It's not that the joke below is all that funny, but when I saw it, I
burst out unexpectedly in a horse laugh (bull bellow) because it took me
back to an evening long ago in Fort Worth, Texas.
First, the joke:
One day, an American was touring Spain. After his day's sightseeing,
he stopped at a local restaurant. While sipping his wine, he noticed a
sizzling, scrumptious looking platter being served at the next table.
Not only did it look good, the smell was wonderful.
He asked the waiter, "What is that you just served?"
"Ah senor, you have excellent taste! Those are bull's balls from the
bull fight this morning. A delicacy!"
The American, though momentarily daunted, when he learned the origin
of the dish said, "What the hell, I'm on vacation! Bring me an order!"
"I am so sorry senor. There is only one serving a day since there is
only one bull fight each morning. If you come early tomorrow and place
your order, we will be sure to serve you this delicacy!"
The next morning, the American returned, placed his order and was
served the one and only special delicacy of the day. After a few bites,
and inspecting the contents of his platter, he called to the waiter and
said, "These are much, much smaller than the ones I saw you serve
yesterday!"
"Si senor! Sometimes the bull he wins."
END OF JOKE
Why I laughed so hard was because the joke made me remember meeting
a cute guy at a car wash in Fort Worth that was he best cruising place I
ever found anywhere on earth for clean, macho, horny men of the cowboy
genre.
So the guy and I struck up an acquaintance. Now, I could see right
off that he was "straight as a board," as they say, and there was no
hope, I figured, of a roll in the hay (lots of that in Texas). However,
he was such a cream dream that I couldn't help but ask him to join me
for a bite to eat.
"Well, sir," he said, "Sure!"
"Where would you like to go?" I asked. "I haven't been in Fort Worth
long enough to know what's what in the eat-out department."
He grinned. "No problem. Lived here half my life since I came up from
the ranch. I know a place you probably never been before."
"Let's go!" said I, and parked my car and joined him in his pickup to
a part of town I certainly never had seen before, but had heard about --
the famous stockyards of Fort Worth.
"Pee-yoo! What a smell!" I said when we stood together on an
old-fashioned Texas sidewalk made of wood, with a wooden sun-shade
overhanging like a roof.
"Slaughter time," he said, nodding his head toward the high stockyard
fencing across the way. "Reckon they had a big load of cattle cars come
in on the railroad today."
My stomach twisted a little as I thought of the transport of Jews,
gypsies, gays and other minorities by freight car to the Nazi slaughter
camps of World War II. For a moment, I had intense sympathy for the bulls
and cows likewise transported to an untimely death, then snapped out of
it, being unable to equate their fate with the tragedy of human kind.
We were in front of a home-style restaurant with sturdy wooden tables
and calico table cloths. Western paintings adorned the walls, as they
often do in the American west, and I had seen and loved some fine ones at
the then new Amon Carter Museum in Fort Worth.
Fort Worth billed itself as the "Gateway to the West," but I was
inclined to entitle it "gateway to the worst" after a few driving trips
on business through arid country to Odessa and Midland way out in West
Texas where the jackrabbits looked you right in the eye and the "West
Texas Dicky Birds," as they called big old west Texan cock, sometimes
SPAT right in your eye. Oh, yeah! Whoopee! I had me a few of those!
So we went into the restaurant and sat down, and here came a tank of
a waitress, a big old blonde with a frilly blouse and, believe it or not,
spurs on her boots and real leather chaps over blue-denim, brass-studded
pants we used to call "dungarees."
She was one large woman, pretty as a peach (and those peaches
bouncing in her blouse weren't exactly SMALL!), with a smile as big as
her body, aimed straight at my companion.
Hehe! I thought. Maybe this guy's bisexual. He appeals equally to
either sex!
"Howdy!" the old gal boomed like a cannon fired by the defenders of
the Alamo. "Whachy'all gonna have?"
My companion brightened and spoke up, with no menu in sight. "Ha, ha,
ma'am! Why you thank we come here? We want us some FRIES!"
She grinned back, flapping her eyelashes at him like a leaf in a
storm. "I'll fetch 'em directly," she replied. "Donchy'all want some
SUDS?"
"Ha, ha, ma'am, we surely do! Gimme a Lone Star, and my friend'll
have the same!"
She turned on a dime like a hippo ballerina in Walt Disney's
"Fantasia" film and toe-danced her way back to the kitchen with her
wide-screen butt shaking like two laundry tubs full of jello. She
seemed to turn him on.
He leaned toward me over the table and said in a confidential tone,
his eyes clearly glazed with lust: "That is one fine broad. I like my
women big. Did you ever see tits like that?" He looked right past me.
He couldn't take his eyes off her where she was filling our order in
the back.
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