Norwegian Farmer’s Son…September 12th

September 12th…“DID YOUR FARMER FATHER ENJOY PLAYING PRANKS OR JOKES ON UNSUSPECTING FAMILY AND FRIENDS?”

POEM – “Our Prankster Playing Papa”Β  by N. Elliott Noorlun

#38.1=Dad n Mom picnic (1948)
A laugh a day was Daddy’s way πŸ˜‰

Our prankster playing Papa, He really loved to laugh,

Especially when, Someone else, Received his latest gaff.

You never knew, What laid in store, For yourself or family member,

For in Dad’s head, His mind just sped, With a new joke’s glowing ember.

NFS 7.22b
Newborn he or she?

Just like the time, As little boy, We saw a calf new born,

And I was the target, Of Daddy’s joke, One early Summer’s morn.

“Son, go out to that newborn, And lift its little tail”,

“Single barrel? Or double?”, He meant female or male.

He laughed so hard, As I scratched my head, Had no idea what he meant,

But Dad laughed only louder, As his body doubled bent!

NFS 9.12b
Plastic Pooo!

And ohhhhh the shock, That Dad would cause, There at our supper table,

When he’d toss the plastic pile of poo, On the plate of neighbor Mable!

She’d turn from conversation, With her head turned to one side,

And SHRIEK with shock, As Dad would laugh, To the point he almost cried πŸ˜‰

She’d say, “OH RUSS, you stinker!!”, But then she’d laugh along,

While conversation returned to normal, Just like a family song.

NFS 9.12c
Puketastic!

Or when a cousin, Would come to stay, Some days upon our farm,

Now THAT was Daddy’s cue for fun, And causing some alarm.

He’d take some plastic puke he bought, And drop it on their chair,

So when they’d come, To sit on down, They’d jump in shock or stare.

Chalk another one up, For our Dad’s laugh, It rang throughout the house,

I’ll bet it scared, The birds outside, And even local mouse.

NFS 9.12d
Elliott’s daddy loved his toast burnt black.

Girl cousins, When they came to stay, They dare not make a fuss,

Just like when they, Became the joke, That came from Uncle Russ.

Now Dad, He liked his toast burnt black, As it lay there on his plate,

The rest of us, Preferred it “gold”, The type that most folks ate.

Those early teenage cousin girls, Quite feminine, Dainty folk,

Were about to be shocked, As Dad said this, As gleefully he’d poke,

“Ohhh Uncle Russ, That toast is burnt!”, “It’s really not the best.”,

“AWWW, GO AHEAD AND EAT IT!”, “YOU’LL GET HAIR UPON YOUR CHEST!”,

Well, that’s the LAST thing, A little lady, Would ever want to hear,

But Dad just laughed, A hearty howl, And grinned from ear to ear!!! πŸ˜‰

#340.1 Russ Noorlun 1953
Our Russ! πŸ˜‰
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