We Don’t Know What Half These Words Mean But We Love All Of Them

Driving a truck, I park in a little town on the eastern plains and go into a bar and grill for something to eat. The place has a crowd but isn’t crowded. At one table are a couple of young fellows who have obviously been there too long and drunk too much, and they are getting loud and boisterous. It looks like things could get ugly.

The woman behind the bar, the biggest person in the room, comes over to them and speaks to them in a voice that carries across the place.

Bartender: “Hey! The whole place has been listening to your wonderful exploits, but I want to tell you that the same rules apply here as at the rodeo: you can ride the bull for eight seconds, and after that, it’s time to get off. As far as steer rasslin’ [wrestling], I suspect that the biggest beef you’ve rassled is that tiny calf you let out to water, the one the goat-ropers [cowgirls] would laugh at. So, you boys SHUT UP, DRINK UP, PAY UP, AND GET OUT, before I rope, throw, and brand ya!”

Amidst the laughter in the room, the two fellows dug deep, threw money on the table, and were out of the door.

Nice place. I’ll be back.