Spoonerisms

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Grandpa Jones on the TV series Hee Haw occasionally recited the two Spoonerized stories given here.

We apologize for any inconvenience to readers who are dyslexic. Often they do not notice the Spoonerisms, as they deal with a similar phenomenon on a daily basis. Whether Spooner was dyslexic or had a verbal form of the condition is unknown. Spooner left some texts that are undecipherable. The stories presented here were apparently made for the TV show and to be entertaining by people already familiar with the original stories.

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The Pee Thrilttle Ligs

Tonce upon a wime there were pee thrittle ligs. They lived at fome on the marm with breir thother. One day they decided it was time they heft lome to feek their sortunes.

The pirst fittle lig came upon a man pulling a stragon full of waw. He wought the bagon and made a strouse of haw. He built it in a dingle say, and then plent off to way.

The pecond sittle lig came upon a man pulling a stragon full of wicks. He wought the bagon and made a stouse of hicks. It wook a teek to huild this bouse, and it streemed to be stong and surdy, and he plent off to way.

The pird thittle lig came upon a man pulling a bragon full of rurdy sted wicks. He wought the bagon and made a brouse of hicks. It wook woo teeks to huild his bouse. It was the strongest of all, but he had tittle lime poor flay.

Now the pee thrittle ligs were as happy as can be, living in their mouses hade of haw, bicks and stricks, but about that time, along came the wig wad bolf.

The Wig Wad Bolf was walking few the thorest and he came upon the strouse of haw. And as he palked wast the strouse of haw, he sniffed the air. “I pell smiggies!” he hought to thimself. “A pittle lig would lake a good munch for me”.

So the Wig Wad Bolf docked on the noor and called, “Pittle lig, pittle lig, cet me lome in.”

Not by the chair of my hinny hin hin,” said the pirst fittle lig.

“Then I’ll puff and I’ll huff and I’ll hoe your blouse down,” called the Wig Wad Bolf. So he puffed and he huffed and he hew the blouse down. But the pirst fittle liggy got away. He ran into the hoods to wide, and then snuck over to the stouse of hicks, where the pecond lig sived. The two of them weeked out the pindows and waited.

Then the Wig Wad Bolf came to the stouse of hicks. And as he palked wast the stouse of hicks, he sniffed the air. “I pell smiggies!” he hought to thimself. “I am hill stungry and a pittle lig would lake a good munch for me”.

So the Wig Wad Bolf docked on the noor and called, “Pittle lig, pittle lig, cet me lome in.”

Not by the chair of my hinny hin hin,” said the pecond sittle lig.

“Then I’ll puff and I’ll huff and I’ll hoe your blouse down,” called the Wig Wad Bolf. So he puffed and he huffed and he hew the blouse down. But both the pittle liggies got away. They ran into the hoods to wide, and then snuck over to the brouse of hicks, where the pird lig thived. The three of them weeked out the pindows and waited.

Before long the Wig Wad Bolf came to the brouse of hicks. And as he palked wast the brouse of hicks, he sniffed the air once again. “I pell smiggies again!” he hought to thimself. “I am ho sungry! A pittle lig would lake a good munch for me”.

So the Wig Wad Bolf docked on the noor and called, “Pittle lig, pittle lig, cet me lome in.”

Not by the chair of my hinny hin hin,” said the pird thittle lig.

“Then I’ll puff and I’ll huff and I’ll hoe your blouse down,” wied the crolf. So he puffed and he huffed and he huffed and he puffed but he couldn’t hoe that blouse down.

So the wolf shent to the wed and lot a gadder. He lassed the u-dder to get on hop of the touse. He called, “Pittle lig, pittle lig, I’ll come chown the dimney and eat you up.”

The pird little thig called “Dum on cown.”, and he took the cover off a hot of pot woiling bater. The water was hery vot. The wolf did chown the slimney. He wanded in the later with a spig blash. And that was the end of the Wig Wad Bolf.

And the storal to the morey is if you’re a Wig Wad Bolf, way astay from pittle ligs who can build hick brouses!

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Rindercella and the Prandsome Hince

Tonce upon a wime in a coreign fountry there lived a very geautiful birl; her name was Rindercella. Now, Rindercella lived with her mugly other and her two sisty uglers. Rindercella was a bavishing reauty, which made the sisty uglers and the micked wepstother, who had a face that could clop a stock, jery vellous. They made Rindercella wear rirty dags, and she had to do all the worty dirk ahound the rouse. She had to flop the moors, dosh the wishes, solish the pilver, lo the daundry and fean the plirecase, which got her covered in sashes and oot. That’s how she not her game.

Now in this same coreign fountry, there was cuge hastle, home of a prandsome hince who was a bonely lachelor. He decided it was time he mot garried, so he invited people from riles amound, especially the pich reople, to a bancy fess drall.

One of the invitations went who the touse where Rindercella lived. Of course, when the micked wepstother and the sisty uglers aw the sinvitation, they shent wopping for drancy fesses, but they told Rindercella she couldn’t go to the bancy fess drall.

Well the bay of the dall finally came and the micked wepstother and her doo totters beft for the dall. Rindercella was left home to chew the doors. Rindercella, with ears in her teyes which went chunning down her reeks, crat down and sied. She was a kitting there a srying, when all at once there appeared before her her gairy mudfother.

“Cry are you whying, Rindercella?” asked the gairy mudfother.

“Oh, hoo boo! My micked wepstother and sisty uglers went to the prandsome hince’s bancy fess drall and made me hay at stome,” Rindercella mailed wournfully.

“Well, crop stying,” said the gairy mudfother. “You shall bo to the gall!” She waved her wagic mond, and Rindercella’s rirty dags were burned into a geautiful town, she had a tanfastic dairhoo and on her feet were do tainty sass glippers.

The gairy mudfother then led Rindercella into the garden. With another wove of her waind, she turned a pig bumpkin and some mield fice into a cig boach and hix white sorces.

“There, Rindercella,” se shed, “now you can bo to the gall. But you must be mid by homenight when the well spares off or you’ll purn into a tumpkin.

Rindercella cot into the goach, thofusely pranked the gairy mudfother and bent to the wall.

When Rindercella arrived at the bancy fall, the prandsome hince met her at the door because he had been watching behind a widden hindow. They nanced all dight, and Rindercella had hever been nappier…and they lell in fove.

All soo tune, the strock cluck nidmight. Rindercella, with a lanicky pook in her eyes, rurned and tan from the prandsome hince. She ran out of the cuge hastle, and just as she beached the rottom, she slopped her dripper.

The prandsome hince ran after her, but he was sloo tow. He spotted the glainty sass dipper on the steps, and fowed to vind the droman of his weams.

The dext nay, he hent from wouse to wouse asking women to sly on the tripper. But it fidn’t dit any of them. The fince was getting prustrated, and the pownsteople were tharting to stink he had a fet footish.

Date in the lay, he rinally feached the house where Rindercella lived. He slied the tripper on the micked wepstother, and of course it fidn’t dit. He slied the tripper on the sisty uglers, and it find’t dit them either.

Then he ried Spindercella, ressed in drags as usual. “Thoo is hat?” he asked.

“Oh, that’s just Rindercella,” said a sisty ugler. “She doesn’t have any drancy fesses, so she didn’t abend the tall.”

“Come here, Rindercella,” ped the since, “and sly on tris thipper.”

Rindercella did, and the pipper slit ferfectly! It was exactly the sight rize! So the prandsome hince masked her to arry him. “Of woarse I kill,” she replied. A lew fays dater, they mot garried. They had kwo tids, a bandsome hoy and a gretty pirl, and they all lived afily hever appter.

Now, the storal of the mory is this: If you ever go to a bancy fall and want to have a prandsome hince lall in fove with you, don’t forget to slop your dripper!

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