cook up that poke salad real good.” Willa patted Lee on the arm soothingly while Bossy tried to rip his hand off.
“With scrambled eggs?” Lee said hopefully.
“Of course, however else would you make poke salad? I’ll fry up some Spam, too, and we’ll have sweet tea. Oh, and Lee, you got a poodle on your dick.”
“That poodle’s been there three days, you just now noticin’? No wonder I cain’t never get laid.”
“Watch your mouth, you dirty ol’ man, and I don’t know why you’re fussin’, you’ve got to go get your Viagry, you know that. Now get on outta here. I need that food colorin’ somethin’ fierce.”
Lee grumbled and waddled out to his beat up 1976 Chevy pickup truck, opened the door by untying the baling wire that was keeping it closed, shoved 153 more poodles out of the way and slid in, doing his damnedest to ram the dick poodle up against the steering wheel as he started the truck. It growled and hung on. The poodle, not the truck. The truck putted and backfired and finally caught.
Lee sighed. That poke salad better be good, he thought. He hated that goddamned Wal-Marts.
***
Two days later Lee came in from the hayfield, sweatin’ like a pig, and looked around, stunned. In his living room were over a million toy poodles, each of which hated him and tried to kill him whenever they got the chance, and they were particularly pissed today because each of them were now dyed just about every color of the rainbow. They all glared at Lee and snarled and lifted up their upper poodle lips.
“What’re you lookin’ at me fer? This ain’t my fault! WILLA!” he bellowed.
“What, hun?” came the lilting voice of Willa from the kitchen.
“WHAT IN THE HELL HAVE YOU DONE TO THESE DAMNED DOGS??”
“Why, I dyed them, of course.”
“Well, I can see that, but why?”
“Easter!”
“Easter?”
“I thought it would be just so pretty to color ‘em up like this and take ‘em down to church tomorrow for dinner on the grounds.”
“We’re goin’ to church? And celebratin’ Easter?”
“Why, of course! Jesus loves us now that we’re human and not vampires anymore and have repented of our sins. Why, we’re washed in the blood! Of the Lamb, I mean, not that other blood we used to be washed in all the time.” Willa made a moue and shook his head in disgust and started humming Nothing But the Blood.
“Harrumph,” grumbled Lee. “Well, what about . . . you know . . . that other thing? What does Jesus think about that?”
“What other thing, hun?”
Lee rolled his eyes and flopped his wrist around in the international sign for ‘queer as a three dollar bill.’”
“Oh, that. Jesus doesn’t care about that, not when George Bush the Fourth is in the White House.”
Lee sighed. “Hope you’re right. Hate to hafta go to hell after all this redemption and crap.”
“No, hun, no! Not us! We’re Southern Baptists and once saved, always saved! Praise Jesus!”
Lee took off his hat and held in front of his heart. “Amen,” he mumbled.
Willa gasped suddenly. “Oh, dear Lord! Lee, where’s Bossy? Have you seen Bossy?”
“Nope.”
“Lee, she’s in heat! We let her out and one of the Macons’ coon hounds’ll be on her like a duck on a june bug! Lee, we gotta find her!” Willa shrieked and ran callin’ “WILDFIRE!” Oops, no wait. That’s a song. Which Lee really liked, by the way, but that’s neither here nor there.
“BOSSY! BOSSY! BOSSY BOSSY BOSSY OH MY DEAR LORD IN HEAVEN LEE GET OUT HERE RIGHT NOW!!”
Lee hurried as fast he could and found Willa in a semi-faint on the front porch, hanky flailing in the air. “Lee, get her!”
Lee looked up to see Bossy’s ass gettin’ tapped by one of the Macons’ coon hounds. He sighed and yelled and threw rocks but it was too late. By the time he reached her Bossy was knocked up and grinning like a loon.
Lee picked her up and carried her back to Willa, who was sobbing on the front steps. “Oh, Lee! She’s been . . .” Willa looked around to make sure no one was listening, even though their nearest neighbor was 1.24 miles away. “She’s been defiled!” Willa hissed. “Violated! Unpure, unclean, half-breed bastard pups, oh, God, Lee, no poodle in his right mind is ever gonna want her now, oh, I could just kill those darned Macons, lettin’ them dogs run all over the countryside and now my poor Bossy . . .”
“Now, there, there, Willa,” Lee said, patting Willa’s arm. “Once she has this litter of pups I’ll put ‘em in a bag with some rocks and throw ‘em in the pond and no one will ever know. Then we’ll breed her back to her sire. Always bring ‘em back to the sire, remember? Makes you pure, clean. ‘Member?”
“Oh, Lee, of course I remember!” Willa smiled with trembling lips. “Lee, did you get your Viagry when you went to town?”
“Sure as hell did,” Lee grinned.
And so Lee got laid and the half-breed pups got away and didn’t get thrown in the pond and Bossy eventually placed at Westminster and when Willa and Lee died, a long time later, Jesus greeted them with open arms and they didn’t go to hell, although they did get a stern talking-to.
End
A/N: For those of you not familiar with southeastern Oklahoma, er, that is, all of you, Spike and Angel are living out their golden years in Wilburton, Oklahoma, the southeastern capital of Meat Science and Forestry. And, evidentally, poodle miscegenation.
