…so here you go.

After all, we don’t have enough to laugh about these days.

Boudreaux, him, he done got de cancer. And dying in his bed, sufferin’ dem agonies of impending death, Boudreaux all of de sudden smelled him the aroma of his favorite beignets wafting up the stairs.

He gathered his remaining strength, and lifted himself up off dat bed.

Grippin’ dat railing with both hands, he crawled downstairs.

An’ when Boudreaux done reach de bottom of dem stairs, he leaned against de door frame, gazing into dat kitchen, where if not for death’s agony, he would have thought himself already in heaven, for there, spread out upon waxed paper on the kitchen table were hundreds of his favorite beignets.

“I mus’ already be in heaven, me,” Boudreaux said to himself. “Or is dis one final act of love from Clotile, ma wife of sixty years, seein’ to it dat I leave de world a happy man?”

He threw himself towards the table, landing on his knees in a crumpled posture.

Boudreaux’s parched lips parted, de wondrous taste of the beignets already in his mouth.

With a trembling hand he reached up to dat edge of de table, when suddenly he got smacked wit’ a wooden spoon by his wife.

“Stop” she said. “Those are for the funeral.”

Clotile, she mean. How mean? Well…

The judge asked Clotile, “Why did you throw a pot of geraniums at Boudreaux the plaintiff?”

“Mais, ya’honor, de newspaper tole me to do it.”

The judge said, “Are you serious?”

“Yep,” Clotile said. “De ad said, ‘Say it wid flowers.’ So I did.”

It’s not like Boudreaux doesn’t have his own mean streak. Take the time when he was a traffic cop in Delcambre…

A lawyer from New York runs a stop sign in Cajun country and gets pulled over by Officer Boudreaux from the Delcambre po-lice.

The New Yorker thinks that he is smarter than the cop – because, of course, he’s a Manhattan lawyer with an Ivy League degree. He decides to prove this to himself and have some fun at Boudreaux’s expense!

Boudreaux says, License and registration, please.”

The New Yorker says, “What for?”

Boudreaux. The Cajun cop says, “Ya didn’t come to a complete stop at de stop sign.”

Manhattan says, “I slowed down, and no one was coming.”

Boudreaux says, “Ya still didn’t come to a complete stop. License and registration, please.”

“What’s the difference?”

Boudreaux tole him, “The difference is, ya haven’t come to complete stop, Dat’s de law. License and registration, please!”

The Lawyer says, “If you can show me the legal difference between slow down and stop, I’ll give you my license and registration and you give me the ticket. If not, you let me go and don’t give me the ticket.”

Boudreaux says, “Mais dat sounds good to me. Get out of your vehicle, sir.”

So he does.

Boudreaux takes out his baton and starts beating the stuffing out of the lawyer and says, “Ya want me to stop, or just slow down?”