This fictional true story revolves around the lives and adventures of three lovable country folk from the swamp town of Metairie, Louisiana: Betsy Ruby Mae Bismarck, Candice Daisy Mae 'hot pants' Smiles, and Paul 'Pablo' LeMaire.

  Betsy Ruby Mae Bismarck is a do-gooder, truck lovin', guy havin', jack-of-all-trades truck drivin' gal. She is constantly out zydecoin' it up with all of the prominent businessmen and boudin farmers of Metairie, with her trusty monkey Gumbo by her side.

  Candice Daisy Mae 'hot pants' Smiles was originally born in Bull-weevil, Kentucky. Her parents, Guy and Mavis Smiles, moved to Metairie to begin a new life harvesting mud, following the great tumbleweed famine of '88. When she was just a chittlin, Candice Daisy Mae lost her sensible wranglers in a freak squirrel accident and has been in search of appropriate pantware ever since. In the meantime, she has been left with PG-13-RATED pantal attire that lead little to the imagination. When she ain't truckin' with her good friend Betsy Ruby Mae or in search of her beloved wranglers, Candice Daisy Mae is often in pursuit of a redneck Cajun to call her own.

  Last and probably least, we come to Paul 'Pablo' LeMaire, Metairie's resident Mexican fightin' gator wrestling' Cajun sensation. A frequent monkey and chimp smuggler, Paul spends most of his time in the swamp wrestling' with Bubba, his pet alligator. He seldom wears a shirt, and his odor has been compared to that of a Chinese elephant after an Indian buffet on a hot summer's eve.

  As our story begins, we find everyone's favorite dirty Cajun sauntering into the Bayou, Metairie's swankiest two-star eating establishment. As he moves to the counter, Patrick Boudreaux, the Bayou's chef and owner, looks up from his worn copy of the Daily Cajun.
  "Hey Paul, what'll it be?" Patrick asked, hacking a loogie into a dusty wastebasket at his feet.
  "Shah, I'll have me the shoepick maque choux, heavy on the Tabasco."
  "Anything on the side, poboy?"
  "How 'bout some couche couche, extra sugar."
  "No problem."
  Paul nodded and walked over to the bar to pour himself a beer.
  "You taking Adrienne Beignet to the Jambalaya Jamboree tonight?" Boudreaux called from the Bayou's small but well-furnished kitchen.
  "Nah, she's like a crawfish in August."
  "Gonna throw her back to the swamp?"
  Paul took a sip of his beer and nodded slightly.

  As Monsieur Boudreaux slid a tray across the counter to him, Paul looked up to see Candice Daisy Mae stroll through the aging cafe doors. Her PG-13-RATED hot pants drew whistles and catcalls from several of the more inebriated clientele in the Bayou. Candice quickly resolved the situation with a few shots of her Cajun Cayenne pepper spray. Nodding politely to Monsieur Boudreaux, she took a seat next to Paul and helped herself to a bit of his couche couche.
  "Hey, that's mine."
  "Yeah well... It's the price you pay for me walking around in hot pants."
  "Don't blame me, shah. It was the squirrel's fault."
  "Squirrel my butt. You just like seeing girls in hot pants!"
  With that out-burst, the drunken Cajuns resumed their whoopin and whoppin. Candice's eyes narrowed. Paul dove under the counter as the riled up southern bellhop unloaded half the spray all around the room. Terrified, the Cajuns half-ran half-staggered out the door, their eyes watering with their own remorse.
  "Daisy Mae, you andouille, you chased away all mah loyal Creoles." Boudreaux shouted.
  Candice smiled innocently. Patrick didn't appear amused in the least.
  "Go pepper spray somewhere else!"
  Paul nodded and quickly paid Boudreaux for the half-eaten meal before the surly chef could break out the cleavers.

  After narrowly avoiding being jumped by the bleary-eyed drunken Cajuns, Paul and Candice Daisy Mae made their way down les rues de la Metairie to meet up with Betsy Ruby Mae who was in town for a couple of days following her latest trucking commute to and from Bucktooth, Mississippi.
  "Howdy, y'all!" Betsy Daisy, I mean Ruby Mae, called out from her quaint rustic cabin.
  In a heartbeat, she vaulted over the faded picket fence that lined her property and knocked both of her Cajun cohorts to the concrete.
  "Betsy Ruby Judy Mae Ellie Bismarck, did you have too many pralines with yo' tassos again?" Candice scowled, kicking her friend off of her.
  "Not just that!" Betsy contizzinued. "Someone's stolen Gumbo!"
  "Sausage or chicken?" Paul smiled and licked his lips hungrily.
  "Not that kind of gumbo, you scalawag! I'm talkin' 'bout mah monkey!" Betsy Ruby Mae shouted. "I need that monkey to drive mah truck for me when I'm too lazy to look at the road!"
  "Did you call the police?" Paul asked, dusting his coveralls off as he got back to his feet.
  "Yeah." Betsy spat disdainfully into the dirt. "Those swamp moose just told me to go fillet my mignon."
  "Oh I can do that for ya." Paul winked as his Tabasco-stained lips curled up in a sly smile.
  Betsy Ruby Judy Mae Ellie promptly slapped him.
  "But who would want to steal yo' monkey?" Candice Daisy Mae asked, hitching up her hot pants.
  "Anyone: Brazilians, Italians, Michael Jackson, Huey Long..." Betsy started.
  "Talkin's for Yankees. Let's go get us some ber' and rustle us up a monkey thief!" Paul shouted maniacally, firing his cap gun into the sky. "And then we'll linch'em!"

  Off in his small but well-furnished shack, Johnny Billy Bob Joe Bob Jethro Tull had just finished his meager supper of leftover pizza topped with queso. Johnny Billy Bob served as the assistant pastor minister preacher reverend at the Second United Methodist Church of Metairie. His claim to fame in the area was his miraculous survival of a freak glue accident. Following the welding incident, Johnny Billy Bob had been left with extremely poor vision and explosive flatulence. He wasn't initially supposed to be in this story, but jokes about fightin' gators and hot pants could only go so far.

  As he was clearing his paper and plastic cutlery, he figuratively caught sight of Betsy Ruby Mae pulling up in her pick-up with Paul and Candice in tow. Johnny Billy Bob gestured for them to follow him inside as he headed into the shack to toss his dishes in the sink. He'd just finished rinsing them when his friends came through the rusty screen door.

  Betsy eyed him suspiciously, but Johnny Billy Bob couldn't see it, so it didn't matter.
  "Johnny Billy Bob Joe Bob Jethro Tull, did you steal mah monkey?"
  Johnny Billy Bob tossed a plastic cup at Betsy's head.
  "Miss Betsy Ruby Mae, I didn't done took that there monkey. Paul and me was out fishin' in the swamps all day yesterday and most of the night."
  "Caught us a mess o' shiners, too." Paul added.
  "Then who done taked mah monkey!" Betsy shouted. "Gumbo was mah one ray of sunshine in this crappy cramped dag blamed swamped-up mud hole."
  "Did ya check with Ronnie Joe and Genevieve Oreganaux? Maybe one of their youngins stoled yo' monkey."
  "Or maybe they ate it!" Paul interjected.
  In one fluidic motion, Candice Daisy Mae patted a near-bawling Betsy Ruby Mae on the shoulder and belted everyone's favorite (and only) Cajun sensation in the jaw.
  "I's just jokin, Hot Pants." Paul said indignantly, rubbing his jaw.
  "Thanks for your help, Johnny Billy Bob. We'll go check with Ronnie Joe and Genevieve." Candice nodded semi-politely and pushed her friends out the still-open screen door.

  Ronnie Joe and Genevieve Oreganaux were off on Bayou Bonfouca in a small fishing boat with their chil'ren Nathan, Ryan, Nolan, Ray, Nate, Gropopopolous, and Phil. (They'd been busy since the weddin'.)
  "Gah, Gropopopolous, stop biting yo' momma!" Ronnie Joe scowled and pried his teething toddler off of Genevieve's arm as his eldest son Nathan suddenly called out from the stern.
  "Paw, I done got a bite!"
  Ronnie Joe left Gropopopolous in his wife's capable and malevolent hands, as he rushed over to help Nathan with his fish.

  To Ronnie Joe's surprise, the fish was putting up one jambalaya of a fight. Bracing his feet against the side of their small boat, Ronnie Joe put all his weight into the line as he hauled their catch out of the murky waters.

  "Where's mah monkey!" a dripping Betsy Ruby Judy Mae Ellie Bismarck demanded as she let go of the fishing pole.
  "Mamma, we done did done caughted ourselves one of those that there them cotton-pickin' mermaid folk!" Nathan beamed with pride to his mother, who was paddling Gropopopolous with the anchor.
  "It's not a mermaid, son. It's just yo' auntie Betsy on one of her sweet tea benders again." Ronnie Joe explained and looked up at his unexpected passenger. "What are you doing here?"
  Despite being soaked to the bone and dripping like a roof made in Slovenia, Betsy retained her composure and leveled a finger at Ronnie Joe.
  "Where's mah monkey!"
  Ronnie Joe was about to respond in a Welsh accent, when Genevieve beat him to it.
  "We don't have your filthy monkey!" She shrieked, letting a now sufficiently paddled Gropopopolous off her lap and taking a step toward Ariel, I mean Betsy.
  "Well iffen you two don't know where mah monkey done went to, then who does done do?"
  "Maybe it ran away." Ronnie Joe suggested.
  Quicker than John Kerry could switch positions on a political issue, Betsy's complexion faded from her natural tan to a ghostly white, which ironically was the same color Ronnie Joe's is most of the time.
  "Why would he run away from me?" She asked sadly. "I done gave Gumbo everything he ever wanted: a bushel of banananas every day, a clean home, all the parasites he could eat, a banjo, a lifetime subscription to the Pat Buchanan newsletter and even Squeaky G, his beloved Snoop Dog beanie baby! I loved him like an uncle!"
  Tears of sorrow and baked beans came to her eyes as grief and heartache overwhelmed her.

  "Enough of that schmaltzy crap!" Paul scowled as he pulled himself over the side and into the Oreganaux's boat. "I'm gettin' sick and tird of lookin' for this carn flabbed, dag nabbed, mangy, hog-bitin', kite-flyin', deep-fryin' peach-piin' son of a chimp!"
  As Betsy Ruby Mae burst into tears, Paul lunged for the other side of the boat and dove head-first into the lake to avoid another smack from a now irate Candice 'hot pants' Smiles.

  Off in his small but well-furnished shack, Johnny Billy Bob Joe Bob Jethro Tull had just finished his meager supper of leftover pizza topped with-oh wait, I already wrote that part. Ok. I'll try this again... As he finished watching a history channel documentary over the history of brick manufacturing, Johnny Billy Bob began putting the finishing touches on his call to worship for this Sunday's services. After looking over what he had written and nodding approvingly, Johnny Billy Bob grabbed a diet Pepsi and some cheese cubes and began watching an exposé on the different varieties of cabbage.

  Not everyone in Metairie was Methodist, not even everyone mentioned in this story for that matter. Candice Daisy Mae was a Church of Christer, Ronnie Joe and Genevieve Oreganaux were members of the Contemporary Wave Your Hands in the Air Nondenomiphenomonational Bible Church, and Betsy Ruby Judy Mae Ellie was a Lutheran. But unfortunately for them and fortunately for this story's sake, the Oreganaux family, Candice Daisy Mae, Betsy Ruby Judy Mae Ellie, and Paul were all present at the 10:00 service the following morning. Candice Daisy Mae's church was being fumigated for ants, the Oreganaux's church had mysteriously exploded, and Betsy Ruby Mae was too tired and lazy to drive the three additional blocks down the road to ihre Kirche. besides it was at that very church that she'd first found Gumbo, marking his territory in the pipe organ!

  As Genevieve and Ronnie Joe ushered their six or seven kids, however many were in the boat six paragraphs back, down the simple wooden pew, Clem Fontaine de L'orange, the minister at the Second United Methodist Church, cleared his throat as he began his sermon.
  "My friends, like the warm, salty air on Vermilion Bay, we sometimes get caught up in our daily routine. We forget about the more important things in life, like the bell pepper in a nice, piping hot crawfish jambalaya or the feel of the first bite of the fish on the docks of Lake Pontchartrain. We see these things as just sniffing the boudin, but the Lord, He don't like that, by gumbo. The Lord he made the bell pepper, and the crawfish, and the poboy, and the bayou, and even the gumbo, by gumbo. And shah, He be on you like the Cayenne pepper if you go and turn away from Him. Even at Marti Gras He be watchin' you, I guarantee. So when you're out there skinnin' coons by the light of the Calcasieu moon, take a moment to thank the Lord for all that He give you. Now would you all please rise and turn to page 321 for our opening hymn."

  After the service, Betsy Ruby Mae caught her scantily panted friend by the sleeve and yanked her from Paul's side.
  "What'd you do that for, Betsy? Me and Paul was just about to rustle us up some youngins."
  "Y'all can do that at the Zydeco Festivaux. Look, I think I know who done stoled mah monkey!" Betsy Ruby Mae said excitedly.
  "Well, who done done it? Was it Haydn von Kunersdorf, the Kaiser of Schlitterbahn?"
  "No."
  "Was it Carlos Diego, the surly janitor?"
  "No."
  "Was it Henri du Lac, the misunderstood pastry chef?"
  "No!"
  "Then who done it, Miss Betsy Ruby Judy Mae Ellie?!"
  "It was that no-good, pot-bellied, tea-smokin' Clem Fontaine de L'orange!"
  "The preacher man? Shah, why would he have done gone and stoled yo' monkey?"
  "Because he wants to have mah babies!" Betsy burst out.
  "Come again?"
  "Well you know what I mean! He's been wantin' to make little Clems and Betsies with me since we was in high school in New Iberia."
  "New Iberia?!" Candice gasped, her eyes going wide with shock.
  "I know. We done come from high-class stock."
  At that point, Paul walked over to the two and began jabbing Candice in the side.
  "Sugar muffin, mah lips is lonelier than a mudbug in a cocktail."
  "Oh hush up, puddin'. I'm busy talkin' here."
  "It's always about you, ain't it, punkin?!"
  "Dang right it is. Now go hunt us some lunch! I be done here in a bit."
  Paul nodded and, after jabbing Candice in the side once more, and noticing an unsuspecting squirrel, left the two southern belles to go shoot a possum or two for Sunday lunch.

  After composing herself, in G major no less, Candice turned back to the lovely Lutheran lass to resume the conversation her Cajun cohort had so rudely interrupted.
  "And again I ask: Why would he have done gone and stoled yo' monkey?"
  "Because he can use Gumbo as an incentive to get me to... season his stew."
  "Well that's not very preacherly." Candice gasped.
  "Why do you think this is called the "Second" United Methodist Church of Metairie?"
  Candice nodded.
  "So are you going to..."
  "What are you, a Democrat?! Of course I ain't! But I need yo' help in gettin' mah delicious Gumbo back!"
  "Well, I guess we could..."
  "Hey, Tabasco tucus, I went and done shot us a possum and a couple-a-squirrels for that there lunch." Paul in a shawl, called from the wall by the hall near the stall in the mall.
  "And when in the name of fried oysters did you hook up with that shirtless Cajun?"
  "Eh, somewhere on page five, just before the church service."
  "That's weird."
  "And owning a monkey ain't?"
  "Hush up!"
  "Look, does you done have a plan or not?"
  "I do indeed. You and yo' huntin' boy, meet me in the brier patch over on le Rue de Chateau two hours after the sun set on the Lake Pontchartrain."
  "Hey, honey britches! Hurry up! The possum's still twitchin'!"
  Candice 'hot pants' nodded and hurried off to catch up with her hairy Cajun.

  That night, two hours after the sun set on the Lake Pontchartrain, our three gravy-drinkin' grenadiers met under cover of darkness at the intersection of le Rue de Chateau and Boudin Boulevard. Uttering not a word, Paul and Candice followed the uncharacteristically quiet Betsy Ruby Mae down some of the more rugged avenues in Metairie. After a time, she came to a stop in front of Gord Filet's Bate Shop.
  "What the hickory smoked tea are we doin' here?" Candice whispered.
  "I do need to get me some supplies for the fishin' trip this weekend." Paul smiled and reached for a rock.
  "Hush up, Paul. De L'orange's house is right behind Gord's bate shop. You two go and distract the preacher man, and I'll jump the back fence, bust in there, and GET MAH MONKEY!"
  "That you, Murdle?"
  Startled, the Alaskan Tabascon trio whirled to see Gord Filet come rushing from his shop, a beer in hand, wearing nothing but a pair of Br'er Rabbit briefs and a smile.
  "Murdle?! Where you at, woman?!"
  "That's so nasty." Candice muttered and recoiled in disgust.
  She was hoping the three of them could just duck further into the shadows and pretend they hadn't seen Gord Filet in such a condition. But she should have known that, with Paul LeMaire around, she would have no such luck.
  "Ay, Filet! Got yo' self a date tonight, eh?!"
  "Oh ho ho yeah, you betchah!" Gord shouted as Paul ran up to him and slapped him on the back.
  "Gonna get a little..." Paul winked.
  "Oh ho ho yeah, you betchah!" Gord smiled drunkily and pumped his fists in the air, sending the beer splashing over the both of them.
  "Paul LeMaire!" Candice snapped.
  "So like I said, Filet, good luck tonight." Paul said quickly and hurried back to Candice Daisy Mae and Betsy Ruby Mae.
  After slapping her Cajun Creole on the cranium, Candice followed Betsy past a now passed out Gord Filet to the back of the bate shop.

  Inside Clem Fontaine de L'orange's luxurious doublewide trailer, he and Johnny Billy Bob Joe Bob Jethro Tull were playing a jolly game of cards over a bottle of non-alcoholic vodka.
  "Mon ami, I beat you again!" De L'orange roared with laughter as he threw his winning hand down on the worn card table.
  "You done be cheatin' me by gumbo." Johnny Billy Bob said angrily, leveling an accusing finger at the second-string minister.
  "You accusing a man of duh Lord of cheating?!"
  "You lower than a Yankee after a Marti Gras limbo!" Johnny Billy Bob shouted.
  "That does it you son of a scalawag! I skin you alive!"
  "Not if I skin you like the gator does the catfish when he turn his back!"
  And with that, the preacher and the assistant pastor went tumbling to the floor.

  As the tussle became an all-out brawl, Paul and Candice Daisy Mae came rushing in through the front door as Betsy Ruby Mae came in through the back. As Clem caught Johnny Billy Bob in a deadly Cajun headlock, Paul leapt into the fight, trying to pull the two apart. Candice ran off to help Betsy while the fighting continued.
  "Candice, the monkey ain't here." Betsy sobbed. "I was sure Clem Fontaine had done taked Gumbo."
  "Well if he didn't take him, then who done did done do did?"
  Betsy just shook her head sadly as tears of sorrow trickled down her cheeks.
  "Well, there's no point in staying here no more. Let's get the boys."
  "Boys?" Betsy Ruby Mae looked up, surprised.
  "Johnny Billy Bob and Paul are fightin' with Clem."
  Betsy nodded, as Candice led the way back to Clem's small, and now disheveled, living room.

  By this point, Clem Fontaine de L'orange was out cold, but Johnny Billy Bob and Paul were so caught up in the moment that they didn't notice.
  "Would you two stop beating up the preacher and get up?!" Candice snapped.
  "Just what are you three doin' here?" Johnny Billy Bob asked, getting to his feet, to a disco beat, popping his shoulder in place, to a disco bass.
  "We was tryin' to find mah monkey." Betsy sighed. "But if Clem didn't done took it, then I don't know who done did done did."
  "Well, no sense in standin' here like a sugar cane plant in winter." Candice frowned.
  "Miss hot pants is right. Let's us go get a good night's sleep. Or at the very least get outa here before Clem comes to." Johnny Billy Bob exclaimed and headed for the door.
  The others quickly followed, as Clem Fontaine began to curse drowsily at the strewn lawn furniture on his living room floor.

  After a quick chi tea at the Bayou, Paul returned to the swamp to wrastle with Bubba, his pet alligator, before calling it a night. Beating up the preacher had been a refreshing workout, but even so, he was still a bit restless. Three rounds with a ten-foot, four hundred pound reptile would clear that right up. But as he belly flopped into his small fishin' boat to head out to his quaint yet rustic cabin in the bog, Paul could sense something was wrong. Bubba would normally be thrashing about in a comical fashion by this point. But even after starting up the boat, the waters remained silent.

  After ringing out his overalls and taking a swig o' a bottle of vodka he'd stolen from the preacher, Paul stripped down to his smiley face boxers and dove into the murky depths of the swamp.
  "Bubba! Bubba, where you at?!" He shouted as he stood waist-deep in the funny smelling mud.
  The only sound that met his ear was the croaking of frogs and the chirping of crickets the size of frogs.

  Paul glowered at the inky blackness as a chill ran down his spine. After only a moment's hesitation, he took a deep breath, plunged into the muck, and forged on, calling out the name of his beloved behemoth bud. For many an hour he searched through the bog until the first rays of the Cajun sun done come gleaming through the misty haze of dawn. Finally, perspiring with utter exhaustion and frustration, Paul pulled himself from the swamp and stretched out on the threshold of his small cabin, which was only a few feet from the shore.

  He was just dozing off for a brief Sac-au-Lait siesta when something caught his eye. Propping himself up on one well-tanned elbow, he could just make out the faintest outline of someone sitting astride a long object floating quietly just beneath the surface of the water some three hundred yards down-swamp.
  "BUBBA!"
  Paul leapt from the water's edge and began swimming more furious than the Mississippi after an April flood.

  As he drew closer, he noticed, much to his surprise, that Bubba's passenger was very much female, and an attractive one at that. Her long red hair flowed gracefully down her slender neck to rest on her thin shoulders and what was clearly a well-proportioned body. At a loss for words, Paul found himself just standing with his jaw dropped like the tide of Vermilion Bay when the Cajun moon is full of boudin.
  "This gator yours?" The woman asked, smiling smilally.
  "Why-why yes. Yes, he is." Paul stammered. "Where'd ya find him?"
  "I found this son of a suitcase eatin' mah laundry!"
  "I-I-I-I'm really sorry, Miss...Mister...Miss..."
  "LeSein, Monique LeSein."
  Paul reached out a slimy hand and shook Monique's with typical Cajun ferocity!
  "Well if you're ever coming this way again, my shack's always open."
  "I'll be sure to remember that." Monique scowled.
  The somehow Irish Cajun woman rolled her eyes at the swamp around them.
  "Can I give you a ride back to the boonies?"
  "I'd be honored." LeSein smiled, "but the gator stays here!"
  Bubba grunted disdainfully and promptly flipped his passenger into the water.

  After dropping Monique off at le Chateau du Foie, Paul swung by the Bayou for a quick cup of java before heading back to the swamp to do his taxes. As he was pouring in a second cup of sugar, he noticed the seldom mentioned and near-forgotten Ronnie Joe Oreganaux coming in with his trusty valise in hand.
  "Mornin', Paul."
  Paul looked up from his extremely thick cup of coffee and gave Ronnie Joe a cheerful, yet manly, smile.
  "How's the youngins?"
  "Oh, they doin' fine." Ronnie Joe nodded as he took a seat opposite Paul. "Gropopopolous is still teething, but Doc Dubois says Genevieve's arm should heal by the end of the month."
  Paul threw his head back and took a massive gulp of his cafe au lait du sucre.
  "That's good." He replied, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. "You headin' out to the office?"
  "Oh yeah. Seems some scalawag forgot to send out some release forms for the latest lumber exports."
  "Well if that ain't a tick in the Tabasco. What y'all gon' do?"
  "The higher-ups are sending down some specialist to help step up production so's we can meet our quota fo' the quarter."
  "You meetin' him here?"
  "Is a sixteen-bit integer two bytes long?"
  Paul just stared blankly as if Ronnie Joe had just spoken highly of a Yankee.
"Yes." He said finally.

  As Ronnie Joe nodded, a very large man in tattered jeans and a flannel shirt came sauntering through the aging cafe doors of the Bayou.
  "I looking for Monsieur Oreganaux! I am Philippe Anorak, the surly lumberjack!" The man thundered like a clap of thunder on a thundering Cajun-ah skip it.
  "That'd be me." Ronnie Joe said, standing up. The burly mammal in flannel walked up to Ronnie Joe and shook his hand.
  "I like you, tiny man." He laughed. "I have come to aidez-vous avec l'harvest des arbres."
  "Excellent. My car's around back."
  "Oh haugh haugh haugh. Why take a puny, non-lumberjack voiture, quand we can take ma limousine." Philippe smiled.
  "A lumberjack with a limo?" Paul scowled, his eyes rolling like the onion in a fine seasoned gumbo.
  "Oh, not just a limo, but a chauffeur as well."
  Turning to the still-open cafe doors, the lumbering lumberjack gave a hardy whistle.
  "Oh Gi-Gi!"
  Paul nearly vomited with astonishment and way too much sugar for one sane cup of coffee. There, garbed in identical lumberjackesque attire as Philippe Anorak, came Betsy Ruby Mae's beloved Gumbo.
  "That's Betsy Ruby Mae's monkey!" Ronnie Joe asked-whoops, I meant gasped.
  "Where'd you find Gumb-I mean Gi-Gi?" Paul asked.
  "Oh, le petit singe marked his territorie sur mon pick-up a few days ago at, how you say, le truck stop." Philippe explained. "He was like me when I was a little lumberjack in Montreal. So I feed him and keep him as mon chauffeur."
  "But that belongs to a friend of ours."
  Philippe just laughed.
  "Les trouveurs sont les gardes, mes amis."
  "Heh?"
  "Oh, how you say, finders keepers."
  "That cliche went out with French waffles." Paul exclaimed. "besides our friend saved this spunky simian from a pipe organ."
  "Zat may be true, but Gi-Gi, he is quite the chauffeur."
  "So it was you who done did done stoled mah monkey!"
  All eyes in the eatery turned to the doorway, where Candice Daisy Mae and a near-hysterical Betsy Ruby Mae were glowering at Philippe Anorak, the surly lumberjack. His eyes blazing, Philippe turned to the Cajun queens to give them a lecture on the difference between a baguette and a crepe, when his rugged features suddenly softened. After a few moments of tense and cream-filled silence, Philippe turned back to Paul and Ronnie Joe.
  "You did not mention that your friends were des belles femmes." He said with a disgustingly giddy grin.
  The two nodded.
  "Gumbo, come here you stupid monkey!" Betsy smiled and scooped the chipper chimp into her arms.
  Philippe turned back to Betsy Ruby Mae and Candice Daisy Mae.
  "Gi-Gi is one enfer of a chauffeur," he sighed, "but it would go against my French-Canadian roots to deny someone so beautiful such a joy in life."
  Despite her still-heated anger, Betsy Ruby Judy Mae Ellie couldn't help but blush.
  "Mademoiselle, I humbly apologize for French-napping your, how you say, monkey. Allow me to make it up to you, and your lovely and inappropriately-panted friend here with a day on the lake in my yacht, le Bateau de L'amour."
  By this point, Candice, too, was beside herself with blushtitude.

  Paul and Ronnie Joe exchanged confused looks as Philippe exited the Bayou with Candice Daisy Mae, Betsy Ruby Mae, and Gi-Gi, I mean Gumbo.
  "Since when do lumberjacks have limos and yachts?!" Paul shouted.
  "And he was supposed to help me with the harvest!" Ronnie Joe added. "Genevieve, Nathan, Ryan, Nolan, Ray, Nate, Gropopopolous, and Phil can't eat tree bark for dinner every night."
  "Wait, what?"
  "Hey shahs and shahses, there a hurricane a-commin!" Patrick Boudreaux, the Bayou's chef and owner called from behind the counter. "Katrina (le deuxieme) is-a-commin up fast!"
  "Not again." Paul sighed. "Bubba's scared of hurricanes."
  "Me, too." Ronnie Joe shuddered. "If there's a storm-a-commin', then nerts to the harvest. I'd best get back to the wife so she can hold me."
  "Yeah, I got me a woman to tend to, as well." Paul stretched and chugged down the rest of his pudding-thick coffee.
  "What? I thought you and Candice was joined at the not-so-clothed hip."
  "Things just weren't working out." Paul replied. "I found an Irish-Cajun beauty, she found a lumberjack. We're just from two different worlds."
  Ronnie Joe nodded.
  "So should we like, go find shelter or something?" Paul said slowly.
  "Probably'd be a good idea."
  "I do have fifty pounds of boudin jerky just waitin' to be eated." Paul smiled. "Why don't we done go and have a hurricane party over at Johnny Billy Bob Joe Bob Jethro Tull's place."
  "But his shack's as flimsy and stinky as the rest of ours." Ronnie Joe pointed out.
  "True. But he has a satellite dish." Paul replied.
  Without a word, the two rose from their chairs, made a B-line for the aging cafe doors, and headed off to fetch their loved ones.

  Off in his small but well-furnished shack, Johnny Billy Bob Joe Bob Jethro Tull was just finishing a meager breakfast of leftover pizza topped with queso. As was his usual way, Johnny Billy Bob was watching the Weather Channel (live from Atlanta) while spinning clockwise in a swivel chair. He was just spooning up the last of the queso when their came a tapping, as of someone gently rapping, rapping at his chamber door. Muttering under his breath about the dominance of a high-pressure ridge in the northern gulf, Johnny Billy Bob headed to the door to see who'd disturbed his long winter's nap.

  "Uncle John!"
  As six of the seven Oreganaux children piledrived Johnny Billy Bob to the hard-wood floor, Ronnie Joe, Genevieve, Paul, Candice Daisy Mae, Betsy Ruby Mae, and Gumbo made their way into the small but well-furnished bungalow.
  "What're y'all doin' here?" Johnny Billy Bob asked from beneath a mountain of rowdy Oreganaux. "I was getting my weather on."
  "We're here to ride out the hurricane." Ronnie Joe explained.
  "And I suppose being pummeled by your youngins is a fringe benefit?"
  Both Ronnie Joe and Genevieve nodded.
  "Well alright. I need someone to finish the rest of this pizza for me anyway."

  As the six got to work taping up windows and caulking up crevasses and clogging up toilets, Ronnie Joe found a moment to take Candice Daisy Mae aside.
  "Whatever happened to that Philippe Anorak, the surly lumberjack?" He asked.
 
  "Oh Betsy Ruby Mae and I got bored with his funky smell and his French accent and his enchanting smile and his flannel, so we threw him overboard and christened his vessel the U.S.S. Jerk!"
  Suddenly Paul poked his head into the conversation.
  "And then he swam ashore and ran off with mah baby, Monique LeSein." He sobbed melodramatically.
  "And I've just been elected governor of Vermont!" John exclaimed, knocking Paul to the floor.
  "And me and Genevieve is gonna have another bundle of joy!" Ronnie Joe announced, kicking Johnny Billy Bob out of the way.
  "And I have my sweet Gumbo back!" Betsy Ruby Mae squealed with girlish delight.
  "And I haven't said anything in this whole stinking story!" Genevieve shouted and punched Johnny Billy Bob in the face.
  "I love happy endings." Johnny Billy Bob smiled, rubbing his quickly swelling jaw.

  The four friends, nine Oreganaux, and the monkey stayed in the well-furnished cabin for the next four days while Katrina (le Deuxieme) howled and crowed outside. The storm pounded southeastern Louisiana until it was flooded and gassy. Lake Ponchartrain spilled over and flooded much of Metairie. Johnny Billy Bob and Paul went surfing down Boudin Boulevard on ironing boards while the eye passed over. Trees and power lines were down for weeks, which helped Ronnie Joe reap the benefits of an unprecedented, late-season lumber harvest. Moreover, the Oreganaux did indeed have a ninth Oreganaux, a little girl they named Sarah Candice Betsy Daisy Ruby Judy Mae Paula Ellie Snuffelupugus, in honor of their friends.

  Paul caught the attention of a boxing promoter and moved to Nevada with Bubba to take James Carville's place as the new Ragin' Cajun. After getting knocked out by a fiery, upstart Brazilian with one eyebrow, Bubba picked up the slack by starring with Steve Irwin in a Saturday morning variety show for kids.

  Clem Fontaine de L'orange was indicted for fraud, leading Johnny Billy Bob to take over as minister of the Second United Methodist Church. He eventually ran for president in 2056 as the Silly Party candidate, losing to Tom Delay III.

  Betsy Ruby Mae eventually roped herself an accordion player in a popular Cajun zydeco punk band, signing on as a washboard player, with Gumbo taking over on lead vocals just before the group landed a multi-billion dollar record deal with K-Tel.

  Candice Daisy Mae bought a pair of pants that fit comfortably and were designer-quality at a less than retail price. She found herself a nice, hairy Church of Christ boy while buying a snow cone. The two bought a pickle farm in Belgium where Candice Daisy Mae invented a new form of waffle and rose to prominence in the aging Belgian special education bureaucracy.

  Needless to say the town of Metairie was never the same. Once Candice Daisy Mae, Betsy Ruby Mae, and Paul rose to the glittering, pretty, incandescent lights of stardom, Ronnie Joe and Genevieve Oreganaux worked with Johnny Billy Bob to turn the swamp village into a tourist trap, so the trio could buy the finer things in life, like indoor plumbing, and air conditioning, and shoes. Truly life had become better for all, and it was all made possible thanks to one mango-munchin' monkey who went missing on that one fateful night.