Long Handled Spoon

Up ta da deer camp vent Ole on his very first hunt.

“Tomorrow I won’t be doin’ no deer drivin’,” said Torvald as they sat around the cookstove eatin’ fried chicken. “Hemorrhoids been actin’ up.”

Ole asked, “Torvald, vhat in tarnation iss a ‘em-er-oid’?”

“Ya? You don’t know, then? Vell, it’s sort of like havin’ the tail-end of your insides come out da back door, Ole.”

“No! Ya don’t say!”

“Vell, sometimes it happens, specially at deer camp, Ole. It's been goin' around. Hope you don’t catch it.”

“Ya!” said Tovald. “Terrible affliction, it is. You don’t vant it, I’ll tell you!”

So Sven couldn’t pass up this opportunity for a good deer camp prank. After they all hit the sack, Sven tiptoed out to the shed, gathered up a bucket of entrails from the butchered chickens and carefully slipped them into Ole’s sleeping bag.

The next morning all the men in camp waited for Ole’s reaction. There was none. They finished breakfast and were heading out the door when Sven finally had to ask, "Say, Ole, you didn't catch a bout of the hemorrhoids now, did ya?

“Oh, ya!, Sven.” Last night I had a good spell of dem ‘em-er-oids’. But vit’ the help of the good Lord and dat long handled spoon in de oatmeal pot, I yust stuffed 'em all right back in!”

—James Brakken, Cable, Wisconsin