Once upon a time, there were four fun-seeking and free-spirited young adults who wanted to travel to New Orleans to take part in Mardi Gras. There was Beaumont the Devilish, Jack the Awkward, Simon the Inappropriate and Winston the Mischievous.
The members became whole in Tallahassee and made their way to the Big easy, stopping only to pee, get gas…and to sleep for six hours in a cheap Mississippi (redundant, much?) motel. Arriving in N’Awlins too early to check into their ridiculously over-priced hotel, our heroes hit the town early in the afternoon in search of beignets (ben-yays), crawfish and alcoholic beverages. Please don’t bother judging the group; they’re all adults and fully-functioning members of society. If they want to have hard liquor at 1 p.m., goddamnit, they are allowed that privilege.

Fast forward about an hour later, Jack’s drunk as shit at 6 p.m. They crew is still drinking, in Popeye's, and Jack’s making Katrina and levee jokes…loudly! Realizing he was too drunk too early, Jack threw away the Loko and the quartet made their way to the parade. Being the first there for the parade meant we were front row once the festivities started. Later, Beaumont, Winston and Jack decided it was time for another Loko, while Simon wisely opted for a Bud Lite. Simon’s wisdom was a godsend and presumably kept one, maybe two, of the group members out of jail.
What started as a trip to drop off some of their beads in the hotel room turned into chaos. Beaumont, drunk off life, two cups of wine and two and a third cans of Loko, was put under constant supervision by the group. Winston, the enabler of many things wicked, didn’t have as much of the Loko as Beaumont, but was just as drunk. Among many things, the two raced down the hotel hallways and threw numerous broken beads around the hotel room. Beaumont even began demolishing the metal towel rack in the hotel bathroom.
Jack, merely partially drunk, went into wrangler mode, taking it upon themselves to talk down the two drunkards and, in numerous instances, physically restrain Beaumont from leaving the hotel. But the devilishly elusive Winston could not be contained, and headed out into the night. Not wanting to leave Beaumont -- now passed out -- alone, for fear he’d wake up drunkenly disoriented and expose himself to the public, Jack and Simon called it an early night and were asleep before 1 a.m.
On Saturday, after Winston and Beaumont slept off the booze, the group had some orgasm-inducing Cajun food. They then checked out of their hotel and loaded up their car just in time to get caught in parade, stand-still traffic while baby Hurricane Katrina pelted the city. Incredibly cranky, our weary companions were finally able to drive in the rain 35 miles -- 24 of which were over one bridge -- to their hotel for Saturday night.
Determined not to let dickhole-like weather muck up what was meant to be an awesome trip, the four took solace in the cause of and solution to all life’s problems, booze. At Daiquiris and Creams (yes, Creams), they discovered they could buy daiquiris in the following sizes: small, medium, large, half gallon and gallon! Simon and Jack drank half of their half gallon daiquiris, took the party to Outback (thanks, N’Awlins, for not having open container laws) and got ready for the night’s festivities.

Simon, Jack and Beaumont had no idea Bourbon St. would be so densely packed. After fighting their way through the crowd to get to the Hand Grenade hut, seeing titties of various sizes, colors and pleasantness along the way, the gang shelled out $5 to set up shop on a balcony to be more discriminate with the way they distributed their beads. The rain may have left behind winds and chilly temperatures, but the crew didn’t it ruin their night. They gave out beads, saw someone they knew from home, ate a diet-mutilating (and thereby great) burger, made fun of a half naked woman drunkenly rolling around in garbage juice, among other things. And one of them, not the one society would dictate, even earned a gift of his own.
Sunday arrived and with it, came time for our protagonists to head home. But not before someone got tattooed. Leaving New Orleans around 1 p.m., our weary heroes made it to Tallahassee around 10 p.m. to drop off one of their companions. Thanks to almost no gas stations being open when the car carrying the remaining three was almost on E and a hellishly slow drive on a 10-mile stretch of road when they were 28 miles away from home, the three arrived at their homes in less than stellar mood. Subsequently, two of the group members were “sick” when it came to work the following morning.

1 comment:
Next year, there needs to be fifth loco added to the group, who prefers to be called Bocephus, if you'll take requests.
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