QotD: You laughed so hard you can't catch your breath. Stick out your tongue and show us what's funny:

We all lived in town, hoity-toity like, cuz Mam hauled her ass off’n that farm to catch herself the doc fer wedded bliss. Weren’t she jest thet proud, though. Folks couldn’t call her Miz, like everbody else, oh no. She was DOCtor Miz to you, and thank you very much.

Still and all, we kids learnt thet three mile hike to the farm lickety split and spent ever gosh durn minute and a half there we could. They was chickens and cows and haylofts you could fall out of and break yer gosh durn arm if you ain’t careful, bub. Also Uncle Mike with his left eye hid under a patch and twenty gazillion tales ‘bout how it got that way, and if’n he was in a foul mood he’d lift the patch and the sight would make you piss yer pants.

Our all time favorite was them little bitty calves what Uncle Mike took away from their poor old mams right off the bat so’s they could get back to the milking shed. Purty little darlin’s with their big ol’ eyes and wobbly legs and slobbery noses. They’d butt their heads at you and sweep them pretty pink tongues up yer backside and down, ‘til you let ‘em suck yer fingers. They was in heaven then, you could see it jest lookin,’ and you could finger thet little crop o’ curls in the center of their forehead and pet ‘em all over whilst those little tails switched.

Nana was there too, scoldin’ and carryin’ on ‘bout us dirty filthy heathens what didn’t have no sense o’ cleanliness nor godliness neither so how could we be kin a hers. Wild Injuns, thet’s all, but then she’d feed us stuffed up to the gills and bring out a cherry pie jest as Mam drove up to claim us. Land sakes, girl, these uns ain’t naught but skin and bones, skin and bones. Don’t you feed ‘em? And we all would sit up straighter and force more down our gullets with big happy smiles jest to see our Mam blush and tap thet big ol’ foot o’ hers. Boy oh boy were we gonna ketch it later, but as my brother Joe pointed out, once we started cryin’ and retchin’ and then took to spillin’ all thet good wholesome food out agin, she’d stop fer the sheer wastefulness of it all. Not thet it spared us vengeance, and Mam had a right good lick o’ sense when it come to Vengeance with a capital vee.

Ever now and agin Uncle Mike up and slaughtered some poor bull calf what God in His mercy made too many of so’s we could eat meat. It were downright interesting to watch, ‘cept fer the part where he hit the poor bawlin’ thing smack dab in the center of the forehead with his big ol’ sledge hammer. We all got misty eyed, thinkin’ that rowdy had once been one o’ them little ol’ calves in the shed under the hayloft. Still, you cain’t get all yer protein from eggs and chickens, now can you?

Big ol’ chain in a tree to hoist the carcass up and then high time to git serious. We all had to help and it were a chore and a half. Nana and Mam git to choppin’ with their cleavers and we all git to rippin’ off butcher paper from the roll and wrappin’ it all up fer the freezer. The one time we all figure Pa ketched a break bein’ Doc and made up fer them times folks did naught but complain and cough their germs on him.

So when we finish up, Uncle Mike always give the best bit to his little sister, which was our Mam. Whatever bit she wants, and our mouths jest cain’t help waterin’ thinkin’ o’ rib eye and tenderloin. We all don’t mind liver, even, cuz Nana taught her how to cook it fast in a mess o’ onions and bacon grease. It ain’t no use. Mam says tongue, and we all groan and carry on whilst Nana rolls her eyes and Uncle Mike laughs his fool head off.

Tongue. A delicacy, Mam says. City folk’d fight over it, Mam says, and we don’t believe her, not one bit. We ride on home, we all slumpin’ and grumpin’ whilst Mam sings show tunes. She tosses thet tongue in the pressure cooker and whoomp whoomp wham! It’s on the table in no time. Only now it ain’t all pink and slobbery, lickin’ us upside and down. It’s gray. Mam slices off big healthy pieces fer us, one and all, hummin’ and doin’ a little tap dance. Pa don’t look happy but he says be glad we ain’t in China. Joe says, don’t he mean India? Which I don’t git, but he gits Mam’s wooden spoon up the side o’ his head fer it. Woman, would you please not smack his brains out, says Pa, but that don’t git anybody excused from the table.

Tongue. Gotta git this stopped, says Joe one day. Got me an idea. So we steal Mam’s red food dye and some of Pa’s gelatin capsules. It’s a tricky business, cuz thet food dye melts thet gelatin down too quick to suit Joe. Then we take to stackin’ them capsules by size and Joe finally declares he got the knack.

Next time Uncle Mike gits to slaughterin’ we all create a whoop an’ holler over some little thing whilst Joe gits out his pocketknife and does a quick pilferin’ o’ his own. Then later whilst the tongue is pressurizin’ he runs to the bathroom where we got hid thet food dye and gelatin capsules. Ready.

So this time when Pa says his bit ‘bout China and Joe says India and Mam’s spoon comes swingin,’ ol’ Joe falls off’n his chair an’ lays gurglin’ on the floor with red spewin’ out. We all starts in screamin’ and Pa’s on Joe lickety split and Joe spits out the bit o’ raw meat he stole. Look a here, says Pa. Made the boy bite his tongue off, you crazy ol’ woman, and he grabs the bit o’ meat and scoops up Joe off’n the floor and rushes him into his surgery.

Had to stomp Littl’un’s foot once to keep the bawlin’ up, but we all sits outside thet door sobbin’ our hearts out whilst Mam’s tearin’ her hair and wishin’ all kinda wild things.

Jest as we all’s wonderin’ when Pa’s gonna come out and tell her it was all a joke, thet door opens and Pa steps out, his arm ‘round Joe’s shoulders. Juice and puddin’ for this’un, he says. He gives her a stern eye. Let’s be havin’ no repeat of this, shall we?

Could be he was fearful o’ gittin’ Joe’s brains smacked out altogether. Could be he was no fonder o’ tongue than we all. Either way, Mam backed off to liver and Joe kep’ his brains purty much intact ‘til he met ol’ Moonshine Cletis.