Deppity Bob and the Hell¹s Angels, a Cajun Folk Tale.

Too Good not to share.
dave
_____________
by Matthew Schocke
I have to give a speech for toastmasters tomorrow, #1 from the
storytelling series: A Folk Tale.

I had some spare time at work today, so I went ahead and did a thorough
outline of my 7-9 minute speech. (usually, I go up with minimal notes
to improve my delivery * if I¹m smart I¹ll lose these or drop them)
This is sort of the opposite extreme of the last example.

Anyway, here is a quick and dirty outline for my folk tale speechŠ Some
of the humor in this will be lost because you aren¹t hearing my
patented Deputy Bob Voice �, but I¹m likely to crash the moment I get
home, so this is it for my entertainment production for the day!

-Matthew


Outline: Deppity Bob and the Hell¹s Angels, a Cajun Folk Tale.

During my years at LSU, I had the great fortune to encounter the living
embodiment of a Cajun ³Good Ole¹ Boy² * Bob Schorr.

Bob, or Deputy Bob as he was known was a tall, rangy lookin¹ fellah,
messy short black hair * looked like he had permanent bed head * and
sported a five o¹clock shadow by 8 am. His face looked almost,
unfinished, in some way, but it was the kind of craggy ugliness that
dogs and small children instinctively gravitate towards.

Bob did a variety of things. He was an engineer at an oil refinery,
took a few continuing ed classes at LSU, and was a volunteer deputy
sheriff in Scotlandville, LA. More about that last job later.

I met Bob through the LSU karate club, where he filled in as an
assistant instructor. He was a second-degree black belt who was much
better than his rank * he just avoided testing because he didn¹t like
the attention. ³There always enough egos in the room.²

I got very familiar with Bob¹s ways through his role in the
self-defense demos. As a public service, and to drum up interest in the
LSU Karate Club, we¹d go around to all the dormitories, especially the
girls dorms, and he give a little talk. Most of it was common sense, or
as Bob says ³Don¹t go where you don¹t belong.² But there was also a
practical demonstration. And seeing where I was the only person in the
club noticeably larger than Bob, it fell to me to be his demonstration
target. Or, as I said, practice dummy. Emphasis on the dummy. I tended
to cringe every time he came up with a new move for us to work on, but
he¹d always kinda shame me into itŠ saying his trademark ³Don¹t worry,
it¹ll be ooooh-kay!²

But it was all for a good cause, and Bob appreciated my being a good
sport as I got tossed around, knocked to the ground, pressure points
poked, and generally beat up. Bob was a great believer in Œfolks being
able ta take care a themselves¹ * he went through about $500 worth of
ammunition when he brought me and most of the karate club down to his
favorite gun range one afternoon and taught us all how to shoot. ³Cuz
everyone should know how.²

So I got to know Bob, and discovered a few things. Fact number One. Bob
didn¹t know how to tell someone ³:No² if they needed help. Fact number
Two. Fact number one got him into a lot of Œsituations¹. Fact number
Three. Fact number two led to him being able to tell some really
interesting stories.

Some of the stories were a little painful * like how he managed to get
a third degree burn on his derriere from a live steam line. It burned
him so quick it got the nerves before he could feel it.

Some of them were a little less soŠ the funniest usually involved his
time as a volunteer deputy sheriff in Scotlandville, LA. Now
Scotlandville is not exactly a tourist Mecca, if you know what I meanŠ
more like Beiruit or Baghdad. And that¹s right, I said volunteer * he
wasn¹t getting paid for this. They took out an ad in the newspaper
saying they needed Œauxilary volunteer personnel¹ so Bob signed up.
Don¹t think anyone told him that Œauxilary personnel¹ was synonymous
with Œcannon fodder¹.

Anyways, Bob is just about as racist as Martin Luther King, Jr. so he
didn¹t have any problems being paired up with BB. BB¹s real name was
Bernard, Bernard Boudreaux. So BB was his initials. It didn¹t hurt that
he was built sort of like a BB as well * dang near spherical.

Well, the locals didn¹t quite know what to make of a white man and a
black man in the same sherrif¹s car. That was a might bit unusual. That
was also quite helpful when the two of them got called in right before
a race riot got started and sort of nipped it in the bud. O¹ course BB
also regularly carried a ten-gauge pump * not a twelve gauge, the next
size up, - that looked like you could stick a coke can down the barrel.
That prolly encourage people to listen to what he and Bob had to say.
Especially when it was
³go home².

But Bob and BB got along pretty well, so ³it was all good.² Then one
week the sheriff got a rather disturbing word. The Hell¹s Angels * yes,
the original outlaw motorcycle gang, was planning to hold one of their
Œweekend gatherings¹ in Scotlandville.

NowŠ as you can imagine, things got a little tense around the
Sherriff¹s office. They didn¹t really have the manpower to deal with
things if the Angels got rowdy. The sheriff called the local Guard
unit, but they wouldn¹t deploy unless the governor signed off. That
wasn¹t going to happen until AFTER things got outta hand, so the
Scotlandville Sheriff¹s department cancelled all leaves and battened
down the hatchs.

So all the deppitys are gathered in this one room while the Sheriff
explains the situation. The gathering is going to be at the park, and
the sheriff wants everyone there to keep an eye on things. They aren¹t
to do anything to provoke them though, because they¹re going to be way
out numbered.

So Bob and BB sit through this briefing and then they get in their
squad car and head on over to the park. On the way, Bob asks BB what he
thinks of this and BB says ³I ain¹t never rode a motorcycle.² Bob looks
over at him and says. ³I can believe that.² What BB said in response to
that, I cannot repeat in this venue.

On the way over to the park, they see a beat-up looking old can parked
on the shoulder. They pull over and ask what the problem is. There¹s a
couple a¹ scraggly-looking fellers driving the van, but they were
polite enough when they said the engine just up and died on them.

Well, Bob being an engineer, he tells them to pop up the hood and
pretty soon he¹s got his depitty ball-cap turned around backwards and
he¹s elbow deep in their engine. Turns out they had a loose wire on
their distributor, so Bob plugs it back in, spits out the piece of
Juicy-Fruit he¹s been chewing and packs it around the cable to hold it
there, temporary-like.

And the fellers driving the van say they¹re meeting up with some people
a few miles away, so Bob and BB volunteer to follow them over to make
sure they make it. So they get in the patrol car and start following
the van. It¹s going kind of slow, because if you lose your electrical
system real sudden-like, your power steering gets a little funky.

So they¹re driving along, and they¹re getting closer to the park and
now they start seeing a lot of big guys in leather jackets on
motorcycles. Pretty soon they notice that a lot of motorcycles seem to
be following them. Before they know it, they are part of a procession
heading into the park. Bob didn¹t want to run over anyone, so he
decides to just ³go with the flow².

So they end up in the visitor area, parked next to the van, with a lot
of big dudes on motorcycles giving them the eye. Then the guys in the
van get out ask Bob and BB if they want a beer. They open up the back
of the van, and there¹s about eighteen to twenty coolers stacked up in
there. One of the bikers asks what¹s going on and the van driver said
³These two stopped when we broke down and fixed the engine, Duke.²
Since that van was hauling most of the beer for their little
get-together, things got a lot less tense after that.

They offered them a beer again, and Bob said he was on duty until six,
so they ended up just hanging out in the park with them for a while. BB
was a bug dude, but he still had a pretty good jumpshot.

Of course, they¹d been doing this while the Sheriff was getting nervous
and doing a radio check-in. Most of his men were already in the park,
but he couldn¹t raise Bob and BB. Now, their gun belts were getting a
little awkward, especially when you¹re playing half-court basketball,
so Bob and BB decide to lock them up in the car. Right when he gets the
door open, he hears the sheriff¹s voice coming over the radio.

³Has any unit spotted Schorr or Boudreaux?²

³Yeah, Sheriff, I see Œem.²

³You do! Great! Where the hell are they?²

³Shooting hoops with the Hell¹s Angels.² A deputy said in a disgusted
voice.

Dead silence on the radio.

Bob picks up the mike. ³Sorry sheriff, I was out of my vehicle. Did ya
need something?²

³What the hell are you two doing?²

³You said you wanted to keep an eye on things. Well, we¹re keeping a
Reeeeeaaall Clooooosssseee eye on things. It¹s cool.²

There wasn¹t much the Sheriff could say to that, though rumor has it
that he went home early that day, with instructions not to be disturbed
for anything short of civil insurrection.

Bob and BB had a beer or three after six o¹clock passed. Bob introduced
some of the bikers from out of state to the joys of using Louisiana Hot
Sauce as a barbecue glaze. (Don¹t try this at home.) All in all, a
fairly relaxing weekend was had by all.

When Bob went back to the Shell refinery on Monday, no one really
believed him when they asked how his weekend went. But I believe himŠ
after all, he was right.

Just like when he says ³Don¹t worry, it¹ll be ooooh-kaaay.²

Matthew Schocke

LOL! That's a lot funnier than the story I told for that same speech
project.

--
Joy

**Don't believe everything you think**

"Dave Gerecke" wrote in message
m.au...
Too Good not to share.
dave
_____________
by Matthew Schocke
I have to give a speech for toastmasters tomorrow, #1 from the
storytelling series: A Folk Tale.

I had some spare time at work today, so I went ahead and did a thorough
outline of my 7-9 minute speech. (usually, I go up with minimal notes
to improve my delivery * if I¹m smart I¹ll lose these or drop them)
This is sort of the opposite extreme of the last example.

Anyway, here is a quick and dirty outline for my folk tale speechS Some
of the humor in this will be lost because you aren¹t hearing my
patented Deputy Bob Voice �, but I¹m likely to crash the moment I get
home, so this is it for my entertainment production for the day!

-Matthew


Outline: Deppity Bob and the Hell¹s Angels, a Cajun Folk Tale.

During my years at LSU, I had the great fortune to encounter the living
embodiment of a Cajun ³Good Ole¹ Boy² * Bob Schorr.

Bob, or Deputy Bob as he was known was a tall, rangy lookin¹ fellah,
messy short black hair * looked like he had permanent bed head * and
sported a five o¹clock shadow by 8 am. His face looked almost,
unfinished, in some way, but it was the kind of craggy ugliness that
dogs and small children instinctively gravitate towards.

Bob did a variety of things. He was an engineer at an oil refinery,
took a few continuing ed classes at LSU, and was a volunteer deputy
sheriff in Scotlandville, LA. More about that last job later.

I met Bob through the LSU karate club, where he filled in as an
assistant instructor. He was a second-degree black belt who was much
better than his rank * he just avoided testing because he didn¹t like
the attention. ³There always enough egos in the room.²

I got very familiar with Bob¹s ways through his role in the
self-defense demos. As a public service, and to drum up interest in the
LSU Karate Club, we¹d go around to all the dormitories, especially the
girls dorms, and he give a little talk. Most of it was common sense, or
as Bob says ³Don¹t go where you don¹t belong.² But there was also a
practical demonstration. And seeing where I was the only person in the
club noticeably larger than Bob, it fell to me to be his demonstration
target. Or, as I said, practice dummy. Emphasis on the dummy. I tended
to cringe every time he came up with a new move for us to work on, but
he¹d always kinda shame me into itS saying his trademark ³Don¹t worry,
it¹ll be ooooh-kay!²

But it was all for a good cause, and Bob appreciated my being a good
sport as I got tossed around, knocked to the ground, pressure points
poked, and generally beat up. Bob was a great believer in Ofolks being
able ta take care a themselves¹ * he went through about $500 worth of
ammunition when he brought me and most of the karate club down to his
favorite gun range one afternoon and taught us all how to shoot. ³Cuz
everyone should know how.²

So I got to know Bob, and discovered a few things. Fact number One. Bob
didn¹t know how to tell someone ³:No² if they needed help. Fact number
Two. Fact number one got him into a lot of Osituations¹. Fact number
Three. Fact number two led to him being able to tell some really
interesting stories.

Some of the stories were a little painful * like how he managed to get
a third degree burn on his derriere from a live steam line. It burned
him so quick it got the nerves before he could feel it.

Some of them were a little less soS the funniest usually involved his
time as a volunteer deputy sheriff in Scotlandville, LA. Now
Scotlandville is not exactly a tourist Mecca, if you know what I meanS
more like Beiruit or Baghdad. And that¹s right, I said volunteer * he
wasn¹t getting paid for this. They took out an ad in the newspaper
saying they needed Oauxilary volunteer personnel¹ so Bob signed up.
Don¹t think anyone told him that Oauxilary personnel¹ was synonymous
with Ocannon fodder¹.

Anyways, Bob is just about as racist as Martin Luther King, Jr. so he
didn¹t have any problems being paired up with BB. BB¹s real name was
Bernard, Bernard Boudreaux. So BB was his initials. It didn¹t hurt that
he was built sort of like a BB as well * dang near spherical.

Well, the locals didn¹t quite know what to make of a white man and a
black man in the same sherrif¹s car. That was a might bit unusual. That
was also quite helpful when the two of them got called in right before
a race riot got started and sort of nipped it in the bud. O¹ course BB
also regularly carried a ten-gauge pump * not a twelve gauge, the next
size up, - that looked like you could stick a coke can down the barrel.
That prolly encourage people to listen to what he and Bob had to say.
Especially when it was
³go home².

But Bob and BB got along pretty well, so ³it was all good.² Then one
week the sheriff got a rather disturbing word. The Hell¹s Angels * yes,
the original outlaw motorcycle gang, was planning to hold one of their
Oweekend gatherings¹ in Scotlandville.

NowS as you can imagine, things got a little tense around the
Sherriff¹s office. They didn¹t really have the manpower to deal with
things if the Angels got rowdy. The sheriff called the local Guard
unit, but they wouldn¹t deploy unless the governor signed off. That
wasn¹t going to happen until AFTER things got outta hand, so the
Scotlandville Sheriff¹s department cancelled all leaves and battened
down the hatchs.

So all the deppitys are gathered in this one room while the Sheriff
explains the situation. The gathering is going to be at the park, and
the sheriff wants everyone there to keep an eye on things. They aren¹t
to do anything to provoke them though, because they¹re going to be way
out numbered.

So Bob and BB sit through this briefing and then they get in their
squad car and head on over to the park. On the way, Bob asks BB what he
thinks of this and BB says ³I ain¹t never rode a motorcycle.² Bob looks
over at him and says. ³I can believe that.² What BB said in response to
that, I cannot repeat in this venue.

On the way over to the park, they see a beat-up looking old can parked
on the shoulder. They pull over and ask what the problem is. There¹s a
couple a¹ scraggly-looking fellers driving the van, but they were
polite enough when they said the engine just up and died on them.

Well, Bob being an engineer, he tells them to pop up the hood and
pretty soon he¹s got his depitty ball-cap turned around backwards and
he¹s elbow deep in their engine. Turns out they had a loose wire on
their distributor, so Bob plugs it back in, spits out the piece of
Juicy-Fruit he¹s been chewing and packs it around the cable to hold it
there, temporary-like.

And the fellers driving the van say they¹re meeting up with some people
a few miles away, so Bob and BB volunteer to follow them over to make
sure they make it. So they get in the patrol car and start following
the van. It¹s going kind of slow, because if you lose your electrical
system real sudden-like, your power steering gets a little funky.

So they¹re driving along, and they¹re getting closer to the park and
now they start seeing a lot of big guys in leather jackets on
motorcycles. Pretty soon they notice that a lot of motorcycles seem to
be following them. Before they know it, they are part of a procession
heading into the park. Bob didn¹t want to run over anyone, so he
decides to just ³go with the flow².

So they end up in the visitor area, parked next to the van, with a lot
of big dudes on motorcycles giving them the eye. Then the guys in the
van get out ask Bob and BB if they want a beer. They open up the back
of the van, and there¹s about eighteen to twenty coolers stacked up in
there. One of the bikers asks what¹s going on and the van driver said
³These two stopped when we broke down and fixed the engine, Duke.²
Since that van was hauling most of the beer for their little
get-together, things got a lot less tense after that.

They offered them a beer again, and Bob said he was on duty until six,
so they ended up just hanging out in the park with them for a while. BB
was a bug dude, but he still had a pretty good jumpshot.

Of course, they¹d been doing this while the Sheriff was getting nervous
and doing a radio check-in. Most of his men were already in the park,
but he couldn¹t raise Bob and BB. Now, their gun belts were getting a
little awkward, especially when you¹re playing half-court basketball,
so Bob and BB decide to lock them up in the car. Right when he gets the
door open, he hears the sheriff¹s voice coming over the radio.

³Has any unit spotted Schorr or Boudreaux?²

³Yeah, Sheriff, I see Oem.²

³You do! Great! Where the hell are they?²

³Shooting hoops with the Hell¹s Angels.² A deputy said in a disgusted
voice.

Dead silence on the radio.

Bob picks up the mike. ³Sorry sheriff, I was out of my vehicle. Did ya
need something?²

³What the hell are you two doing?²

³You said you wanted to keep an eye on things. Well, we¹re keeping a
Reeeeeaaall Clooooosssseee eye on things. It¹s cool.²

There wasn¹t much the Sheriff could say to that, though rumor has it
that he went home early that day, with instructions not to be disturbed
for anything short of civil insurrection.

Bob and BB had a beer or three after six o¹clock passed. Bob introduced
some of the bikers from out of state to the joys of using Louisiana Hot
Sauce as a barbecue glaze. (Don¹t try this at home.) All in all, a
fairly relaxing weekend was had by all.

When Bob went back to the Shell refinery on Monday, no one really
believed him when they asked how his weekend went. But I believe himS
after all, he was right.

Just like when he says ³Don¹t worry, it¹ll be ooooh-kaaay.²

Matthew Schocke

Dave Gerecke @

Too Good not to share.
living embodiment of a Cajun ³Good Ole¹ Boy² * Bob Schorr.

Something is screwed up in your posting program. It's turning your
punctuation into superscripted numbers.
--
Moses Lambert PO1(SW) USN(ret)
Cliologist, Philanthropologist, Prothonotary Wibbler,
Paleoconservative, Surface Warrior Squid, Aristocidal Philosoph;
Turning the Internet over to UN Commission control is the best idea
since sliced milk