Why All the Brouhaha About ULV Parties?

Richard Keeler, Editor in Chief
Richard Keeler, Editor in Chief

What’s all this brouhaha about ULV parties?

Heckfire, ah don’t know whut they find so entertainin’ ’bout them night­ly roundups. Everybody’s makin’ like it were some real big hoedown or sumpin’. Now they definitely a wasn’t holdin’ no 4-H milkin’ con­test, but some kinda contest was goin’ on.

What I mean is, how kin a feller enjoy hisself in one o’ them places with all thet poundin’ thet passes as music an’ all o’them slinky, honky­tonk wimmen runnin’ around gig­glin’ an’ askin whut yore sign is – whatever the hell thet’s s’posed ta mean.

Wull, at least ah figured ah’s at the right place cause everythin’ looked like it shoulda – ’bout 150 bulls ta’ two heffers. Yep, a ULV roundup all right.

Ah’s jest tryin’ ta make ma’ way inta th’ clear when some cute little thing came a waddlin’ over ta me in a matchin’ sweatsuit an handed me some pink lemonade. Ah acc’dently dropped ma spur inta it. Oum if it didn’t dissolve ‘fore ma very eyes. Ah was a wonderin’ why there’s all thet chokin’ ‘n gaggin’ going on.

Jest then someone bellered somethin’ ’bout a gator. Heckfire, ah didn’t see no all’gator. Jest saw a buncha matchin’ sweatpants a flyin’ through th’ air pretendin’ they’s a waterin’ hole below.

Jesta ’bout then ah started a lookin’ fer th’ door. Made it jest ‘n time, too. Seems. the men in blue came fer their roundin’ up, likewise. They’s a askin’ me ’bout all th ruckus an’ ah said, “what ruckus?” They’s jest a buncha gators.

Pers’nally now, ah think they’re jest a buncha flyin’ polecats. They don’t even know how to square dance.

Someone said they wanted ta take this here hoedown ta Mt. Baldy. How they a plannin’ ta get home anyways – fly?
Never did figure out who buys all thet redeye bein’ passed ’round. Course, from da looks o’ it, it didn’t matter much. Ah’ll havta check ma radiator fluid in da mornin’.

One feller came a stumblin’ ta me mumblin’ ’bout some disorder . Shoot, they coulda operated on him right there with all thet disinfectant a flowin’ – brain surgery, o’ course. (Ah’ve seen sharper foldin’ chairs in ma day.)

Ah met a’nother tough cowpoke who’s been attendin’ these round­ups fer a good seven years. Says its a good place ta meet heffers.

Ah told him thet when this young’en grows up, and gets both a them oars in da water, I’ll take him ta town ta meet some real ladies. Figger he needs ta see a place where men are men, and wimmen are glad of it. The wimmen there are right proper, too.

Yessir, ah always knew them La Verne cowboys are a welcome lot. They even have smokey a visitin’.

Kin always tell where a ULV party is a transpirin’ by the sound o’ the police radios. A party ain’t a party ’till its stopped six times by the blue. Said somethin’ ’bout a pen if these things weren’t a quietin’ down.

Funny thing though – these hoedowns always start from some kinda tupperware parties or sumpin’. Must have sumpin’ ta do with all them signs a hangin’ invitin’ good cowboys to them Lamb & pie barbeques.

So what’s all this brouhaha about ULV parties anyway?

Richard Keeler
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