Victoria's Secret

Jim Bob wandered around the Mall in a confused stupor. What in the world would he get his wife for Christmas? All of these shops had all of this stuff, and it was all soooooo expensive! He opted for the food court and a piece of pizza to help clear his mind.
Monty! That was it, he would call Monty! Monty had run that feedlot for 35 years and been married to Betty Lou for forty-five—if anyone could council him about this dilemma, it would be the smartest man he knew . . . his boss Monty!
Riiiing, riiing, riin “Lo”
“Monty, this is Jim Bob”
Where th’ hell you at kid, ain’t we gonna’ rope at three?”
“Yeah Monty, I’m plannin’ on it—but I gotta’ problem”
“Shoot bucko”
“Well . . . I’m down here at the Mall, and I don’t know what to get Peggy Sue for Christmas.”
“That’s day after TOMORROW, kid.”
“I KNOW Monty. Can you give me any ideas?”
“How th’ hell would I know—I do my Christmas shoppin’ at th’ feed store!”
“Well . . . I kinda’ wanted to get her sumpthin’ special, since it’s our first Christmas and all.”
“Sumpthin’ special, huh—say . . . were you gonna’ head or heel today?”
“Head Monty, I always HEAD! Now—do you have any gift ideas for me?”
“Victoria Secret kid . . . git her sumpthin frilly from Victoria Secret. And hurry yer ass up and git back here so’s we can rope!” Click.
Well, Jim Bob had never really thought of Peggy Sue in a Victoria’s Secret kind of way . . . so he guessed it would really be a surprise for her if he got something there. Besides—he kind’a wanted to hurry up an’ git back to rope, too!
Jim Bob turned the first steer as pretty as a picture, and Monty threw it in the dirt, as usual. Down at the strippin’ chute, Jim Bob thanked Monty for his advice about going to Victoria’s Secret to buy his wife a Christmas present.
“So yew gotter’ sumpthin’?
“Sure did. Real frilly . . . edible . . . and NASTY!”
“Well . . . that’s th’ point, kid.”
“I also learned what Victoria’s Secret is.”
“Well I’ll be danged kid . . . do tell.”
“She ain’t built NOTHIN’ like Peggy Sue . . . that’s her dad-gummed secret!”
Monty chuckled as he loaded the next steer.
“I’ll tell ya what ain’t no secret, kid—it looked good on Victoria in the picture, and it’ll look good offa’ Peggy Sue—which’ll be YER dad-gummed secret!”
“Yeah . . . and I LOVE strawberry to boot!”





. . . and now, another e-mail from one of our readers . . .


Dear Dewhicky,
Would you please settle an argument for me and my husband? Do you know that Christmas song that has the line, “Chestnuts roasting over an open fire . . . “? Ain’t that referrin’ to Europeans cookin’ up some horse?
Carole in French Lick, Indiana


Dear Carole in French Lick,
Well . . . huh . . . now that I think about it—you could be right! Please tell your husband that I’m sorry, and my regards to all sorrel horses.

Merry Christmas, Ya’ll!