Trudy rode her motorcycle all the way to Louisiana hoping to get a real bargain in motorcycle boots. (You’re right. Trudy is a sweetheart, but she’s not the brightest candle in the wind.) Once there, she was surprised to find the prices were still very high—and the shoe shops didn’t allow haggling.
At Shoes by Alphonse, she ran out of patience and shouted, “I’ve got my rifle. Maybe I should just get me an alligator so I can get shoes at a reasonable price.”
When Alphonse stopped laughing, he said, “Give it a try. Maybe you’ll get lucky.” But he was thinking, “More likely, you’ll get eaten.”
As luck (and the plot of the joke) would have it, on the way home, Alphonse spotted Trudy. She was standing waist deep in the waters of a bayou. An alligator swam slowly toward her. Trudy lifted her rifle, took aim, and shot.
She killed the alligator.
Alphonse was tempted to lend a hand when she struggled to get the alligator to shore. But he resisted the temptation; he wasn’t about to assist in a violation of the Louisiana game laws.
Eventually Trudy got the alligator to shore. That’s when Alphonse noticed the pile of gators already on the bank, all dead. Trudy hauled the latest dead reptile to the pile and flipped it over to see its feet.
“Darn it,” Trudy said. “This one hasn’t got shoes on either.”
Yet, there’s no denying it: Unless you plan to ride exclusively around the Southern United States, you’ll face some chilly winters. And even before it...
