Category Archives: Humour

Tales from France – Tete de Veau – bone out!

Reminiscing on the highlights of our recent French trip, to celebrate our Granddaughter’s second Birthday, the funniest moment (from my point-of-view) was a meal enjoyed at a local restaurant. Son-in-law kindly translated the menu and Mr Piglet chose the veal option. When his meal arrived, it looked the strangest cut of veal I’d ever seen. Served in slices it resembled a patchwork of greasy meat textures surrounded by a layer of gooey fat.

Tete de Veau picture courtesy of http://www.cheztse.com

Tete de Veau picture courtesy of http://www.cheztse.com/

Mr P poked and prodded the offering; tasted it, pulled a face then pushed his plate away.

“This is not veal,” he sulked.

“Yes, it’s veal’s head,” announced our son-in-law as he inspected then tasted said offering. “Look this part here’s the brain…”

He would have continued, but at this point I shook my head in warning. Mr P was turning various shades of puce green, and about to bolt for the door.

I’m curious, has anyone else eaten veal’s head without realizing?

If you’re curious here’s a link to a picture: http://www.goodfoodrevolution.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/10/tete-de-veau.jpeg

Better still if any of my French followers have a picture I could post, I will give you full photo credit and a link back to your blog.
Because boy in this case, a picture saves a 1000 words.

If you were an animal what would you be?

A little bit of fun…

My owners love mice -  because they always shrieked with delight when I surprised them!

My owners love mice – because they always shrieked with delight when I surprised them!

If you were an animal what would you be?
What would you look like – what would we see?

Perhaps a spoilt house dog who’s pampered all day.
Walkies and treats “it’s a dog’s life” they say!

But “Puddy” cats rule as they strut round the house.
Owners left screaming at the sight of a mouse

A horse bred for riding or would that be meat?
A burro for working left out in the heat.

Maybe a chicken free range on the farm.
A goose in a gaggle to raise the alarm.

Then there are piglets as cute as can be.
But there’s only one piglet and that has to be me!

*************

Okay, here’s a bit of a challenge!

Which animal would you be and why?

For example. I’d be a pampered Vietnamese Pot-Bellied Pig because they are unique, fun, and affectionate.

Or if you really want a challenge write your answer in rhyming verse – I dare you!

Come on folks don’t be shy…

Health warning – if you’re squeamish look away now!

Waiting to be served at our local butchers for “home-made” beef, and hopefully horse-free, burgers gave us the opportunity to study the array of “unmentionable” delicacies on sale.

The dubious identity of which even made Mr. Piglet’s toes curl in horror. However, our debate is quickly forgotten when I whip out my camera and start taking photographs. Mr. Piglet looked like he was about to evaporate with embarrassment while the surprised butcher and bemused customers looked on. Yes, I know I’m strange it runs in the genes.

Rabo Porco

Rabo Porco

My heart missed a beat and my stomach turned when I saw these…

I mean, what are they? I wonder if I’ve ever eaten any inadvertently since living in Portugal – my trotters are already twitching in horror. People ate horseburgers in the UK without knowing so why not rabo porco in Portugal? Can you imagine the uproar in the UK if burgers were found to contain these little beauties? Eating horsemeat would be the least of their worries!

…and this, I was about to bolt for the door…

Pigs Head

Pigs Head

Yum yum, pig’s ear griddled or braised

Pigs' Ears

Pigs’ Ears

And finally in my rouges gallery of food horrors I present chicken’s feet and chicken’s whotsits. Not sure which part of the chicken whotsits belong to, and to be honest I’m not sure I want to.

I wonder if you manicure chickens’ toenails before you cook the feet? Perish the thought – otherwise I suppose it must be similar to finding a fish bone in your mouth.

Chickens feet and ?

Chickens feet and ?

Is it me or am I the only one who’s squeamish?

Yes, I am seriously considering the idea of cutting meat from my diet.

Related articles
Could you eat horse meat?

Take your snout out of the trough Piglet!

Take your snout out of the trough Piglet you're on a diet!

Take your snout out of the trough Piglet you’re on a diet!

If you’re a porker like myself, you may be in denial by genuinely believing as you take a cursory glance in the mirror that you’re really not that fat. Like me, you probably hold your breath as you turn sideways and “suck in” your bulges. But the camera does not lie -  Oh no! Caught off guard we suddenly see ourselves as others see us. In my case, round and blobby and no longer sylph-like and sexy.

If I’m brutally honest with myself the family Christmas photographs and videos are a stark reality check. A serious wake-up call as I stare at them in horror. Who is this stranger staring back at me? I ask myself. No longer a cute piglet I now resemble a prize porker fattened and ready for market. How did this happen? – you’ve got it in one – overindulging; too much food and wine and not enough exercise.

But why do I always have these guilty weight issue obsessive reality checks in January? Is it just me?

Living in semi-rural Portugal I can hardly pop down to my local Weight Watchers or Slimming World groups for moral support as they do not seem to exist here. Shame, because there are so many overweight or if I’m politically correct and say “bodily challenged” expats that these groups could probably make a fortune. Perhaps I should start one! In the meantime, I will create with the help and encouragement of my friends and followers, my own healthy eating and exercise plan.

I need a plan!

Reading Jake’s Sunday post this week, it’s all about goals.

My friend, who lost a mammoth amount of weight earlier in the year, kindly volunteered to be my “personal trainer” and encourage me. I’m not sure what this will entail as yet but it’s good to have moral support.

My Goal

I want to be a size 14. Is this achievable? Hell, in my mind’s eye I’m still a size 10 so it’s only mind over matter. Well in my case there’s one hell of lot of “matter” to lose – three stones worth! My personal trainer reckons I could easily lose 2lb a week. I tentatively agree. Sounds easy in theory. By her reckoning that’s only 42lb in 21 weeks which should take me to a size 14.

Lose an average 2lb per week for 21 weeks

HOW?

#Exercise every day!

I  already walk twice a week with friends as a form of exercise, however it’s a combination of walking and excercising our jaws – talking; our husbands have aptly renamed it “Twalking” or in my case “Twaddling”.

Mr Piglet has kindly dusted off my exercise bike and moved it from the garage into the house.

#Change my eating habits – Oh food glorious food – and oh yes, drink less wine

I hate the thought of using powders, pills or potions as a dieting aid so it has to be food based.

Basics
#No Bread, cakes, pastries, chocolate or Potatoes (except sweet potatoes)
#Restrict intake of red meat to preferably once a week.
#No Dairy products such as cows milk, cheese or butter.

My first New Year’s resolution to abstain from wine for a month lasted just three days because I felt miserable. Drinking wine in a country where it is cheaper than a cup coffee is very much part of the lifestyle. Portuguese wine is also Very good! Hmmm so I can do without chocolate but not the occasional glass of vinho! My Personal Trainer pointed out that my previous month’s abstention last January resulted in zero weight loss, so the occasional glass of wine when I go out for a meal, is not going to make any difference so why make myself more miserable by total denial? She has a point.

#Glass or two of red wine allowed when I go out for a meal.

Another tip was to wear tight trousers (ones that once fitted me and are now a tadge to tight) Why? Well in my case I wore them when we went out for a meal yesterday so I could not eat as much. This resulted in me bringing half my meal home in a doggy bag! So tighter fitting waistbands are excellent incentive for portion control.

Alternatively, I could always have my jaws wired!

#Wear tight trousers when going out for a meal so I don’t physically have much room to expand. The tighter waistband as it cuts in serves as a reminder.

#Portion control – stop being a pig and eat less.

Another friend who lost over 2 stone also made a couple of suggestions.

#Cut out my morning cereal and eat fruit instead.
#Fill up on fruit and vegetables and not carbs.

Which brings me to the The Piglets Healthier Eating Blog which  I created in October 2011 with my daughter Piglet in France. The blog was originally a place to share our Gluten and dairy free recipes as part of an Anti inflammatory diet. At the time I did lose weight and felt better, but the diet was too restrictive and complicated living where we do as there is a very limited choice of gluten-free ingredients. Maybe it’s better in the city or big towns but we live in the country.  And when I did manage to source ingredients or products from German Health shops they were prohibitively expensive. OK enough excuses Piglet!

I mentally need to review this and instead of thinking of my new regime in terms of losing weight I’m going to change my focus and redefine the dreaded diet as an opportunity to research and then experiment with new foods and recipes (OK, I know it’s still a diet and I’m just kidding myself but please humour me).

If you have posted a healthy low-fat recipe to your blog which I can reblog or you have any useful tips, please share below.

Who else is on the “D” word and how are you progressing?

Diet books worth a mention!

Greedy Girl's Diet by Nadia Sawalha

Greedy Girl’s Diet by Nadia Sawalha

I like the thought of eating myself slim!

Greedy Girl’s Diet: Eat yourself slim with gorgeous, guilt-free food
PS my son’s wedding is in July and I’d rather not be mistaken for one of the marquees!

Piglet put the kettle on…

Piglet put the kettle on Piglet put the kettle on,
Piglet put the kettle on we all want some tea…

Except we won’t have some tea because the pigging thing won’t work.

Mr. Piglet has perfected the Portuguese shrug

Mr. Piglet has perfected the Portuguese shrug

A couple of months ago we had a problem with our kettle. Now in the grander scheme of things a dodgy kettle is not the end of the world. However, to me it’s very much a matter of principle when I buy a kettle or indeed any appliance and it breaks six months later. Yes, I know we live in a throwaway society but if something has a two-year guarantee I expect it to work for two years, not six months. Are you with me on this?

I did consider recycling the kettle as a plant pot to grow some herbs in. However,Mr. Piglet looked at me and laughed and was about to throw it away when I suddenly remembered we now file all receipts for occasions such as these. (This is not the first time this has happened).

Clutching the receipt and broken kettle we returned to the shop and Mr. Piglet presented it to the customer service assistant while I went off shopping. Mr Piglet returned with a wad of A4 size paperwork in return. Have they not heard of save a tree?

“Where’s the replacement kettle?” I asked as I stared with disbelief at the paperwork.

“They are going to send it off to be repaired,” he shrugged.

“What, it’s only worth nine euros; it will cost them more in effort, postage and admin.”

“How long is it going to take?”

Another shrug. Mr. Piglet has now acquired the perfect Portuguese shrug when he does not want to answer a question.

For people who’ve never witnessed the “shrug” the shoulders hunch towards the ears while the palms of the hands turn heavenward, no doubt hoping for divine intervention. The shrug is accompanied by a blank expression, a smile or a sigh depending on the nature of your complaint.

I grab the wad of paperwork and return to the customer service assistant. I know the girl can speak English so I did not even attempt Portuguese on this occasion.

“My husband’s just returned a broken kettle.” I said tapping my foot slightly with frustration. Not directed at her, but more with not having an immediate replacement.

“Yes.”

“Please can you tell me how long before we get a replacement?”

“A month.”

“A MONTH!” I said incredulously. Sometimes I can be quite scary. Probably hormones.

“Yes, a month.” She said tentatively.

“Why so long?” I asked, feeling more than slightly puzzled.

“Because we have to send it back to the technicians to be repaired.”

“But it’s going to cost you more than the kettles worth, that can’t be good business practice. You can plug the kettle in here if you don’t believe the kettle is broken”

My words fell on deaf ears and were met with the “shrug”.

At this point I’m wondering if it’s a ploy to get me to buy another kettle, I am losing the will to live and life’s too short. However, it’s a matter of principle. I stand my ground.

Another shrug “I’m sorry.” She says smiling apologetically which immediately calms me down and alleviates my frustration. Have you noticed a smile goes a long way?

“If you bring the kettle back within two weeks, we can replace it straight away; otherwise we have to send it away to be mended.” She explained patiently.

Six weeks later (that’s a Portuguese month) Mr. Piglet returns to collect the kettle. They can’t find the paperwork or our kettle.

Come back next week.

Two weeks later we return. The paperwork and kettle have gone AWOL so they give us a new kettle.

The moral of this story is: if you share the same ideals on a “throwaway” society don’t buy small electrical appliances miles from where you live in Portugal and keep the receipts for two years.

Does this sound familiar or is it just me?

Related posts
Livro de Reclamações
I Only Want My Oven Mended…please
Pigging Oven!

A Visit to the Dentist – I’m SUCH a Coward!

A third molar.

A third molar. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

A few weeks ago I broke one of my back molars on some crusty Portuguese bread. For the uninitiated the crusts are rock hard so lethal if you have crowns, false teeth or indeed any other form of dentistry!

Despite my aversion to dentists, the noise of the drill and that enormous needle they inject into your gums with such sadistic pleasure, I plucked up courage and went to the dentist’s reception and made an appointment. I’d never used this dentist surgery before, nor did I have a frame of reference from friends as to the quality of dental work or if they spoke English. So yes, I was extremely nervous!

Ho hum, decisions, decisions and as they say “beggars can’t be choosers”.

The broken tooth, one of my main munching molars meant I was unable to eat properly, and it hurt. A lot! Fortunately or unfortunately for me the receptionist indicated the dentist just had a cancellation. Before I could prevaricate she whisked me into the dentist’s chair and he had his fingers halfway down my throat while he muttered something in Portuguese.

“Abrer, ABRER” as he yanked my mouth open.

I grunted and pointed to my mouth as I choked on my saliva. I momentarily contemplated biting his fingers in retaliation. No this was not the answer Piglet so stop being such a coward.

“Abrer, ABRER!” he barked at me.
“OK Mr, it’s not my fault you have big hands and me a small mouth.” I thought as I lay gripping the arms of the chair in terror.

X-ray taken the receptionist and dentist joined forces to explain in pidgin English with the help of the x-ays that I needed a crown, but there was a problem. When is there not a problem in Portugal? NOTHING is ever easy and if it is, I’m immediately suspicious. The dentist gave me a temporary filling but I would have to return and have a mould made for the crown.

Was I in for a treat at my next appointment!

I sat in the chair and he immediately began to drill. I’m sure you can relate to that dreadful high pitch noise of the dreaded drill as you wait, eyes bulging in terror that the dentist will not inflict pain before the injection kicks in.

Hang on!

Panic immediately washed over me and I frantically waved my hands for him to stop.

“You’ve not given me an injection for the pain!” I wailed.

He looked at his assistant for clarification and then informed me “No nerves, root canal.” I felt stupid, but why the hell would I know I did not need an injection? The drilling continued. If I thought the drill was bad, having the impression made of my teeth using a metal plate filled with plasticky grunge was horrendous.

Once this metal clamp was inserted over my teeth I was not allowed to move. I could not even swallow my saliva, and when the grunge ran down the back of my throat I almost gagged.

Focus Piglet, FOCUS!

His assistant used a sucker to help alleviate the problem but only succeeded in exacerbating the situation by sucking up the underside of my tongue. OUuuucccccH I must have levitated six inches from the chair!

“Eshpeerar” He snapped, and then a little more kindly.

“Please do not move” and smiled reassuringly.

I counted to ten then twenty and then lost count in an effort to stay focused. Finally the plate was removed and another inserted metal plate for yet another impression. Much to my surprise I survived. Further explanations ensued, but by this time I’d lost the will to live and just nodded in agreement.

Unable to speak my imagination was in overdrive
“Shall we cut your head off?” “Yes, YES, anything just get this torture over with!”

Finally, treatment over I leapt from the chair, but before I could escape another appointment was needed to fit the crown. No they will telephone.

Three weeks later I’m back to the dentist ready and certainly not willing. More drilling and sucking. My tongue like a snake seemed to take on a life of its own and would not remain still. Finally the dentist stopped drilling in exasperation and held the evil drill in full view.

“I not want hurt your tongue.” he said pointing to the drill’s lethal attachment.

I lay motionless in terror, and even my wayward tongue finally remained still at the prospect of being amputated. Finally, the work complete I heaved a sigh of relief and vowed never to eat Portuguese bread again!

Is Social Media and the Latest Technology “Gizmo” Driving YOU Crazy?

When I bought my Blackberry, I thought about the 30-year business I ran with 1800 employees, all without a cell phone that plays music, takes videos, pictures and communicates with Facebook and Twitter.

I signed up under duress for Twitter and Facebook, so my seven kids, their spouses, 13 grand kids and 2 great grand kids could communicate with me in the modern way. I figured I could handle something as simple as Twitter with only 140 characters of space.

That was before one of my grandkids hooked me up for Tweeter, Tweetree, Twhirl, Twitterfon, Tweetie and Twittererific Tweetdeck, Twitpix and something that sends every message to my cell phone and every other program within the texting World.

My phone was beeping every three minutes with the details of everything except the bowel movements of the entire next generation.

I am not ready to live like this.

I keep my cell phone in the garage in my golf bag.

The kids bought me a GPS for my last birthday because they say I get lost every now and then going over to the grocery store or library. I keep that in a box under my tool bench with the Blue tooth [it's red] phone I am supposed to use when I drive. I wore it once and was standing in line at Barnes and Noble talking to my wife and everyone in the nearest 50 yards was glaring at me. I had to take my hearing aid out to use it, and I got a little loud. I mean the GPS looked pretty smart on my dash-board, but the lady inside that gadget was the most annoying, rudest person I had run into in a long time.

Every 10 minutes, she would sarcastically say, “Re-calc-u-lating.” You would think that she could be nicer. It was like she could barely tolerate me. She would let go with a deep sigh and then tell me to make a U-turn at the next light. Then if I made a right turn instead.Well, it was not a good relationship.. When I get really lost now, I call my wife and tell her the name of the cross streets and while she is starting to develop the same tone as Gypsy, the GPS lady, at least she loves me.

To be perfectly frank, I am still trying to learn how to use the cordless phones in our house. We have had them for 4 years, but I still haven’t figured out how I can lose three phones all at once and have to run around digging under chair cushions and checking bathrooms and the dirty laundry baskets when the phone rings.

The world is just getting too complex for me. They even mess me up every time I go to the grocery store.

You would think they could settle on something themselves but this sudden “Paper or Plastic?” every time I check out just knocks me for a loop.

I bought some of those cloth reusable bags to avoid looking confused, but I never remember to take them with me. Now I toss it back to them. When they ask me, “Paper or Plastic?” I just say, “Doesn’t matter to me. I am bi-sacksual.” Then it’s their turn to stare at me with a blank look.

I was recently asked if I tweet. I answered, No, but I do fart a lot.”

A friend emailed the above words of wisdom and although a joke, the underlying message touched a nerve. What about modern technology and the various Social Media channels such as Facebook, Twitter, Klout, Pineterest, Google+ all wanting their pound of flesh and precious moments of your time, are they driving you mad or is it just me? In the end we end up going round in ever decreasing circles. That’s before we’ve tried to suss out how to operate the latest gizmo! I can’t even use my mobile phone properly and as for the remote control forget it!

And you thought this was going to be a serious discussion on the “ins and outs” of social media!

Bacalhau à Brás

The first time I tasted Bacalhau à Brás I spat it out in surprised horror, downed a glass of water and swore at the assault on my taste buds. My tongue reacted in much the same way as that of a slug when you pour neat salt on it. I realise a tongue and  slug comparison is an unusual analogy, but bacalhau is extremely salty if it’s not prepared properly.

We were out to lunch with friends this week so when I saw Bacalhau à Brás listed on the menu board, as the “Prato do dia” (dish of the day), I groaned as I related my previous gastronomic experience! However, our friend ordered the bacalhau assuring me it was his favourite and no, it was not salty and no, it could not be used to kill off the slug population in my garden.

All objections overruled.

“Live dangerously” I thought, “Hell, why not?” so fingers firmly crossed, I ordered the Bacalhau à Brás.

Bacalhau à Brás, served at a little beach café

Bacalhau à Brás, served at a little beach cafe

I’m so glad I put my previous salt and slug experience behind me and gave the dish another try; on this occasion it was most definitely an “orgasmic foodie” moment. Hmmmm absolutely delicious!

On returning home I immediately trawled the internet for Bacalhau à Brás recipes, but there were so many variations I did not know where to start. Feeling slightly frustrated I enlisted the help of friends and fortunately someone found a simple recipe in their Portuguese cook book. After adapting their recipe to include garlic and a bay leaf (I knew the Bacalhau à Brás I’d eaten had garlic in as Mr Piglet said I smelt of garlic for days). I was now ready to “rock n’ roll” (start). Well, not quite, I still needed Bacalhau (pre-soaked) and something called Batata Palha, onions, garlic etc, etc.

Now on a mission and clutching my shopping list off I went to the local supermarket.

Waiting my turn to be served at the meat counter I dubiously studied the packet of Riberaleves (pre-soaked cod-fish) I’d selected from the freezer section.

Only in Portugal could you enlist the butcher’s help with fish and receive a friendly response. Wehn it was my turn to be served I held up the frozen packet of Riberaleves and tentatively explained I was attempting to cook Bacalhau à Brás. He gave me a wonderful smile, assured me it was “facil” (easy) and immediately engaged the help of another colleague. After a lengthy discussion they triumphantly produced another packet of Riberaleves where the fish was already shredded.

Riberalves - Pre-soaked Bacalhau

Riberalves – Pre-soaked Bacalhau

I then asked about the mystery ingredient “batata palha” and a packet of chipsticks (potato straws) from the crisp stand seemed to be the answer.

I asked for Batata Palha

I asked for Batata Palha

He could probably see by my surprised expression I was not convinced so nodded his head vigorously while emphasising the point with “bom, muito bom” (good). I’d planned to use normal potatoes, although the challenge how you could chip potatoes that thinly, remained a mystery. Perhaps a packet of cooking chipsticks WAS the answer.

Recipe for Bacalhau à Brás

(Serves two)

This recipe is surprisingly easy as it is quick to prepare and cook.

Ingredients:
300gr pre-soaked and shredded Bacalhau (Riberaleves)
500gr very finely chipped potatoes (like match sticks) or Batata Palha or Frita Palhini.
1 large onion (finely sliced)
75ml olive oil
3 eggs (whisked)
Small bunch of parsley (chopped)
6 Cloves of garlic (finely chopped)
1 bay leaf
Salt and Pepper to taste
Garnish: 100g Black olives (remove stones) and parsley

Method:

If you are using normal potatoes fry the “chips” lightly in oil,  drain and then set aside.

Boil the shredded cod for about 10 minutes (until tender).

I boiled the shredded bacalhau until soft

I boiled the shredded bacalhau until soft

Heat olive oil in a stew pan. Add the finely sliced onions, garlic and bay leaf and season with pepper and sparingly with salt. Fry onions until soft and semi caramalised. Once cooked remove bay leaf.

Fry the onions and garlic in olive oil

Fry the onions and garlic in olive oil

Drain bacalhau and add to stew pan with onions. Mix well. Cover the pan and simmer for 3-4minutes.

Add Frita Palihini and parsley to pan and mix with onions and bacalhau.

Whisk the eggs until frothyWhisk the eggs until frothy

Whisk eggs until frothy and add to pan. Season with pepper, and salt if required. Gently mix all the ingredients together until the egg is firm , but not rubbery.

Serve on a tray or indiviual dishes and garnish with the black olives (remove stones) and parsley.

My first attempt cooking Bacalhau à Brás

My first attempt cooking Bacalhau à Brás

Since cooking this recipe I’ve discovered a slight variation which I want to try:
Intead of boiling the cod, mash and fry gently with the onions and matchstick potatoes.

Bom Apetito

Any further tips most gratefully received!

Bacalhau com Natas (Cod in Cream Sauce)

Related posts:
Bacalhau anyone?
Bacalhau à Brás You Tube cookery demonstration

BBQ’d Piglet on Market Day

Market day in Portugal is always an interesting and colourful experience...

Market day in Portugal is always an interesting and colourful experience…

Beginning to feel faint from the intense heat I paused in the shade of a large tree to people-watch. I smiled as tourists, oblivious to the scorching sun and their already lobster-red arms and faces, rummaged enthusiastically through the clothes stalls.

Brightly coloured tie-dye dresses and tops at just two for €15.00 were waved in tourists faces by sellers with eager smiles looking for a sale.

“Good price, you buy, you buy! Quinze eur-rosh. Muita Bonita.”

“Good price, Senhora, good price!”

I am not sure if the tourists eventually bought the clothes as a means of escape, or because they genuinely liked the unusual multi-coloured tie-dyed effect of the material. Either way, as I observed from a distance I was almost tempted to buy one of the fun dresses myself. That is, until I realized, the material was see through and I immediately lost interest. The outline of my posterior is definitely not sexy and would only detract from the dress so I smugly continued to observe proceedings from a safe distance as the tortured tourists parted with their money.

Serves me right for laughing – then the fun began!

My market “experience” continues over at Expat Focus. If you found my experience amusing please like, tweet and leave your comments there.

Old Dudes Rule!

As we get older society discards us because we are past our “Sell by” or should that be “Best before” date?. But us oldens still have a trick or two up our sleeves, so youngins beware!

The Stud Rooster

Old Dudes may not have the speed but we have the brains

Old Dudes may not have the speed but we have the brains

A farmer went out one day and bought a brand new stud rooster for his chicken coop. The new rooster struts over to the old rooster and says,

‘OK old man, time for you to retire.’

The old rooster replies,

‘Come on, surely you cannot handle
ALL of these chickens. Look what it has done to me can’t you just let me have the two old hens over in the corner?’

The young rooster says,

‘Beat it: You are washed up and I am taking over.’

The old rooster says,

‘I tell you what, young stud I will race you around the farmhouse and whoever wins gets the exclusive domain over the entire chicken coop.’

The young rooster laughs.

‘You know you don’t stand a chance, old man. So, just to be fair,
I will give you a head start.’

The old rooster takes off running. About 15 seconds later the young rooster takes off running after him.

They round the front porch of the farmhouse and the young rooster has closed the gap.

He is only about 5 feet behind the old rooster and gaining fast!

The farmer, meanwhile, is sitting in his usual spot on the front porch when he sees the roosters running by.

The Old Rooster is squawking “Swuak, SWUAKKKK” and running as hard as he can.

The Farmer grabs his shotgun and – BOOM -
He blows the young rooster to bits. The farmer sadly shakes his head and says,

‘Dammit…Third gay rooster I bought this month.’

Moral of this story?…

Don’t mess with us OLD DUDES –

Age, skill, wisdom, and a little treachery always overcome youth and arrogance!

OLD DUDES RULE !!!

Related posts:
The Elderly in Nursing Homes v Criminals in Prison
The Forgotten Ones

Image courtesy of FreePhotos