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  Humor stories > Funny stories : Windy Bacon

Windy Bacon


Funny stories Rating : 8.01, 20 votes. Reviews : 2 [add review]
“Is it a keeper?” asked the boy
“Hells no! There’s more meat on the worm,” said the old man and tossed the eight-inch catfish over the side of the bridge and back down into the Fannegusha.
“You done your Sausage McMuffin?” asked the old man.
“Yeah.”
“Can’t beat McDonalds’ breakfast. Well worth the shits.”
“Grandpa!”
“Sorry.”
The boy dropped his line back in the river and the old man cast his farther out. Watching his bobber slowly float downstream, the boy caught a nasty whiff of something and pulled the neck of his t-shirt up over his nose. “Grandpa! That’s gross.”
“What’s gross?”
“You farted!”
“Who, me? No I didn’t!”
“Who was it, then ? It’s only me and you here.”
The old man sniffed the air. “Ooo-ey. Don’t try to blame your funky shits on me, boy.”
“Grandpa! Don’t swear. And it wasn’t me.”
“Well it wasn’t me, neither. It’ll be a different story in about an hour when my Egg McMuffin and hashed brown is digestin’ nicely halfways through my system. Maybe it was the ghost of ol’ Windy Bacon passin’ us by.
“Who?”
“You never heard of Windy Bacon?”
“No. Who’s Windy Bacon?”
“Who’s Windy Bacon! Who’s Windy Bacon! Where you been livin,’ boy...Canada?”
“No, Grandpa - Yazoo.”
“Well then, you should know who Windy Bacon is. He’s from these here parts. His legacy is part of our heritage. And he’s only one of the most famous blues musicians of all time. And for more reasons than one.”
“Like what?”
“He farted more then yo’ Grandmammy does after havin’ herself some of them there McDonalds Breakfast Burritos. God damn that woman can clear a room!
“Be nice, Grandpa.”
“Sorry. Well, where was I.”
“Some Bacon guy.”
“Oh yes, Windy Bacon, born on the ol’ Wilcox plantation not a ten minute drive from where we are right now. Was the seventh and youngest child of Levi and Clarissa Courville and grandchild of, at the time his only livin’ ancestor, grumpy ol’Grandpappy Leland Courville.
Poor Leland worked for that mean ol’ son-of-a-bitch mean Mr. Wilcox during the time of slavery, harvestin’ the sugarcane. That was until one day while workin’ the fields, Leland saw some of his old slave buddies from Ms. Lorna Wilson’s plantation a few miles away, singin’ their way down the road; free as a birds they was, one playin’ a banjo made out of a ol’ tin saltine canister, and the other one playin’ a harmonica in one hand and holdin’ a big jug-o-shine in the other.
Leland asked them if they had a death wish or something,’ but one of them said hells no, that they was free men. ‘Since when,’ asked Leland. ‘Come April 5, 1865,’ said the other.
Given it was over two years since the end of the Civil War and emancipation, Leland and the rest of the gentlemen slaves decided that that evenin,’ they was goin’ to go have a little talk with mean ol’ Mr. Wilcox, and by little talk I mean they all grabbed their machetes and sent him and mean ol’ Mrs. Wilcox and their slave drivin’ children running for their lives in nothing by their nineteenth century Fruit of the Looms. Said if they ever saw mean ol’ Mr. Wilcox again this side of Memphis he would have to change his name to Mrs. Willpussy when they was done with him.
So while mean ol’ Mrs. Willpussy, I mean mean ol’ Mr. Wilcox was tryin’ to hitch a ride up Old Man River, his ex-slaves were makin’ themselves comfortable in their new mansion: pickin’ out their new sleepin’ quarters, dressin’ themselves up in fancy suits and gowns and drinkin’ Mr. Wilcox’s finest wines and spirits. Gots themselves good and drunk, too; drunker than that I got that time I won three hundred dollars at bingo.
Unfortunately, Leland ended up burnin’ the whole place down; after doin’ the nasty with Grandmammy Libby Courville, Leland decided to light one of Mr. Wilcox’s big fancy cigars in bed before passin’ out.
From that night on Leland Courville was a pretty grumpy soul. Probably felt pretty stupid, burnin’ down everybody’s new mansion and all.
So back to their shacks everyone went. And it was in the Courville’s tiny shack that little Windy’s father, Levi, was born nine months later, probably havin’ been’ conceived up in the Wilcox’s king size bed. And it was in that same little shack thirty five years later that Levi’s wife, Mrs. Clarissa, gave birth to their eighth child, little Windy, who wasn’t out of her belly thirty seconds before breakin’ wind - a good five second rip right there in his mama’s arms. And that’s why they named him Windy -Windy Leland Courville.’
“I thought his name was Windy Bacon,” said the boy.
“Oh, the bacon part comes later.”
“Oh.”
“Well Mrs. Clarissa almost busted a gut along with her sisters and mother at her bedside, listenin' as little Windy kept on a fartin.’ But they soon stopped their laughin’ and started worryin,’ cause little Windy fartin’ seemed as though it was never gonna end.
And they was right.
The next day Levi and Clarissa carted little Windy into Yazoo City to see the doctor, who said that Windy was a perfectly healthy, fine baby boy, who unfortunately, had chronic flatulence disease.
Wouldn’t be surprised if that’s what your Grandmammy has - Jesus that woman stinks!
But Levi and Clarissa loved little Windy anyhow and carted him back to the plantation where they cared for him and treated him no different as they did his three brothers and four sisters.
However, once little Windy was off Mama’s milk, he really started to stink up the place, so they decided to put his cradle out in the chicken coop. That was until the chickens stopped producing eggs and started droppin’ dead. Then they decided it better to put little Windy’s cradle up on the shelf in the shithouse - since it stank like shit, anyway. And when he outgrew his shelf, Levi built little Windy his own little stinky shack right beside the shithouse.
Everythin’ was just workin’ out fine!
It wasn’t like little Windy was prohibited from entering the Courville shack – he was allowed in; he just had to sit on a window sill or by an open door, or come suppertime out on the porch at the end of the table, was all. That way he could fart all through supper without making the rest of the family sick. But it was still hard for everyone to eat cause most of the time they were laughin’ so hard at little Windy’s fartin.’ And Little Windy didn’t mind; he was laughin’ right along with them while strippin’ the paint off on his chair. He sure was a joy to have around.
Everyone was always in a good mood around little Windy. Even grumpy ol’ Grandpappy Leland Courville who had been in a bad spirits ever since burnin’ down mean ol’ Mr. Wilcox’s mansion had taken a likin’ to little Windy. And he didn’t like anyone anymore, not even his son Levi, Clarissa, or any of his other grandkids.
Grumpy ol’ Grandpappy Courville would always be sittin’ on the porch, bein’ all depressed and grumpy, usually until little Windy came around from behind the shack carryin’ his water bucket on his way to the well. ‘Hey, boy,’ grumpy ol’ Grandpappy Courville would say.
‘Yes, Grandpa Courville?’
‘Come heah.’
‘All right.’ Windy would come up to the porch where his grandpappy sat on a kitchen chair so weathered it looked older than time itself. “Yes, sir?” Windy would say.
‘Let me hear yeah, boy. And make it a good one.’
‘Yes sir, comin’ right up!’ Little Windy would plop himself down on the porch by grumpy ol’ Grandpappy Courville’s feet and let one rip, scarin’ all the birds north halfway up the Mississippi.
Little Windy’s face would light right up seein’ grumpy ol’ Grandpappy Courville burst out laughin’ and slappin’ his leg. ‘Better check underneath ya, boy. Think you cracked a panel.”
Little Windy loved his grumpy ol’ Grandpappy Courville and visited him every day. They would spend hours entertainin’ each other: Grumpy ol’ Grandpappy Courville would play his ol’ guitar and sing the blues while little Windy would fart the day away.
One day, however, grumpy ol’ Grandpappy Courville was grumpier than usual. Little Windy noticed he was having troubles playin’ his guitar, could see his fingers were stiff and crooked and he was soundin’ like shit. Eventually, grumpy ol’ Grandpappy Courville threw his guitar over the railing of the porch and into the dirt.
‘What’s wrong, Grandpa Courville,’ asked little Windy.
‘I gots me the arthrittis is what’s wrong!”
‘That’s all right Grandpa Courville, I’ll play for ya. Little Windy picked up the guitar and wiped all the dust off.
‘You can’t play, and shit, that there guitar’s bigger then you is.’
‘I can too. Been watchin’ you do it and I practice every day after you pass out. Watch me now, you’ll see.’
I wish could have been there to see grumpy ol’ Grandpappy Courville’s jaw hit the porch when little Windy started stompin’ his foot, pickin’ and strumming that old guitar, and singin’ his favourite tune!
‘That’s “She’s Pretty Ugly!” “She’s Pretty Ugly” by Blind Willy McTavish!”’
‘I know!’ Windy said. ‘Now check this out.’
Little Windy then started singin’ “Sugar Cane is a Pain (In My Ass),” playin that ol’ guitar like he had been for the last fifty years, but he was barely five. And he kept on playin’ the afternoon away; playin’ such blues classics as: “I Can’t Afford No Peanut Butter Blues,” “Pink Stinky Blues,” “All I Can Get Me is Ugly Lovin’ Blues” and “Organ Grinder For Hire.”
I guess you could say that little Windy was playin’ two instruments for grumpy ol’ Grandpappy Courville if you was countin’ his ass - a little horn section with a big sound.
Grumpy ol’ Grandpappy Courville was laughin’ so hard he was fartin’ almost as much as little Windy. Finally catchin’ his breath, he said: ‘Jesus boy, you stink like shit, but you can sure play the blues.’
It wasn’t long before word of little Windy’s musical talents got around the plantation and that same night he was playin’ for everyone. Had themselves a big party right outside Courville shack, drinkin’ shine and listenin’ to little Windy belt the blues out of both ends.
And that’s what they did every Friday and Saturday night - and every other night they was bored - so pretty much all the time.
Soon enough little Windy was playin’ down at Slimmy’s, the local juke joint for tips – outside of course, given his disability. Made good money, too. Over the years, little Windy had his little shack and his family’s renovated: installed electricity, running water and almost top-of-the-line, second-hand shitters; real beauts with mahogany seats and brass flushers.
He then treated himself to a brand new, shiny, russet-coloured Screamin’ Iroquois guitar and a slick lookin’ pinstriped suit to match - said he wanted to look good for the ladies, which so far he had had little luck with - they either thought he was too young or too stinky.
Hell, he was only ten years old by the time he left home.
Jumped a train to Jackson one night to find work. You see, his family and the other plantation workers were in desperate need of income after one night little Windy did some experimentin’ with the shine; started actin’ all drunk and stupid and let one rip through fire pit causin’ the whole crop to go up in smoke.
The next day once his head cleared, little Windy decided he had to make things right. So in the middle of the night, he put on his slick-lookin’ suit, grabbed his guitar and suitcase and snuck off.
Early the next morning, little Windy’s pappy noticed that his shack was awful quiet. When he went on over to see if little Windy was all right, he found a note on his bed sayin’ that he was sorry for what he done and that he thought the cane field, which was a good twenty feet away from the fire, would be at a safe enough distance from his ass. But he was wrong, and he was gonna fix things. Make some real money and send it back to everybody. He ended his note:
I hopes everyone can forgive me.
Windy
But little Windy’s pappy wasn’t angry. He knew all about life’s hard lessons. About getting shit-faced and burnin’ things down of great value. But it was too late; little Windy was long gone, bunkin’ in a with a boxcar full of hogs headin’ down to Jackson for slaughter, curled up on his suitcase, tryin’ not to get any pig shit on his fancy suit - there was no point in worryin’ over getting stinky.
Windy had almost made it into town when he was discovered by some dude bigger than your grandmammy and tossed from the train down into the ditch.
The sun was still risin’ when little Windy wandered into Jackson. By that time he was starvin’ something fierce, but it wasn’t until he reached South West and East Pascagoula that he found an open place to eat - Big Mama Pearl’s Fish Fry and Chop House.
‘Mornin,’ sugar,’ said Big Mama Pearl to little Windy seein’ him enter.
‘Mornin’ ma’am.’
Big Mama Pearl told little Windy to take a seat at the bar and went to get him a menu. ‘Why are you all dressed up so handsome?’
‘I’m a musician,’ said Windy. ‘Just came here to make me some big money and send it back to my family and friends.’
‘Oh, that’s sweet. Do you have a job already?’
‘No, not yet.’
‘Have you a place to stay?’
‘I figure I’ll sleep in the park. Grass looks nice and soft. And I can have me a bath every morning in the pond.’
‘We’ll you definitely need yourself a bath. You stink, sugar.’
‘Sorry, I can’t help it. I have a doctor’s note to prove it,’ said Windy reachin’ for his back pocket. ‘Wanna see?’
‘No, that’s all right. I believe you’
‘And last night I slept in boxcar full of pig shit.’
‘Watch your mouth,’ said Big Mama and whacked little Windy over the head with her notepad. ‘Now, you hungry?’
‘Hells, yeah.’
Big Mama pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow.
‘I mean hecks, yeah.’
‘What can I get you?’
Windy perused the menu. ‘What can I get for three cents?’
Big Mama Pearl said he could have whatever he wanted. Little Windy asked what she recommended.
‘Well, we do have the best B-L-T you’ve ever had and ever will in your lifetime!’
‘BLT - what’s that?
‘You serious?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘A B-L-T is a bacon, lettuce, and tomatah sandwich. And here at Big Mama’s, it’s smothered with my homemade secret sauce on my homemade bread. It’s a beautiful thing.”
‘That sounds mighty tasty. I’ll have that!’
Windy then let one rip off the wooden stool he was sittin’ on.
‘Wooee, you ripe, sugar.’
‘That’s nothing,’ check this out.’
‘Whoa, whoa. You can’t be doin’ that in here. It’s bad for business.”
‘Sorry. Where’s your shitter?’
Again, Big Mama whacked little Windy over the head with her notebook and told him to watch his mouth. She then said that the bathroom was down the hall at the end of the bar, but first to give her his clothes, that she would wash them while he ate.
Once Windy was done stinkin’ up the bathroom he returned to his barstool where he sat in only his underwears. Since he had been in the bathroom quite a while, Big Mama was already back behind the bar, on which there was a pile of neatly folded clothes. ‘They might be a little big, but you can borrow those there clothes,’ said Big Mama. ‘Your spiffy suit’s dryin’ out back.’
A Goliath of a man bigger than your Grandmammy, the size of an upright Toyota Corolla, then came out the kitchen door beside the bar. In his hand he held a plate on which was little Windy’s BLT along with a pile of hashed browns and a big slice of watermelon. He passed the plate to Big Mama.
‘Thank you, Virgil,’ said big Mama and put the mountain of food down in front of little Windy.
‘You’re welcome, Mama,’ he said in surprisingly soft voice, then turned around and disappeared back into the kitchen.
‘That’s my youngest, Virgil,’ said Big Mama pourin’ little Windy a tall glass of OJ. He’s going to van der Veer Chiropractic College to be Doctor of Chiropractic! He works here part-time. He’s really good with his hands, especially when it comes to getting rid of any trouble makers. And he’s also one of the best cooks in town, if not the best. You’ll see.’
‘Thanks Mama,’ said Virgil from the kitchen.
Big Mama then left little Windy to eat his BLT, hashed browns and big slice of watermelon.
Little Windy picked up half the sandwich and shoved it, corner first, into his mouth. ‘Jesus Christ, this is the shit!’ he said through a mouthful.
But Big Mama could make out his muffled cussin’ and raised her notepad up in the air. ‘Don’t make me come back there, now,’ she threatened.
‘Sorry, but this is delicious,’ said Windy. He swallowed and took another huge bite like a great white shark out of a surfer’s ass.
‘It’s all right,’ said Mama. ‘What you’re eatin’ there is a little piece of heaven. Happens all the time.’
It wasn’t two minutes later that little Windy finished his BLT, hashed browns, watermelon, and OJ. Thought his breakfast was so good that it inspired him to write a song about it. He grabbed his guitar and made it up right there and right then at the bar in his underwears. Called it “I’ll do anything for Bacon.”

Oh I’d do anything,’ anythin’ for bacon
Oh, I’d do anythin,’ anythin’ for bacon
I’d brush your hair, I’d wash your feet
Think about it, lady. Wouldn’t that be neat?
If I’d do anythin,’ anythin’ for bacon

Come on now, give me some mo’
Look at me, I can polish the flo’
Spit on your shoes, make ‘em shine
Whatever bacon is, is sure tastes fine
I’d fix your sink, unplug the John
Pull the hair out the drain, oh lady, come on
Oh, I’d do anything,’ anythi-
‘All right, all right,’ said Big Mama and then shouted back to the kitchen, ‘Virgil, make Windy here another BLT.’
‘Okay, Mama,’ Virgil hollered back.
Big Mama sure thought that Windy was a talented little musician. Said he was good enough to play there in the night time. The only problem was he was too young to play in a bar - and he stank like shit. So Big Mama said he could play out front, that he would probably be good for business. She even offered little Windy a place to stay for next to nothin’: an old storage shed up on the roof.
Little Windy couldn’t believe the luck he was havin.’ ‘Mrs. Pearl, you’re the nicest lady in the whole widest world,’ said Windy.
‘Sugar, you’re so sweet,’ she said. ‘You just bring me some more business and I’ll bring you some more bacon.
‘Mrs. Pearl, you gots yourself a deal!’
‘Sugar, you just call me Big Mama.’
And boy did Windy bring in the business.
After finishin’ his second BLT, little Windy went outside and started playin’ on the sidewalk. By lunchtime a crowd had gathered around little Windy, clappin’ and singin’ along, and also laughin’ at the comic relief coming out of little Windy’s ass.
Inside the Fry and Chophouse, wonderin’ where all her customers, Big Mama Pearl heard the commotion and went outside to investigate.
Though the growing crowd Big Mama could see little Windy strummin’ away and shakin’ his ass, both dancin’ and fartin’. No doubt he was is some of Virgil’s old clothes, cause he was swimmin’ in ‘em; havin’ to pull up his pants and push up his sleeves every few seconds or so.
Out by the corner of his eye, little Windy noticed Big Mama standin’ there outside the entrance, her hands on her big-ass hips, shakin’ her head.
‘Okay, sorry folks, show’s over. But don’t worry I’ll be back this afternoon and evenin’. Go now and let Big Mama serve you up the most delicious lunch you’ve ever had in your life! Don’t forget to ask about today’s specials - I recommend the bacon!
That lunch hour people were practically spillin’ out the windows. Big Mama and Virgil had never been so busy.
Little Windy then put on another show that afternoon which led to another full house come suppertime, and it stayed jumpin’ throughout the evenin.’
Little Windy would play a set, get the folks singin’ and dancin’ and all sweatin’ and thirsty. Then when he took a break and had himself a bacon sandwich, the folks would go back inside Big Mama’s for a couple drinks. But eventually they got tired of goin’ back and forth and picked Windy right up off his feet and carried him inside. Set him down on the little stage in the corner, usually reserved for musicians on the weekends: jugbands and bluesmen and women at least twice his age.
Big Mama raced across the room and opened whatever windows weren’t already open. Still, it stunk pretty fierce when little Windy let a mean one rip halfway through ‘Spittlebug Blues,’ right into a fan which blew it right into the crowd.
But everybody was havin’ so much fun that the party kept on a rollin.’ Folks just laughed while pinchin’ their noses, waitin’ for the air to clear.
‘Oh, my God - it smells like a catfish swam up that boy’s ass and died,’ said one hot little number to the man she was dancin’ with.
‘Smells more like rottin’ bacon to me,’ said the man.
‘Sorry folks, I can’t help it,’ said Windy. ‘But I make up for my chronic flatchuences with my chronic rhythms. Tell your friends, the name’s Windy - Windy Courville.’
‘Windy Bacon’s more like it!’ someone shouted.
‘Hey, I like that,’ said Windy. ‘Windy Bacon. That’s what you can call me from now on - Windy Bacon. Now listen here, just made this little ditty up this morning,’ inspired by the most-excellent food right here at Big Mama Pearl’s Fish Fry and Chop House. Don’t forget, tomorrow’s soup du jours is catfish jalapenos chowder. Here we go now... Oh, I’d do anythin’, anythin’ for bacon.....’
And that’s how little Windy Leland Courville became little Windy Bacon.
That night Big Mama made more than she usually did in a month. And little Windy earned himself two pounds of bacon and almost three dollars in tips, of which he sent one pound of bacon and two dollars back to the plantation in a giant shoe box he got from Virgil.
Big Mama said if little Windy he kept it up, he could stay up on the roof and eat all the bacon he wanted free of charge, which was easy-breezy for little Windy; he packed the place every night that week and every week thereafter for over two months, leaving only because was offered a better deal.
One night a Mr. Groucho P. Silver, owner and operator of the ¬¬¬¬travellin’ Silver Dollar Vaudeville Show came into Big Mama’s along with a couple of fine lookin’ lady specimens on his arms. There, Mr. Groucho P. Silver approached little Windy and said that it would be an honour if he joined his show, that he would be the star attraction and would even put little Windy’s picture on the posters they put up all over the country, and that he would be famous! It would be a full house every night with folks wantin’ to see the ten-year-old boy who could sing and play the blues better than Blind Alligator Fergusson, and also to hear his notorious backside. Maybe even to revel in his bacon eau du toillete. “I must have you in my show,” said Mr. Silver ‘Your’re a singer, musician, comedian, and a little bit of a freak all wrapped up into a one-boy show.’
‘Guilty as charged, Mr. Silver.’
‘Mr. Groucho Silver promised little Windy five dollars a show and all the bacon he could eat. Closed the deal by mentioning that Isabella Saturno, the opera singer occasionally made a bacon lasagne from a recipe she brought with her all the way from Verona.
‘I don’t know what lasagne is, but it sure sounds delicious. You have yourself a deal Mr. Silver,’ said little Windy and shook Mr. Silver’s hand.
The next day Windy left Jackson with Mr. Groucho Silver and his vaudevillians on their train headin’ East. But none of the other performers agreed to share a car with little Windy, so he had to bunk in with the animal performers. There was an orangutan, three poodles, and a parrot, none of which seemed to mind little Windy stinking up the equipment car in which their cages were stored. The orangotan actually found it quite hilarious and would clap her hands and roll around in her cage, laughin,’ when little Windy would tear one across boxcar’s floorboards. And when little Windy would sing to his car-mates, the poodles would howl and the parrot would sing along, repeatin’ whatever he was singin.’
And little Windy was just as popular with his human audiences; wherever the travelled, folks would be dancin’ in the aisles and rawerin’ with laughter whenever he let one rip. Those daring enough would run down to the stage to smell the farts of the windy boy wonder. After the show little Windy would sign autographs for his new found fans waitin’ outside. But sometimes the girls got themselves too excited watchin’ little Windy and security had to escort him to his cart and horse. The girls would run after the cart screamin’ and cryin’ like they was crazy or somethin’. Lord knows what they would do to little Windy if they ever got their hands on him.
Five years later, little Windy – who wasn’t so little any more – now fifteen years old, was still with the Silver Dollar Show; had travelled back and forth across the states many a time and even up to Canada. Wasn’t crazy about their bacon up there; when a waitress at a Montreal cafe informed little Windy that the strange lookin,’ plaley-pink slices of meat on his plate was peameal, he replied: ‘Oh. Uggh, oh yeah, I forgot, I’m allergic. Had it once down in Toronah -Almost died. Went blind for two months. Got any regular bacon!”
Windy could of gone back home to the plantation years earlier once the cane had grown back and everything was back to normal, but Windy wasn’t ready to go home. He liked travellin’ around with Mr. Groucho’s Silver Dollar Show and the money was great. And he still kept on sendin’ most his earnin’s back to his family, even after the plantation had returned to workin’ order; he didn’t need really need any money, all his bacon was paid for by Mr. Groucho.
Within the five or so years Windy had been gone, the Courvilles had transformed their little shack into a big beautiful shack with a new powder room, hardwood floors, and a designer kitchen with a blacksplash and granite countertops. Not to mention the forty-foot in-ground swimming pool, where after a long day in the fields, all the plantation workers would cool off and have divin’ competitions.
Another reason Windy didn’t want come home just yet was that he’d gone and gotten himself a girlfriend - who was also a bit of a freak. Anoushka Novakovsky was her name. She had been a part of the¬ McCooeye Brothers Travelling Circus where she was her ex-husband’s - Valentin Charkov - the knife thrower’s assistant. After he accidently cut off her nose, she filed for divorce and left the show to find work elsewheres.
Soon Anoushka ended up working as Nefertiti the Sphinx Lady at the Coney Island Freak Show. It was there one day when Mr. Groucho’s Silver Dollar Show was playin’ a couple shows at the Boardwalk Theatre that Mr. Groucho discovered Anoushka and offered her a job.
Windy thought she was must have been a gift from the great Lord above - not having a sense of smell and all.
For their first date they went on a picnic to some lake somewhere, where they fed the ducks and gots to know each other better. They must have been made for each other, because when Windy started tryin’ to impress Anoushka by showin’ off his fartin’ abilities, she said: ‘Dat vus nutting,’ and then showed him what she was packin’. And boy, her ass quacked louder and longer than any duck out on that lake, scaring them all away. Pretty soon Windy and Anoushka were havin’ themselves a fartin’ contest, fartin’ on whatever resonating objects they could find.
A couple hours later they decided to call it a tie; Windy had won on the china plate, but Anoushka had him beat out in the middle of the lake, up on top of the bow of the aluminum row boat they had rented.
Later that evening, Anoushka invited Windy back to her car to listen to some jazz records and have a little drinky. But Windy was had something else in mind. ‘Why don’t you take off your shirt and show me them Nefertitties,’ he said, earning him a slap on the face. But Anoushka was just playing hard to get and was soon on top of Windy like you Grandmammy on the Sundae Bar down at the Ponderosa.
Windy and Anoushka quickly fell in love and a couple months later they were back at the at the plantation where they were to be married before Windy’s Family, friends and fellow vaudevillians and afterwards have a pool party reception.
Sadly, however, Grumpy ol’ Grandpappy Courville had passed away not a week before they arrived. Windy and Anoushka went to visit his grave in the old graveyard behind the shack where all the pool supplies and chlorine was kept; where he could watch the ladies from the afterlife, loungin’ around the pool in their bathin’ suits, checkin out their exposed legs and lowered neck-lines; what he loved to do when he was alive and probably the cause of his heart attack.
Windy was unable to hold back his tears. ‘Hey, Grandpa Courville,’ he said lookin’ down at grumpy ol’ Grandpappy Courville’s headstone. ‘I hope God fixed your arthrittis and now you can play the guitar again up in Heavin. I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye. Well, goodbye. I love you, Grandpa Courville.’
‘Vindy, dzat vus beautziful,’ said Adoushka all nasally-like. ‘Vun day you’ll play togezer again.’
‘I miss him so much,’ Windy cried.
‘He’d vould be very proud ov you, Vindy.’
‘You think so?’
‘I know it - you’re a very talented musician and are going to make a great fauzer.’
‘You really think so?’
‘I know so. You vill see sooner zan you tink,” said Anoushka and gently rubbed her belly.’ A big grin spread across Windy’s face: “Really? I just thought you was getting fat!”
‘I have only been pregnant a couple of weeks,’ she said, unimpressed.
‘I’m just pullin’ your sexy legs, baby - baby, come back.’
Windy and Anoushka decided that a vaudeville show was no place to raise a child and decided they should stay on the plantation where Windy’s family was - Russia was out of the question.
‘Where is Russia, anyhow?’ Windy had asked. ‘ACROSS THE ALTANTIS OCEAN?’
So they ended up movin’ back in to Windy’s old shack by the shithouse.
It was just like old times, sitting outside on the porch at supper time, fartin’ and makin’ his brothers and sisters inside laugh, as well as his thirteen nieces and nephews who now also lived in the big ol’ Courville shack. They had all been lucky havin’ that extra income comin’ in from Windy to feed all them extra mouths and keep puttin’ extensions on the house - only natural they was startin’ to worry about how they was now gonna make ends meet again.
“Hey, Uncle Bacon,” said little Nigel, one of Windy’s little nephews at suppertime one evenin.’
“What’s up, Nigel?”
“Do you have a job?”
‘No, no... I quit because I missed all you guys just so much I had to come back and live with ya’ll.’
‘Mama says she don’t know how you plan on supportin’ everyone and keep putting chlorine in the pool.’
‘Nigel!’ snapped Windy sister and Nigel’s Mama, Janey.
‘But, you said’-
‘Well, I was thinkin’ I could cut cane by day and play down at Slimmy’s on the weekend. Don’t you guys worry none -Windy’ll take care ya’ll.’
‘Of course you will, baby,’ said his Mama.
‘Thanks Mama.’
‘You’ll always have a job here, boy,’ said Windy’s pappy, Levi.
So the next day Windy was back out in the field hackin’ the cane.
‘Screw that,’ said Windy back home after his first day of work and did a cannonball off the diving board.
‘Vhat do you mean, screw dat?’ said Anoushka.
‘I almost had myself a heat stroke. I could have died! Do you want me to die!’ said Windy treading water.
Windy had never really exercised besides stompin’ his foot, shakin’ his backside, and pushin’ out farts. And he barely ever ate anything but bacon, washin’ it down with Coca-Colas. He must of had quite the metabolism, not havin’ an ounce of fat on his skinny ass.
‘I know whats I’m gonna do,’ said Windy back out of the pool and stepping up onto the divin’ board. ‘I’m gonna open up my own juke joint right here on the plantation. My only competition will be Slimmy’s and that place’s shit! Beer’s warm half the time and I was the best act that place ever had. Half the plantation’s always shit-faced, might as well give them a place in their own backyard where they can spend their pay. Nice and close, too, so they have to worry ‘bout gettin’ snatched by a gator, cougar, or Florida skunk ape or somethin’ when stumbling home.
‘Daddy, would you help me build my juke joint? You’re good with hammers and shit,’ said Windy that night at the dinner table.
‘Only if I can be bartender. That’s were all the tips are at!’
‘You got it,’ said Windy.
‘I can help, too. I got a screw driver,’ said his brother Ewan.
‘All right!’
“I’m strong,” said his brother Charlie. “I’m pretty sure I can lift seven hundred pounds. Ask Ewan, he saw me once throw a boulder twenty feet into the river.”
‘It’s true!’ said Ewan.
‘And I can paint a big fancy advertisement for Budweisers on the side of the place,’ said his brother David. ‘It’ll be fabulous!’
Everyone wanted to help: Windy’s Mama Clarise said she could sew an awning for out front; his sister Amy said she could come up with a menu and booze list, which his sister Janey said she would design; his sister Rebecca said she would go door to door asking for donations – tables, chairs, whatever folks wanted to donate; while his sister Bessie would concentrate on advertising and make flyers which she would give to the dozen or so grand kids to hand out around town and at church on Sunday.
The excitement was contagious – everybody, including Windy’s brothers and sisters-in-laws wanted to pitch in. And Anoushka said that she could wait tables, that she had been a waitress as a young girl in Russia before she came to America: “Butz only until di baby come. All dzat smoke is armful to zuch little lungs,” she said and lit a cigarette.
And it didn’t take long for the Courvilles to build Windy’s new dream and the new family business: a good-sized room with a deck out back over-lookin’ the pool.
Two week later it was openin’ night.
Since they were located at the intersection of two dirt roads and there was always a lot of breakin’ wind goin’ on, everybody decided to call the family business Windy’s Corner - Juke Joint and Bacon Shack. And when Windy cut the ribbon hangin’ across the front door, folks immediately rushed in, fillin’ up the place. Folks came from alls over to drink Budweisers and listen to Windy sing the blues and fart the night away.
But Windy was no longer just a solo act. He was now bein’ backed by his band of brothers: Ewan on bass, Charlie on percussions, and David blowin’ the harp. Of course, they didn’t really back Windy up - given his condition – instead, they all stood off to the side, hopin’ most of the stench would blow out the huge window, installed just for that purpose.
Opening night for Windy’s Corner was huge success and things never slowed down. There was no way poor ol’ Slimmy down the road could compete and soon went out of business. But Windy, bein’ the goodhearted sole he was, bought all Slimmy’s shit off ‘im, including his billards and card tables and even offered him a job as general manager, which he gladly accepted and made more money workin’ for Windy than he ever had owning his own place.
It didn’t take long for word to spread far and wide of the jumpin’ little juke joint called Windy’s Corner. Even the young white folk started turnin’ up. Got themselves some strange looks at first, but soon enough the blacks and the whites were dancing with each other and doin’ the nasty out in the bushes.
Everybody wanted to come and see not just Windy and his brothers play, but other great local acts, including Puddles McPhee, Celery Stalk Lewis, Sassy Girl Saundra-Lou, and Hangnail Pete.
Even Big Mama Pearl and Virgil came to see Windy’s new place and to hear him play again: ‘It’s just not the same without you, Sugar,’ Big Mama Pearl told Windy.
‘Yeah, we all miss you Windy,’ said Virgil.
‘Tell you what,’ said Windy. ‘You give me your recipe for that secret sauce of yours and I’ll come up heres and theres and play for yas all. The folks can dip their bacon fingers in it. I’ll put on every table right next to the ketchup. Even put your picture on the bottle.”
Big Mama Pearl agreed and it was a good thing she did too, ‘cause within a month someone from Southern Condiments showed up at Big Mama’s askin’ her if she would wish to sell her recipe.
“Hell yes!” she said.
With all the money she made from sellin’ her secret sauce recipe, Big Mama could have retired easy, but she loved her Fish Fry and Chop House, and instead, used the money to pay Virgil’s remaining tuitions for Chiropractor College and after he graduated, helped him open up his own clinic.
Then one evenin’ – Christmas Eve, evenin,’ actually, a couple of men came into Big Mama’s looking for Windy. Introduced themselves as brothers Fred and Chester Zajac from All Right Records out of Memphis and said that they was lookin’ for a Mr. Windy Bacon and wantin’ to hear what all the fuss was about. Big Mama told Mr. Fred and Mr. Chester Zajac that Windy wasn’t there that night and wouldn’t be back for almost two weeks.
But Mr. Fred and Mr. Chester Zajac were desperate for a new hit record and couldn’t wait that that long, so they jumped back into their truck headed up to the plantation.
That night when the Zajac brothers showed up at the Windy’s Corner, Windy was in the middle of a set, playin “I Gots the Blues In My Balls.” The place was packed as usual and since it was Christmas time the place was all decorated up with paper garland, paper mistletoe and paper snowmen, all which the little kiddies had made at school. And in the corner beside the stage was a Mississippi Pine Christmas Tree covered in hundreds, if not thousands of ornaments made from Budweiser bottle caps.
The Zajac Brothers went up to the bar where Levi was bartendin. Chester ordered two Budweisers and for him and his brother and asked Levi if that was Windy Bacon singin’. As if hearin’ Mr. Chester’s question and answerin’ himself, Windy lifted his left butt cheek and let mean one rip off the stool on which he was sitting, sounding like when you go and put baseball cards in bicycle spokes. ‘Merry Christmas Everybody,’ Windy said. ‘I’m gonna go gets me a Coca-Cola and a bacon sandwich. Be back in ten.’
Windy put his guitar down, left the stage and walked over to the bar where his pappy passed him a Coke. “Nice set, Windy.”
“Thanks, Pops.”
Misters Fred and Chester Zajac who were right beside Windy both agreed with his pappy. They then offered their hands to Windy, introduced themselves and requested if they could record a side or two. Told Windy that if so, he was going to be a star!
‘Just like Dusty Rag Lamontange and The Rag-A-Muffin Quartet!’
‘Windy, you’re going to blow them right out of the water,’ said Mr. Fred Zajac.
‘No Shit!’
‘No shit,’ said Mr. Chester.
‘Really!’
‘Really.’ said Mr. Fred. ‘We have ourselves all the equipment we need in our mo-bile recoding laboratory parked right outside.’
‘Hot Damn! Let’s do it!’
‘Well, we usually would set up you up in a room by yourself where the acou’- Mr. Chester started to say.
‘Naugh - go get your shit, I’ll tell everyone to shut the fuck up.’ Windy raced over to the stage so fast he farted the whole way across the floor. ‘Hey everybody, shut the fuck up!” he shouted.
Everybody went quiet and turned around.
‘Tonight we have two very special quests joining us here at Windy’s Corner. Let me introduce to you from Memphis Tennessee, the founders of All Right! Records, Fred and Chester Zajac.’ Windy outstretched his arm towards the two Polish brothers at the bar. The crowd turned and looked at Mr. and Mr. Zajac who were both shyly waving. ‘Who tonight are going to record the first ever Windy Bacon and his Band of Brothers record, right here on this stage right before your very eyes, and ears!”
The crowd erupted.
‘We’ll go get our equipment,’ Mr. Fred mouthed to Windy, pointin’ to the door.
Windy smiled and winked and gave the gentlemen a big okay. He then looked around for his brothers, spotting them chuggin’ back a round of Dr. Peppers for grownups. ‘Ewan, Charlie, David, get yo’ asses up here!’ Windy shouted over the ecstatic crowd.
‘You want us to play on the record too, Windy?’ asked Charlie as he reached the stage, his eye as wide as saucers.
‘Hells, yeah.’ said Windy. ‘Can’t put any more heart and soul onto a record than by playin’ with family. Now hurry your ass up and grab yo’ shit.’
‘This is the best Christmas eva!’ said Charlie
In then came the Zajacs with few big honkin’ suitcases full of equipment along with a microphone and stand. The crowd parted to them through to the stage where they quickly set up.
When they were ready, Mr. Fred Zajac turned to the crowd. ‘Try to be quiet now. Tonight we’re going to make music history recording Mr. Windy Bacon for the first time. And I have a feeling tonight is going to be the beginning of a long and successful for career for Windy, starting right here at Windy’s Corner with all you fine folks. So, Ladies and Gentlemen, here he is, Mr. Windy Bacon?
The crowd hollered and clapped for a moment before going dead quiet. Down on the floor in front of the stage, Mr. Chester had one hand on a switch, with the other he gave a thumbs to Mr. Fred who looked to Windy and said: Windy, let’s make History.’
Windy looked back to his brothers. ‘Okay, boys. “All I Want for Christmas is Bacon.” A 1 a 2 a 1 2 3...
Oh, all I want for Christmas is bacon
I said all I want for Christmas is bacon
You just wasted a trip
Woman, here’s a tip
All I want for Christmas is bacon.....
Incredibly, the crowd managed not to jump, shout, or even tap their toes while Windy and his brothers cut their first side ever! Like needin’ to scratch yourself after doin’ the nasty in a patch of poison ivy with a woman with more crabs than one of those deathwish seafarin’ yahoos on the Discovery Channel, when Windy and his brothers ended that number, everybody went crazy - they had nailed it!
Mr. and Mr. Zajac were so impressed with Windy and the boys’ performance they asked if they could cut a few more sides that night, which Windy and the boys gladly agreed to. In fact, they cut quite a few more sides that night, including: “I got a Big Black Snake in my Pants,” “Butcher Shop Blues,” “Goodnight, Anoushka,” “It’s Rainin’ Bacon,” and “Bacon Before Sunrise.” All of which sold over a million copies worldwide in the first year alone after being released and hundreds of millions more ever since.
Windy Bacon and his Band of Brothers practically became a musical sensation overnight and Windy’s Corner a popular tourist attraction - still is today. Folks come from far and wide to tour the plantation, have their picture taken out in front of the Courville’s big fancy shack and beside the pool, as well as by Windy’s little ol’ stinky shack next to the shithouse; and no trip to the plantation is complete without stoppin’ in for a couple Budweisers and some bacon fingers dipped in Big Mama Pearl’s secret sauce at Windy’s Corner Juke Joint and Bacon Shack– all of which is all now owned by Disney.
The old man cast his line back down into the river. He watched his bobber stop-a-bobbin’ and begin to drift away.
“It’s too bad pour Windy died so young,” said the old man shakin’ his head. “Only twenty-seven years old, he was.”
“How did he die Grandpa?” asked the boy.
“His heart exploded.”



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