Lem don’t eat Muslim food, and the curries give his belly the bumptions. He do stick to American food.
But Buck was still filling his barrel with curry goat and Cuban picadeeyo. Buck ain’t reckon that that rice don’t go with the sauce cuz he ain’t read the placards labeling each thang. “I’s gonna be fartin’ up a storm tonight-“
“Don’chu eat that curry!” Lem said.
“You might wanna get ya nose removed b’fore lights-out, Lemmy.”
“Don’chu call me Lemmy! That’s — you’s bein’ drogatory, Buckums, that’s — that’s prolly racist, and I won’t take it from some hillbilly sister-fucker-“
“I don’t got a sister, Lem.”
“-who look like a cartoon basset hound-“
“Fuck you, Lem, you look like a hobo. I think you tried-a redd up my windshield fer a dollah back in Abilene-“
“Hurry up and eat, whiteboy!” Lem wanna drink, he wanna get back to the dead-end and drink. He thinked Buck ain’t know t’was why Lem got hurry in his bones, but Buck knewed. Buck may be a hillbilly, but he know which way was up.
“Stop talkin’ to me then!” Buck said. He shoved another fullawful fulla pepper slaw in his mouth. “I is eatin’ e’ery single one these fullawfuls, old head!”
From Buck on the Oil Rig