Date: Tue, 19 Jun 2001 20:42:25 -0700
Reply-To: Steve Schwenk <steve@SYNCRO.ORG>
Sender: Vanagon Mailing List <vanagon@gerry.vanagon.com>
From: Steve Schwenk <steve@SYNCRO.ORG>
Subject: Moose Turd Pie & WTB Rear Shoulder Belt
Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii
Still looking for a rear shoulder belt for a vanagon if
any one has one.
Also, for those who were wondering about Moose Turd
Pie, here's the version by U. Utah Phillips on Philo
records, 1973:
_________________________________________________________
I'll tell you about the worst job I ever had. It was
working for the Santa Fe Rail Road south of Las Vegas,
Nevada. That's the old
Mormon Muddy Mission, way out in what the Navajos
called the "boonies", out in the desert. The job was
gandy-dancing. Now,
gandy-dancing used to be in the old days when the Irish
were building the rail road. Of course, the first
transcontinental rail road was
built by Irish labor, and they used these long handled
shovels called "Irish Banjos" that were made by the
Gandy Shovel Company of
Chicago. Now, the Irish laborer would take the wide end
of the shovel, when he could find it, and he would jam
it in under the rail or
tie, and he would climb out on the long handle...do a
little jig step out there. And they would lever the tie
up and they'd push gravel
up underneath it, and tamp it down; and that level the
road bed. See, that's what gandy-dancing is...leveling
the road bed so the
damn train didn't fall off as it goes by...which is
just a big drag for everybody.
Now, they don't do gandy-dancing in the normal way
anymore, see, like they did in the old days. Nowadays
they run 3 cars out on
the line. They run a box car out there that's a bunk
car; you sleep in it and it's got bunks that are 18
inches apart. Then you got a
tool car with your tamping irons, your tongs, your
double jack hammers, and your spikes, and all of the
equipment to do the job. And
then you got a cook car. There's no restaurants
anyplace, so you got a cook car; pots and pans, a coal
or wood burning stove, and
a long table down the middle to eat at. The only thing
they don't hire is a cook That's because they're cheap;
saves them money.
The rule is that in the crew they're supposed to pick
among their own members, who's going to be the cook.
They don't try to do this
sensibly, like draw lots or decide who the best cook
is. What they do is wait to find out who bitches and
whines and pisses and
moans the most about the cooking, and they say "all
right wise-guy, you think you can do better, you get to
be the cook". Well, that
was me, see! Ol' alligator mouth, new man on the crew ;
and that was the worst food I'd ever had. I mean it was
otter water, comes
out of an otter; terrible terrible stuff. Some people
think that's a delicacy, but I thought it was garbage.
So I complained, so they said
"ok, wiseguy, you get to be the cook". That made me
mad! Because I didn't want to cook, but I knew if
anybody complained about
my cooking, they were going to have to cook.
Armed with that knowledge, I sallied forth over the
muddy river. I was walking around among the sheet grass
and the bunch grass,
and I looked down, and there was just a hell of a big
moose turd. Biggest damn moose turd; that was a real
steamer! I looked down
at that meadow wafer, and I said to myself "Self, I'm
going to bake up a big moose turd pie." Because if
anybody complained about
my cooking, they were going to have to cook. So I
tipped that pasture pastry up on edge. I got my shit
together, so to speak. And I
started rolling it down towards the old cook car.
BALUUMP!
BALUUMP!
I got it down there and leaned it up against the side
and I climbed up in the cook car, and I baked a hell of
a big pie shell. And I
baked that moose turd in as slick as you please. And I
cribbed it with my thumbs, and laid strips of dough
across it, & garnished it
with a sprig of parsley, a little paprika. It was
beautiful; poety on a plate. And I served it up for
dessert, waiting for the first hint of a
complaint. Well, this giant dude comes in, about 5 foot
40; I mean he was big. Throwed himself down like a fool
on a stool. Picked
up his fork. Took a big bite of that moose turd pie.
Well, he threw down his fork, and he let out a bellow,
and he yelled..
"My God! That's Moose Turd Pie!
... It's Good, Though!"
Joe Fortino wrote:
>
> This is WHY i love this LIST. things can go around for friggin days
> and the end result is great.. :)
>
> Joe
>
> mike miller <mwmiller@CWNET.COM> wrote:
> Don't ask!
>
> Please.
>
> ----- Original Message -----
> From: Larry Alofs <lalofs@ENTERACT.COM>
> To: <vanagon@GERRY.VANAGON.COM>
> Sent: Tuesday, June 19, 2001 1:37 PM
> Subject: Re: Moose XXXX Pie? Warning Possible Adult
>
> > David Beierl wrote:
> > People who disagree with his taste are reminded of the old
> >
> > > Maine story of the Moose-Turd Pie...
> > >
> > > david
> > >
> > > David Beierl - Providence, RI
> > > http://pws.prserv.net/synergy/Vanagon/
> > > '84 Westy "Dutiful Passage"
> > > '85 GL "Poor Relation"
> >
> > Well?
> >
>
> ____________________________________________________________________
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