Because I got some more for y’all. Seems like these get more traffic than when we do stuff on that legislature at the Capitol, an’ I don’t understand it – it’s jokes either way; how come y’all like these more than those?

Anyway, we got t’ree fo’ y’all…

…

Boudreaux gets home from work late one night and hears a voice in his head.

The voice tells him, “Hey Boudreaux, quit ya job, sell ya house, take ya money, go to Vegas.”

Boudreaux thinks to himself “Dat’s crazy” an’ ignores the voice.

The next day when he gets home from work, the same thing happens. The voice tells him, “Quit ya job, sell ya house, take ya money, go to Vegas.”

Again Boudreaux ignores the voice, but he’s real irritated that the voice won’t go away.

Every day, day after day, for about four or three days, Boudreaux hears the same voice when he gets home from work, “Quit ya job, sell ya house, take ya money, go to Vegas.” An’ each time he hears the voice he becomes increasingly upset.

Finally, after two weeks, Boudreaux succumbs to the pressure. He does quit his job, sells his house, takes his money and heads to Vegas.

The moment he gets off the plane in Vegas, the voice tells him, “Go to Harrah’s.” So, he hops in a cab and rushes over to Harrah’s.

As soon as he sets foot in the casino, the voice tells him, “Go to the roulette table.”

Boudreaux does as he is told. When he gets to the roulette table, the voice tells him, “Put all ya money on 17.”

Nervously, Boudreaux cashes in his money for chips and then puts them all on 17. The dealer wishes Boudreaux good luck and spins the roulette wheel. Around and around the ball caroms. Boudreaux anxiously watches the ball as it slowly loses speed until finally it settles into number .. . 21.

“Damn, Boudreaux,” says the voice.

…

Bet y’all wanna know how ol’ Boudreaux made it up to heaven. There’s a good story about dat.

Poor ole Boudreaux up and died one day. St. Peter greeted him at the Pearly Gates an’ as it turns out he had him a Cajun accent.

“Welcome to Heaven, dere Boudreaux!” said St. Peter.

“Mais, t’ank ya, cher!” responded Boudreaux.

St. Peter explained to ole Boudreaux that there was one stipulation before he was allowed through the gates of Heaven….he had to answer one question and get it right. Boudreaux scratched his head and said, “Mais, ok, cher. What dat be?”

St. Peter asked, “What is God’s first name?”

Boudreaux answers, “Aw, cher, dat be easy, it’s Howard.”

St. Peter laughed. “HOWARD?” he asked. “May I ask you, Boudreaux, how’d you come up with that name?”

Boudreaux, smiling proudly, says “Man, yeah, it’s in dat Lord’s Prayer…..Our Fadda who art in Heavin, HOWARD be dy name.”

St. Peter, after a moment of pause, answered thoughtfully, “I can’t argue with that one, Boudreaux! Come on in!”

…

Dere was de time Boudreaux was a state trooper, an’ he came across Thibodeaux as he was drivin’ his pickup on de levee.

Real fast. Too fast. Boudreaux said “Imma hafta pull him over an’ give him a ticket.”

So Boudreaux put his lights on an’ gave Thibodeaux chase, but instead of pullin’ over Thibodeaux just kept going faster and faster. He wouldn’t stop or slow down, an’ Boudreaux thought he was gonna have to call in some backup – except it was on the levee an’ not the highway, so he couldn’t have somebody set up a road-block.

After about twenty miles, jus’ when Boudreaux was about to start shootin’ at his tires Thibodeaux ran out of gas, and had to stop.

The trooper jumped out of his car yelling at Emile, “What de hell, couyon? How come you don’t stop when I try to pull you ova? I know you saw me!”

Thibodeaux said “Well, officer, I’m truly sorry for dat. But you see, a few years ago my wife, Marie, she ran off wid a state trooper, and when I saw you, I thought you was him tryin’ to bring her back.

“Dat’s why I wanted to get away so fas’!”