ever wanted to learn how to speak "boomhauer-ese" (which is my term for his mumbing)? well, the trick is to say what you're trying to say, but repeated throw in the phrases "talkin' " and "dang ol'", and end it with "man". which is how you can translate his story.
reviews wanted, flames not. enjoy!
"All right, that's it." Dale aimed carefully and squeezed the trigger, sending a bullet in the direction of seemingly nothing.
"The government thinks they can send mosquitoes equipped with microscopic spy cameras to keep twenty-four-seven surveillance on me," he said proudly, mocking the government that in all honesty didn't give a hang about him. "Well they're wrong."
"Dammit, Dale," Hank sighed. "Don't waste our ammo."
"You wouldn't think it's such a waste if the FBI came to drag me off for knowing too much. I take out their trained spy bugs, and they have nothing on me."
Hank shrugged--it was pointless to be the voice of reason when Dale was so obviously deaf to it--and went back to trying to de-tangle the fishing lines, which had knotted about three of the fishing poles together. He should never have left it up to Bill to put the camping gear in the truck. By merely laying them in there, he'd managed to hopelessly entangle them.
Then again, leaving anything up to Bill was a bad idea. Including starting the campfire.
"Come on... come on... D'oh, why can't I start a fire?" Bill laid the sticks aside and hung his head in shame at his own stupidity.
"Dang, man, talkin'.. try usin' dang ol' matches, man," Boomhauer advised.
"That's a good idea. Say, toss me that matchbook on the log beside you, Boomhauer."
The matchbook sailed through the air in a perfect arc, and Bill backed up a couple of steps to catch it.
Thus tripping over the edge of the fire pit and falling backwords into the wood.
"Ow! Splinters!" Bill ran circles around the fire pit a few times in a blind panic, before slipping and falling back into the pile of wood. Weakly he held up the matchbook. "Found 'em."
Bobby and Joseph sat on the log adjascent to Boomhauer's, bearing witness to this without even a slight stirring of amusement. They'd become immune to Bill's stupidity
"I'm bored," Bobby complained.
"Yeah, me too," Joseph added.
"Tell you what, man, tell ya 'bout, talkin', tale of the golden arm."
"I never heard that one before," Bobby said, nudging Joseph. "Have you?"
"No. Tell us."
Boomhauer cleared his throat, which wasn't all that necessary, since the boys only understood about half of his incoherent mumbling anyway.
"Tell you what, 's like this. Was this man, was lookin' for this treasure. Looked, talkin', maybe twenty years.
"Then he looked in this ol' dark cave one night, tell ya, an' found him that treasure chest, sittin', man, right there on the dang ol' floor o' the cave.
"An' he hears this noise, man, talkin' looks up an' there's this dang ol' huge grizzly bear. Talkin', bear rips off his arm, 'fore he shoots it an' drags off the treasure.
"Talkin', now the guy's rich, an' he buys him a dang ol' golden arm. Then he dies, man, an' night 'fore he gets buried, dang ol' grave-digger steals it and, talkin' starts walkin' home.
"An' all the way home, he hears this voice, right. 'Whoooo stole my golden arm. Whoooo stole my dang' ol golden arm?'
"'Whooooooo stole my golden arm, man?' An' then, right by his dang ol' ear, says real loud, man,
"IT WAS YOU, man!"
Startled, Bobby fell backwards off the log.
Weakly, as he struggled to get his clearly overweight self back onto the log, he said, "That was a great story."
"Yeah," Joseph agreed. "I bet it would be even scarier if I knew what he was saying."