Pizza Comedy

The drive down to New Orleans was an interesting one. There isn’t an insane amount to see in the states that we cruised through — Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana. A lot of open land, obese people, and billboards for Jesus. Per the latter, there were two interesting things I saw. One was LifeWay: The Christianity Store. This is a chain of WalMart-esque stores that sold what I can imagine to be Jesus trinkets and Bible board games. I’m so happy to see that God has endorsed your commercialism, LifeWay. Just like the Bible wanted.

There was also a great sign in a truck stop bathroom, located on the 75-cent Condom Dispenser next to the toilet. It read:

“These condoms help prevent the spread of sexually transmitted diseases and AIDS. However, the best way to avoid getting AIDS is abstinence before marriage and a monogamous relationship after marriage.”

I can’t even begin to pick apart what is weird about that message from a condom company, but I did find it humorous that they singled out AIDS as what you would get if you don’t adhere to abstinence (great choice, btw). Ahhh, the South.

After a pretty damn gorgeous sunset over the great plains of Bumblefuck, we found ourselves in the arms of the great city of New Orleans. This is the home of jazz, Bourboun Street, bars that never close, crawfish, and of course, The Duke (aka Dukesycat, meow). Duke is one of my great friends from growing up, and how he ended up in New Orleans, I’m not quite sure, but he lives down there and was our fanstastical guide through the streets of N’Orlns.

(He is actually on a 3-way call will the Mayor of New Orleans and a whorehouse here)

I should first point out that he owns a house — a gorgeous one — which he bought shortly after Katrina. What’s interesting about New Orleans is that the nice, livable neighborhoods checkerboard with the poor, boarded-up ones. And when I say bad neighborhoods, I mean it. And they can be like 3 blocks from the nicest houses. I’m not sure how that force-field of crime stays intact (well, maybe it doesn’t), but we double locked our car just to be safe.

But back to the Duke and this great city. So we arrived pretty late into the city, I believe we walked through the door at about 11:20pm — and there was the Dukesycat, awaiting with a fresh 12 pack of Abeita (the local brew) and a gallon jug of Sweet Tea vodka. Now, i only recently had heard of this thing called Sweet Tea which has been a staple of the South since the civil war. Somehow, they convince water to hold more sugar than is humanly possible, and this is the basis for this sugary bevy. And the vodka is even better, because it gets you drunk and it tastes amazing.

A couple glasses of that, and we were on Bourbon Street.

Ahhh, Bourbon Street. I had been here once before (you may remember I had food poisoning and spent the whole time pooping last visit), but this time, I got the full experience. For those of you that haven’t been to the “French Quarter”, where this debauchery is centered, I will do my best to describe it. But it is truly something that must be seen in person to be understood, because you’ll probably think I’m just exaggerating.

I’ll start with this: Sin. Pretty much, there are no rules, no open container laws, and everyone’s drunk, so you can imagine the number one thing on people’s mind. This would be “sex”, and they are more or less selling it (or at least some form of it) on every corner. But in addition to the insane amount of strip clubs, massage parlors, and “spas”, there is more entertainment.

Bars. Literally, one after another. All with drink specials, shots, and balconies. The balconies are used for drunk people to wave beads at the people below, shout “show me your tits”, and then subsequently to see said tits. In between the bars and strip clubs is liquor stores. This is Bourbon Street. And we were rolling with the King Cat, the Duke.

Sidenote: For the record, this is “Dukes 3.0″, the reboot. He recently broke up with a long term girlfriend, so this was the new Duke. More beers, more excitement. Guaranteed. And now he has a goatee, so you know he’s serious.

We started the evening with a world famous “Hand Grenade”. These are sold in bright neon hand-grenade yardsticks, and they’re world famous because they are the most potent drinks known to man. And they’re deadly, because for the most part, they taste unbelievably good. But they are so sweet and loaded with various liquors, that your stomach pretty much explodes with unhappiness when you drink them.

Ka-pow.

We finished that and headed up to a balcony to shout at some ladies and passerbys. Now, I know how this sounds. Sexist, chauvinist, and pretty much wrong. Which is why people from out of town like me and Brian are always a bit standoffish. At first. I mean, anywhere else you yell “let me see them tits!!”, you’re gonna get slapped, and then probably punched, and if she watches Oprah, sued. But this is New Orleans. And the response you got from these girls was them showing their boobs. Not every girl, but some. All shapes and sizes and ages. Seriously, the stuff that is normal hear would get you arrested anywhere else.

After a few beers, and some pointers from the Duke, we got in the spirit. That is something I recommend everyone should experience (man or women).

We left the balcony, and head down to street level, had a few beers and shots, and tried out a couple more local favorites. I should also note that the bars never really close on that street, or as the Duke put it, if they do, he’s not quite sure when. Pretty much as long as drunk people are wandering in, they’re open.

We ended the night with a long stint at Scores, a place in which I got to witness the Duke tell a stripper to her face “She could have had all this”, while gesturing up and down his body with one hand. It was hilarious. This was new Duke. After a few dozen singles, we left the bar. I’m not the type of guy to ever pay for sex, but these places had special VIP rooms set up for just that. Pass. Thanks though.

We wandered around for a while, drunkenly breathing in the city, and left Bourbon Street around 5am. It was still packed.

The next morning I called the “Handgrenade Hangover” — I felt like shit. We all did. But Dukesycat took us for the great hangover-killer, a local breakfast joint that took cajun love and put it into your stomach. We all ordered the “Creole Slammer”: two eggs over a pile of hashbrowns, covered in crawfish etoufe. It was amazing. I could barely eat, but it was amazing.

We laid around recovering for most of the afternoon, as it was what I would describe as “fucking disgusting” outside — the humidity was so intense. You could literally walk ten feet from the door to the car and be sweating profusely but the time you hit the car. Gross. No wonder no one works in that city.

After a while, we headed back down to the French Quarter for some more delicious creole cuisine. Catfish, gumbo, po’boy sandwiches, jumbolaya, fried shrimp. We ate the hell out of it (that is the one thing we’ve done consistently; eat like morbidly obese people).

We needed to take it a little more easy that night, so we headed down to Frenchman Street — this is the strip of bars the locals all go to. Live music everywhere, great restaurants, art and bars, but you’re not gonna see beads or Hand Grenades. We stopped in a bar we heard live music blasting out of, and saw one of the craziest musical things I’ve ever seen. It was a jazz trio: a lead guitarists, a drummer, and a guy playing bongos. But the lead guitarist was playing THREE guitars at once, all while singing. He was playing a guitar with his right hand, another guitar with his left hand (picking the strings), and the bass guitar WITH HIS FEET. All while singing. It was unbelievable.

We hung around Frenchman Street for the whole evening, went to a couple bars, listened to live music, and then capped the evening off with a delicious Hookah. The last stop of the night was Cafe Du Monde — a world famous place that serves “beignets”. It’s pretty much unbelievably delicious fried dough, but it’s been there since like the 1800s. Unofficially, they invented the doughnut. I, of course, being a pig, ordered six. I’ve never been happier or felt fatter than that moment.

I think Dukes sums it up in this picture:

We woke up feeling refreshed and ready for the next leg of our journey. After two nights with the Duke, we got the full New Orleans experience — food, boobs, alcohol, hangovers, air conditioners, and all around craziness. Sadly, we had to part ways with the cat, because Austin, Texas was a full eight hours away, and we needed to complete my mission to find out first hand whether things are actually bigger in Texas.

They better be. I’m fully expecting my penis to grow 6 additional inches, perhaps even a set of longhorns. We waved by the Duke, saying “meooowwww” as we headed west towards the Lone Star State….