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Difficulty:
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Terrain:
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Size: 
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The worst job I ever had was working for the Pacific Railroad,
doing a thing called "gandy-dancing." Now most of you know the
railroad was built partially by Irish labor. Well, back then the
workers would use this long handled shovel, made by the Gandy
Shovel Company of Great Neck New York. Well, they'd shove one end
of the shovel under a railroad tie, and then run out to the other
end of the shovel, when they could find it, and do a little jig on
it, and they called it "gandy-dancin'". This would lift the tie up
so they could shove gravel under it, which would level the roadbed,
so when the train came along, it wouldn't tip over, which would be
a real drag for everyone. Well, nowadays, they run three cars out
on the rail: a bunk car, an equipment car, and a mess car. The only
thing they don't give you is a cook. The bosses figure you'll find
out who the best cook is, and use him. Well, they were wrong.
Y'see, they just find out who complains the loudest about the
cooking, and he gets to be the cook. Well, that was me, see. Ol'
aligator mouth. That was the worst food I'd ever had, and I
complained about it. Things like "dog bottom pie" and "pheasant
sweat." I thought it was garbage. So I complained. And everyone
said, "alright, you think you can do better? You're the cook."
Well, that made me mad, see? But I knew, that anyone who complained
about my cooking, they were gonna have to cook. Armed with that
knowledge, I sallied forth, over the muddy river. I was walking
along, and I saw just this heck of a big moose turd, I mean it was
a real steamer! So I said to myself, "self, we're going to make us
some moose turd pie." So I tipped that prairie pastry on its side,
got my stuff together, so to speak, and started rolling it down
towards the cook car: flolump, flolump, flolump. I went in and made
a big pie shell, and then I tipped that meadow muffin into it, laid
strips of dough across it, and put a sprig of parsley on top. It
was beautiful, poetry on a plate, and I served it up for dessert.
Well, this big guy come into the mess car, I mean, he's about 5
foot forty, and he sets himself down like a fool on a stool, picked
up a fork and took a big bite of that moose turd pie. Well he threw
down his fork and he let out a bellow, "My God, that's moose turd
pie!" "It's good though."
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