“Boo!” said the
goose. “You cain’t sing no blues.”
“Whatchoo mean,
grandma Goose? Ah can sing any way ah choose.”
“Melvin Moose,
you be givin them vocal chords some serious abuse. Ah’ve heard a better tune
from a rabid raccoon.”
“You just messin
wit mah head. Ah could sing something else instead.”
“Boy, ah swear
on mah big feather bed ah ain’t messin witcha head.”
“Then you just
tryin to make me sad. Ah cain’t be that bad.”
“Don’t be goin
all sad. You just bad.”
“Other folks
been sayin ah’m good. Maybe you just bein rude.”
“You sure you
din’t misunderstood? Who the hell been sayin yo good?”
“Billie Sue and
mah best friend, Jeff. Billie been so impressed, she been cryin’ and chokin for
breath.”
“Billie Sue got
her eye on you, and yo good friend, Jeff, he be tone deaf.”
“Mama said ah’m
the best and she be proud ah entered the talent contest.”
“Yo mama just
tryin to make you feel good. Just doin what a mama should.”
“But what about
the show? Ah cain’t back out. Ah sure gotta go.”
“You outta yo
mind? You sing at that show, they’ll tar and feather you and kick yo behind.
Pretend you lost yo voice, pretend yo sick. Just think of something. Any ole
trick.”
“Thank you,
grandma Goose, bye for now. Gonna get me home and do a bit of thinkin how ah’m
gonna get outta this somehow.”
“Whatchoo been
sayin to that boy, grandma Goose? asked Gander Goose. “You know that poor boy
is seriously obtuse.”
“That talent
show he ain’t gonna be in. Now that he’s out, ah’m sure gonna win.”
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