I was just mentioning to one of the other business owners here in town about how it was likely just a bit cooler in Hell than it is on a hot Texas summer afternoon, when he pulls out this old postcard from yesteryear, that Rusty would have really liked, with the following on it:
[UPDATE: It seems that Pixy is a far better researcher than I. See note reagrding his find in the extended entry]
By the Author* of "Texas is Paradise"
The Devil in Hell we're told was chained,
And a thousand years he there remained,
He neither complained nor did he groan,
But determined to start a hell of his own,
Where he could torment the souls of men,
Without being chained in a prison pen,
So he asked the Lord if he had on hand
Anything left when he made this land.
The Lord said, "Yes, I have plenty on hand,
But I left down on the Rio Grande
The fact is 'old boy' the stuff is so poor
I don't think you can use it in hell any more."
But the Devil went down to look at the truck
And said if he took it as a gift he was stuck.
For after examining it carefully and well,
He concluded the place was too dry for a hell.
So in order to get it off His hand
The Lord promised the Devil to water the land.
For He had some water or rather some dregs,
A regular cathartic and smelled like bad eggs.
Hence the trade was closed and the deed was given
And the Lord went back to his home in heaven
The Devil said to himself "I have all that is needed,
To make a good hell," and hence he proceeded.
He began to put thorns all over the trees,
And mixed up the sands with millions of fleas,
He scattered tarantulas along the roads;
Put thorns on cactus and horn on toads.
He lengthened the horns of the Texas steers,
And put an addition to the rabbit's ears;
He put a little devil in the broncho [sic] steed
And poisoned the feet of the centipede.
The rattlesnake bites you, the scorpion stings,
The mosquito delights you with his buzzing wings,
The sandburs prevail and so do the ants
And those who sit down need half soles on their pants.
The Devil then said that throughout the land
He'd arrange to keep of the Devil's own brand,
And all should be Mavericks unless they bore
Marks or scratches of bites and thorns by the score.
The heat in the summer is one hundred and ten,
Too hot for the Devil and too hot for men;
The wild Boar roams though the black chaparral;
'Tis a hell of a place that he has for a hell.
*This author was not identified on the postcard, and I was unable to determine such through a cursory search on the Internet.**
**Pixy did a search and attributes the authorhip to one E. U. Cook.
Posted by Tiger at August 4, 2003 03:18 PM | TrackBackHi Tiger. I fixed my post so now it actually says something instead of just tormenting you.
Those darned closing quotes have really been on my case today. Grrr!
Posted by: Pixy Misa at August 5, 2003 11:22 AM