Friday, December 7, 2012

Pull my chain

A week or so ago I was walking back on Canal from the ferry returning from a job interview. In the Quarter even with eye sight as bad as mine you can spot tourists two blocks away. Things like beads, souvenir cups, pointing, taking photos actually and stopping when asked about their shoes. One couple passed, each wearing Hard Rock Cafe shirt from two completely different cities. They had a bag filled with... Hard Rock Cafe NOLA shirts. I just don't get it .

I honestly go out of my way to be nice, even helpful. If I see a couple spinning a map around 360 degrees and each pointing in different direction, I will causally ask "Whatcha trying to find?" I'll admit I bite my lip when they say something like "Hard Rock" or "Bubba Gumps" I want to say in a condescending tone "WHY?" I've seen tourists walk out of a McDonalds. Save your air fare, I'm sure there's one closer to your suburban home. 

 At least go to Krystal Burger and look out the window.
You might get to see a felony being committed. 

I love this city. Like when you are introduced to friends and family of a loved one, you try to make a good impression. One time I found myself with Otis walking on a menacing dark Burgundy Street feeling like a film noir extras. Like a siren, the unmistakeably cackle of "Drunk girls giggling" is heard. We met at the intersection 3 grenade toting girls pledging a sorority that night, emerging out from the darkness. "What's down there?" one managed to blurt out between giggles pointing towards Rampart. Otis sternly warns. "Oh Sugar, you DO NOT want to go thata way. Turn around and go back towards Bourbon. Nothing on this side but trouble. Please go back to Bourbon." We stood for a moment to watch them turn and walk back towards the light. Not as creepy guys checking out booty, but like two dads watching our girls walk to the bus stop for the first time.

If you plan to live here for any length of time you must be resigned to question of WHEN you get jumped, not IF.  You got to look after the friends of the city you love. My point is, if they want fucking Bubba Gump, then go ahead. "BUT, might I recommend a favorite of the locals?""Oh yes please...." Eyes open wide in anticipation of a secret or good gossip. "Coop's Place on Decatur. The chef is missing two fingers from when he used to hunt gators in the Bayou. He figured cooking gators was easier and safer than catching them. Try the Jambalaya." It's up to them at that point. Perhaps the feel safer at Bubba's. 

The French Quarter is like hard liquor,
some folks can't handle too much at once. 

A recent public issue in the Quarter led to a separate discussion among Quarter Rats, "Are corporate national chain restaurants good for the French Quarter?" Purists insist such blights should be driven into the river like an invading hostile force. Landlords holding vacant buildings and unemployed kitchen staff differ. Personally, I detest all things corporate like that. The Clover Grill might be a little more expensive than a fast food chain, but so worth it. Do you know how many oppressed workers  must endure Jimmy Buffet music all day while being forced to wear an ugly shirt as a uniform? Inhumane working conditions by even third world standards.

Look at how many chains do attract visitors, Harrahs, House Of Blues, Marriott, Hard Rock. We almost never get ads from them, no hard feelings. Tourists don't read us, locals do. We send people to the hard knock cafes on Decatur and Burgundy Streets.  I've seen what can happen. Hip, chic and slightly dangerous artsy neighborhoods homesteaded by 21st century beatniks who move in and make an area worthwhile. Ten years later it's all Starbucks and pretentious franchisees that the artists can no longer afford. It's not easy adjusting your budget from squatter to $2,400 a month.

Corporate imperialism, happens all of the time up North.

Folks buy expensive homes and condos on Esplanade and then yell at the brass band to keep it down. They have money and influence. So much in fact, they use it to destroy what makes their investment so valuable. Dumb fucks. Those of you not familiar with the corner of Esplanade and Rampart, there's this abandoned 1930's canopied gas station with a green Spanish tile roof. Classic building covered with plywood and graffiti. Habana Outpost from New York City wants to open up another restaurant on that location. Rampart needs something to improve it. For even street wise local, the area is sketchy. One of those "we have a web site community groups" of property owners near the proposed Cuban food establishment are fighting it tooth and nail. 

Arguments of scarce parking are moot to my ears. Most every weekend there is a festival of some sort when a parking space is as rare as a virgin in the Quarter. Noise? You chose to buy property in the heart of the Jazz capital of the world, STFU. Prefer the unoccupied building as a neighbor? I can tell you first hand it's a great place to take a piss and hit the pipe on the return from a night in the Marigny. I'll give up my convenience for the good of the city, because I love her. 

We all make concessions to live here.

The majority of Quarter Rats seem to lean towards the development. A safer and cleaner Rampart, the no man's land, the forbidden zone after dark. It would be a great anchor of development for the area. A safe stepping stone between the Quarter and the Marigny / Bywater action. A main thoroughfare into the Quarter that now is like a beautiful face with one front tooth missing. Someone wants to replace it with a gold  tooth let him. It's been vacant for years, I haven't seen any local investors jumping on it. You want genuine French Quarta? Ok, NO MONEY to invest. That's real.

More than a half million spent on the property, at least another quarter million in construction jobs to renovate it. Fifteen to twenty full time employees and a reason for the next empty building on Rampart to be a safer gamble.  Sorry if the delivery truck idleing outside your window while you try to sleep off a hangover is waking you up.  I choose to deal with a fucking steam calliope playing "Helter Skelter" at 8 am. STFU.

I never even heard of Habana Outpost until I saw a bunch of signs protesting them. Nice protest guys, I just became a supporter of your opposition. I never even knew about it until you pointed it out. Derp. Habana appears to be one of those kinder, cooler business owners. Hippie capitalists who are environmentally conscious, community centric that treats being a good  commercial neighbor as a responsibility. The love of people, great food, great music, no, they don't belong here. You don't want neighbors like this? Move uptown or STFU. 

Are you a NOLA purest who despise any corporate chains from out of town? Would you fault a local favorite if they had an opportunity in New York City? Imagine how proud we would be if Camellia Grill opened up in Brooklyn. No one complains if a well known local business has a dozen convenient locations in the Quarter. Do they define us?

Our leading industry is tourism.
The customers define the needs.

Friday, November 9, 2012

I'm back

It's been a very long time since I have blogged. My creative juices have all been directed towards the irrigation of our animation project.  For months every waking moment has been devoted to drawing, animating, creating, discussing or just thinking about "BiNGE, Bourbon and Beyond" Again, be careful of what you wish for. I first started this project about 8 years ago.  Months of being creative on demand takes it's toll. I like sex but I don't want it 12 hours a day with a half a dozen completions. I might still be able to do it for one weekend, but don't expect me to show up for work on Monday. 

We started this endeavor just as hurricane Isaac hit, and it's in final edit now.  I won't go into the technicalities of it all. Just  a lot of friggin drawing. Otis surprised me with his directorial abilities. A real leader who knew what he wanted and got it from the actors and artists. An overwhelming amount of work, co-ordination and ambition to get it this far.  I have met many people who call themselves artists or filmakers, but seldom got past just talking about it.  We may have spent thousands of dollars and hundreds of man hours to find it won't go anywhere. Still, we tried and I think that alone makes us a success. 

Thank you to everyone who has provided talent to make this possible. The actors, artists, sound and production people for contributing their talent and time. Thank you to everyone else who have asked about it and have been encouraging us. We'll keep you posted as more comes out. Expect a sneak preview with in a few weeks. 

Monday, August 6, 2012

Disney sucks mouse balls

I despise Disney. I know that sounds blasphemous to most every human on the planet, but I do. I will always give them credit for superb animation and art, but that's it. I find the whole huge multinational corporation and endless merchandising to be the perfect example of everything wrong with the entertainment industry. A small group of  unimaginative money grubbing businessmen rehashing worn out bullshit stories not for the sake of art, but for year end profits.

I remember back in the 1960's watching the "Wonderful World of Disney" every Sunday evening at about 7 pm. Back then the show was hosted by the creepy founder Walt himself. Some weeks it was a nature film about fun loving adventures of animals in the wild. What they would do is take a couple of bear cubs from a tranquilized mother bear (off camera) and let the cubs loose in the woods and follow them and film. The hapless cubs would fall into rivers, get sprayed by skunks,  get dropped onto a bee hive, and wrestle with a porcupine in the name of family entertainment.  Then for the humorous climax the producers would lock one cub in an abandoned cabin and film it tearing apart the place to find it's mother. When they got enough footage they would release the surviving cub and mother back into the wild.  Walt Disney was a cold hearted mother fucker.

Some of the better stories are the ones he bought up and animated, later years they were just stealing old fables that no one owned rights to and the Disney staff would warp into their own formulated tripe. What's with the constant theme of magic? You don't have to be a Southern Bible Thumper to have to ask why all of the occult bullshit? Magic crickets, magic brooms, genies, spells, witches.... what are you sickoes with instant access to children up to over there? Walt was a real prick to work for also. Supposedly he would make his employees punch out if they had to use the bathroom while at work, they weren't allowed to have facial hair but he could.  No wonder his animators went on strike in 1941. I would delight in playing kickball with his frozen head on Bourbon Street in the middle of summer.   

I was never crazy about my daughter watching Disney films, it wasn't an evangelical Christian thing as much as almost all of the plots are so negative. Stories about princesses. The underlying messages for young girls is "Look hot, disobey your parents and some rich guy will marry you." Sorry Walt, I know my daughter is capable of being much more than a trophy wife for some inbred member of nobility. Most everybody who doesn't have even a half of a brain will be quick to defend the Disney empire by exclaiming "Oh, it's so family friendly." Is it? Are you serious? Yea, family friendly where most of the stories begin with the mother being dead. A child's absolute worst nightmare is the opening premise for most Disney plots.

 Bellow are only some of his "Family Friendly Cartoons." I had to look up the plots on line, they all seem to have common themes.

•  1937 - Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs: Both real parents dead, raised by a sadistic step mother who wants to kill her. She runs away and shacks up with seven strangers. The seven dwarfs track down and kill the stepmother, later Snow White is awaken by a prince who is trying to have sex with her unconscious body, she marries him.

• 1940 – Pinocchio: No parents, created by a creepy old man and the occult.

• 1941 - Dumbo: No father, mother is thrown in jail for her violent temper, humans are bad.

• 1942 – Bambi: Mother shot and killed in front of child, humans are bad.

• 1950 – Cinderella: Mother is dead, father dies later. Girl is raised by a dysfunctional step family. She gets “saved” by a wealthy man with a foot fetish because she looks hot.

• 1951 - Alice in Wonderland: Real life is boring, do drugs.

• 1953 - Peter Pan: Parents are assholes, run away from home.

• 1959 - Sleeping Beauty: Again, hot young woman, date rape drugs and wealthy men.

• 1967 - The Jungle Book: An orphan is raised by wild animals, humans are bad.

• 1981 - The Fox and the Hound: Orphaned Fox, humans are bad, yadda yadda…

• 1988 - Oliver & Company: Orphaned kitten in the big city, not too manipulative.

• 1989 - The Little Mermaid: Asshole father, Hot Princess daughter and the occult

• 1991- Beauty and the Beast: Dead mother, idiot father, and the occult. Hot daughter runs away with an ugly man who has money.

• 1992 – Aladdin: Dead mother, idiot father, and the occult. Hot Princess daughter runs away with a good looking man who is a thief and a liar.

• 1994 - The Lion King: Father gets killed by the uncle, son runs away and lives with deadbeats.

• 1995 – Pocahontas: Hot Princess daughter, asshole father, she disobeys him and lives happily ever after.

• 1996 - The Hunchback of Notre Dame: Mother murdered, non occult religion bad.

• 1999 – Tarzan: Both parents dead, humans bad.

• 2002 - Lilo & Stitch: More dead parents, aliens are good.

• 2003 - Finding Nemo: Mother and siblings all killed, raised by an idiot father, humans are bad.

I pretty much stopped my research at this point. I was numb with disbelief that these people make billions annually. I know nothing about what they have done with live action films and in television since I have avoided film and television industry for over a decade. I really don't want to waste anymore time looking into it. These are the same people that created the atrocity known as Hannah Montana, right? That kind of sums up how the corporation views little girls. Today's princess is tomorrow's stripper. (With an idiot father)

Perhaps some may be offended by my observations of America's greatest entertainment mogul, too bad. I am sure that they are the same people who eat McDonalds twice a week, always have at least two liters of Coke-Cola in the fridge, wear Nike sneakers and visit the "Magic Kingdom" every single year because there is no other place on Earth worthy of traveling to. Enough said.


Sunday, August 5, 2012



Otis and I have been kicking around a couple of ideas for a while. Recent free time and moments of panic have convinced us to go ahead full throttle on our animation project "Life of a Quarter Rat."  We want everything to be lined up when the light turns green. We are going to need professional voice actors. Looking for those with comedic abilities, improvisational skills and multiple voices.


It's in the budget. None of this Craiglist bullshit where some one wants you to give your talent and labor on their project with only a vague promise a full time gig. This animation project was first conceived and started back in 2005, it's not just something flung together based on an bar room idea.

Quarter Rat Animation needs talented, funny and versatile local actors to get paid for one possibly two days in the studio. This is our pilot episode. Professionals who will be there when expected or better have very good reasons if they aren't. Not looking for cartoon voices, but animated. If you know the differance contact us. No more than 5 or 6 actors will be needed, fewer if we find the right people.  Pay bumps for the ability to do multiple voices.

If interested contact us at the above E-mail address, and we'll send you some character monologues to audition with. Or just send your own audition track (MP3 or something easily opened) with what you can do, resume, and do we really have to say this? No head shots.

Thursday, July 26, 2012

What I learned today


Ya asked me how it was going test driving animation software. I figured out this much today. This sh#t is easier than it looks. I want to see and play with some more software before deciding on which one to use.

I got to get me some sleep, after I finish my last energy drink. Let me know what ya think.

Wednesday, July 25, 2012

The Uncensored Voice of the Service Industry

"Oh, you should make it more tourist friendly." No, you miss the point. The Quarter Rat isn't about a sugar coated French Quarter and tourists. It's about the people who make it all happen. Those that are here day in day out dealing with what very few others on earth could tolerate. The Quarter Rat is not for tourists, it's for every bartender, server, bouncer, doorguy, barback, dancer, musician, shotgirl, cook, dishwasher, DJ, sign holder, Lucky Dog guy, street mime and even the hustlers on Bourbon Street. Workers with no unions, no clout, no security, no power and no voice.  The only strength that we have is comradeship, friendship, and common heart aches.

Sunday, July 22, 2012

the first time someone f*cked with 1/4 Rats

I have found myself taking an interest in American history since I have moved down to New Orleans. I never really had much before, perhaps because the history books made it seem dull and distant.  Walking the streets of the French Quarter everyday, history is never distant. In fact it trips your feet on a daily basis. In the Quarter very little has changed, not just the grand old structures but the souls who still dwell here. When I was working as a painter at the Pontalba Building I could literally turn around and see the statue of General Andrew Jackson tipping his hat to me. I found myself going on line to learn more about this stern looking man who was watching me work all day.

The War of 1812 was just some bit of history that seemed irrelevant and detached from anything that I knew.  After studying up on it a bit, I now realize that I am standing in the middle of one of the prominent places in American history, which eventually changed the course of world history in the long run. Even 200 years later, as much as our nation has changed, (perhaps not for the better) things in the French Quarter might not be that different.  At least the people haven't changed much, let me explain.

The War of 1812  was never certain for America, the British were a super power of the world at that time. They were the best trained, most disciplined, best equipped, best funded and most victorious military in the the world of their day. They had just kicked Napoleon's ass, they ruled most of the world at that time and were fierce about keeping it that way. Like the proverbial bully, they had been abusing and humiliating the young United States by going after our shipping and forced inscription of our merchant sailors. Once we had declared war on them, the British made it a point to try and put the young upstart nation it's it's place. We got our asses kicked from Canada on down the East coast.

Washington D.C. had been invaded by the Limies who burned the city to the ground after all of the pussy politicians fled. Some might say our first victory was at Fort McHenry in Baltimore. That was not so much a decisive victory as a stalemate. Really the only thing that came out of that battle is a national anthem that very few people can sing very well. If we had waited, the national anthem might have been written down here in New Orleans. Not only would it have probably have been a much better song, but we could have been able to dance to it.

The British knew the war was drawing to a close and desperately wanted to control New Orleans by war's end. That would have meant that they controlled the Mississippi River and about forty percent of America's commerce. Wars are always about money. Enter Andrew Jackson, orphaned as a child when his family were killed by the British, he had a grudge to settle. Jackson was a bad ass muthafucka, always looking for a fight and quick to start a duel with anyone who looked at him the wrong way. If there ever was a Dirty Harry in U.S. history, it was Jackson. 

As bad ass as Jackson was, he would need help, he enlisted QUARTER RATS. Of course in 1814 there was only the French Quarter and like today it was inhabited by the most diverse group of misfits, criminals and cut throats in the nation. Jackson was charismatic enough to enlist everyone who could hold a gun, when there weren't enough guns the rest were given farm implements. The only real professional soldiers were regular militia from Tennessee and Mississippi, some Marines and Navy, but the majority were made up of what at best could be called "rag tag." Frontiersman with muskets who were the homeless of their day, free men of color who were given equal pay and standing, Pirates, Indians, Creole farmers and shop keepers from New Orleans all stood along side Cajuns, and the French to protect our liberty.

Jean Lafitte is still highly regarded in the French Quarter. An enterprising privateer who was as much a politician as a pirate. Lafitte had spent a better part of his time eluding the British and Americans in the Barataria swamps while pillaging Spanish merchant vessels. When the war came to his city of New Orleans Lafitte sided with the Americans offering his men and looted Spanish munitions for a price and a pardon.  His offer had nothing to do with patriotism, he was betting on who he believed would win and who he thought would allow him to continue his plundering. A true mercenary and the start of the military industrial complex in the Americas. Men of his character can still be found operating in the French Quarter.

The British were appalled by the hit and run tactics employed by the Americans. Choctaw Indians and "dirty shirts" conducted gorilla warfare against the Red Coats which was unimaginable by those who fought in the well ordered ranks of Napoleonic battles. Snipers in trees taking out officers had a demoralizing effect on troops.  

Long story short, the strongest Army of the most powerful nation on Earth got it's balls kicked by the highly out numbered Quarter Rats.

Thursday, July 19, 2012

Issue #28 - it's so great!

Issue #28 will be out this weekend, grab one tightly in your hand and squeeze all of the juicy humor out of it. 

Seriously, we believe that it's one of our best ones yet. This issue is going back to our smaller pocket guide sizes. Less likely to be dropped while bar hopping and we were able to double the circulation quantity giving the advertisers more bang for the buck. Between it be the slow summer season and a miserably piss poor economy, many businesses that we approached told us "We just can't do an ad this month." We understand, my landlady is trying to understand. Being sort of out of work myself, I was able to devote a lot more time to this issue. I have always been flattered when readers / fans would approach me and say how they wished the Quarter Rat had more of my artwork in it, this month you got your wish.

Some of our advertisers have asked us to make the Quarter Rat Magazine  a little more "tourist friendly" That would defeat the purpose, wouldn't it? We tried to on this issue (wink).  I am currently available for custom artwork and ad layout work. We've noticed that some of you advertise in the more mainstream competing publications, we're cool with it. Ya know, you don't HAVE to use their artists. Just sayin. I am also available for t-shirt designs, web graphics, chalk board menus, house painting, dog walking.........

Thumbs down

Not many positive cogitations to the word "Mass" Mass media, mass layoffs, mass hysteria, mass suicides... I figure if hundreds of millions of people are doing something then it can't be good. I am seriously contemplating deleting my Facebook account. A few of the folks are actual friends that I know in person, in the flesh. Most I no longer live near and I probably will lose contact with, quite possibly for ever. I survived with out FB for 47 years, I don't think my existence will end when I hit delete. If anything the quality of life may improve. Less time spent getting angry over what I perceive as another person's blindness to common sense in political arenas, and I will no longer be exposed to worn out memes of Gene Wilder, the beer guy or sickeningly cute kitten photos.

Recent events in Egypt and elsewhere had given me reason to hope that the social media may have been a revolutionary forum for the exchange of ideas, a media that could free thought and lead to change. Or not. I believe that it has been high jacked and manipulated by the same evil forces that have enslaved free expression in all other mass media. Instead of the exchange of fresh thinking and open mindedness it has been used to dissimulate propaganda and further divide and galvanize the masses into camps opposing themselves instead of the true villains. Facebook posts divide the masses, not unite. That plays into the hands of the sinister. Not much original content on FB, just regurgitated links and unsubstantiated stories of hate mongering. I refuse to be an unwitting patsy in the game, I wash my hands of it.

Conversely, the least offensive and mundane posts of "my latest tattoo" or a poor cell phone photo of "What I had for lunch today" are an incredible waste of valuable time. Constant daily self promoting of "Check out blah blah page...." I didn't look the last 75 time you posted the exact same link. If I thought that the link was anything new, I might visit it. One thing Facebook has done is caused us all to believe the world is far more interested in us then we are in it. My value as a human is not governed by the number of thumbs up that I receive.

I have made it a point to avoid having a television. Amazing when you go without one for a number of years, you notice how people that you meet in person are frequently quoting catch phrases from television commercials as if they were bits of wisdom from Greek philosophers. Please don't try and start a conversation about your favorite sit com, don't call me a liar when I tell you that I have never seen it, or insist that my life is somehow meaningless and empty because I don't share your infatuation with some show about vampires. I have a life. 

I am not putting down anyone who enjoys television or social media, I just want people to give pause and think about it. Does it truly connect you with people, or does it disconnect you from those people who are around you? I am fortunate enough to live in a small close knit community. I can walk out my door and be recognized by dozens of people, in person. Anytime day or night I can stroll with in a few blocks of this computer and chat in person. If I didn't need the internet for business, I would probably unplug from it entirely. It's a struggle not to get self righteous over the smart phone thing. I have to constantly dodge people who seem to think that text messaging on crowded sidewalks is a god given right. Being in the middle of  what I believe to be a rather interesting conversation only to have the other person pull out a gadget and start typing. It's at that point I excuse myself and walk away, evidently someone somewhere else is more valuable than the individual in front of them. Ironically, social media has created a less social society.

Any Facebook friends who wish to stay in contact, this is my E mail: Be well and think free.

Tuesday, July 17, 2012

Lucky for you that I ain't your father...

Early this morning Uptown in New Orleans on Broadway an intoxicated 19 year old sideswiped three parked cars at about 5:00 AM. Most likely this never would have made the news except it was Mayor Mitch Landrieu's son Benjamin Landrieu. For those of you outside of the Big Easy the Landrieu's name is big down here in politics. The Mayor was called to the scene and acording to him, he watched from a distance as his son was cuffed and arrested. Mitch told the cops on the scene not to give the son any preferencial treatment. Well handled.

Some today argued that the boy was rushed through the booking because he was released with in three hours or so. If that was the case, fine, at least he was booked. I would be willing to bet in most small towns across America, the mayor's son would have been driven home by the cop and the matter of damaged vehicles would have been taken care of after the fact somehow. As a father of a teenager, I can imagine the mix of emotions that Landrieu went through, as a father, concerned for his son's poor decisions and  as a public figure in a town known to be ruthless to it's leaders. My heart went out to Mitch, but at least the boy didn't pull a Kennedy and leave some helpless girl drowning in an overturned car along the Mississippi. 

I was on the family's side until I saw his mug shot snapped down at O.P.P. "Benjamin, do you think this is funny boy? Think this is cute? You damaged three cars, belonging to three people who awoke this morning to a very bad day because of you. They might have missed work because you are an asshole. If you were my kid I would be bitch slapping that shit eating grin off of your face in the cop shop parking lot. Your expression says it all, you'll get out of this and you can't wait to brag to your buddies what you did." Your expression tells me that you have no idea that you committed a criminal act, could have killed someone and that you caused your father (who probably bought the car you wrecked) a lot of political embarrassment. You spoiled snot nosed punk.

According to reports the little shithead was charged with Driving While Intoxicated, Reckless Operation of a Vehicle, and Driving on Roadway Laned for Traffic (essentially, an improper lane change), no where have I read about a charge of under aged drinking. Usually cops throw everything they can at you and let the prosecutor and defense lawyers haggle down to one or two charges. This is New Orleans, the home of drive through Daiquiri shops, but still he is only 19 years old. Here is the kicker, Mayor Landrieu had already scheduled a press conference  for this morning about "nuisance bars" that allowed underage drinking.  Why do I have a gut feeling that this isn't the first time that little Benjamin has come home drunk.

It gets better. Of course there were news cameras waiting for him when he was released from holding. Evidently his old man's political career means nothing to the boy. Instead of showing a little humility and maturity Benjamin tells the press to "Get the fuck out of my way" and then proceeds to flip the reporters the finger after he gets into the back of an Suburban. HEY ASSHOLE! These are the same people that can make or break your father's next election. You are not a cool rock star, you are the spoiled brat of a politician who's credibility has just dropped a few points in the past few hours because of you, so what is your response? To be an even bigger douchebag.

I don't bother to write about local politics, nothing differant here than any other town. The Mayor is already dealing with waking up in the morning to hear about four people being murdered the night before and having to try and seem like he is doing something about it. I'm not writing about this to make a point about policy, just that Mitch's biggest headache right now is his arrogant spoiled brat.

Tuesday, July 10, 2012

A little flesh, a little history

One night in Bangkok makes a hard man humble
Not much between despair and ecstasy

This town will either raise you up, or eat you up. No middle ground in the Quarter. You meet people going in one of two directions, up or down. You're predator or prey depending on what street you walk. Ten or twenty years ago I never would have stood a chance here. Some days I still am not sure how my day will end. Driving cab at night for five years on the Jersey Shore was a learning experience. That was just prep school for life in the French Quarter. 
Every night I walk Royal to Canal and Bourbon Street. After a year of living down here things do look different. Gone are the wide eyes of tourist awe, now covered with dark shades of suspicion for everyone. There aren't any more hustlers than when I first walked down Bourbon,  I can just spot them from two blocks away now. Fewer attractive women, just a lot more hookers. Fewer homeless, just a lot more crackheads. There can be naked 18 year old girls hanging off of balconies and I'm watching the rats dart by with pizza crusts. Tourists snap pictures of the blinding neon signs while they step in horse crap from NOPD's mounted.  Am I the only one who sees the hot dog vendor with his finger pushed up his nose to the third knuckle? I guess that couple from Minnesota placing an order with him missed it.

I watch people fall victim to the street scammers on all sides. There's nothing I can do for them, it's too late. Just keep walking. Shoe shine hustlers squirting polish on their shoes and wiping them down before the tourist understands what's going on. You shouldn't have stopped, now it will cost you five bucks to have a crackhead smear your new loafers with jism. A night manager at a fast food joint hurls a belligerent drunk out the front door and almost into you. The derelict spins to the foul sidewalk cracking his head hard do to the lack of motor skills. The manager returns inside, a naive tourist couple stop in shock and kneel to help the fallen. Bad move. With in 5 minutes the man on the sidewalk has scammed them out of $30 for more crack. 

Acting like a tough guy on these streets will get you killed faster than a tour of duty in Iraq. Too many times I have read news stories of some hyper masculine man's man trying to save face in front of people that he will never see again, only to end up dead. Trying to start shit with me? Did you just comment about kicking my muthafuckin white ass? I keep walking, you wanted me to stop so you could start shit, I didn't stop. I win. If you follow me, then I do the crazy ass muthafucka routine on you. Especially now days, I might be a bath salt Zombie who will eat your fuckin face off.

I return to Toulouse Street with my energy drinks and a fresh pack of menthols. The ride ain't over until I lock the front door behind me. Between Bourbon and my door there is still a gauntlet of penniless winos and crackheads sitting on the stoops eyeballing potential prey. "Hey man, ya got an extra smoke?" "Sorry dude, all out."

One night in Bangkok and the tough guys tumble
Can't be too careful with your company
I can feel the Devil walking next to me

Monday, July 2, 2012

yea? what?

HEY YOU blog reading muthafuckas, how da hell are ya? Sorry I've been drinking. Evidently when in the French Quarter sickening quantities of alcohol makes you a better writer, or so the history books make it seem. Money has been tight but tonight I splurged on a four loko and got a decent buzz. Now you are reading the effects of it. Tonight started out as my usual evening stroll with a sales call thrown in because I need the money.  I haven't sold a fucking one, but had fun not doing it. I headed over to Mr Binky's on Chartres to see if they wanted to place an ad this month. Mr Binky's is a really cool adult shop with fuckin cool staff. I touched base with Vanish the clerk and he said to come back during 9 to 5 and speak with a manager. If I am awake between 9 and 5 I will go back. 

I walked past the strip cub / brothel a few doors down where about two months ago I had an encounter. A scantily clad female (?) tried to entice me with "Hey honey, want to party?" "No thanks" I replied "I have somewhere to go..." "You ain't got nowhere to go, you ain't got no money anyways mutha fucka..." Fuck you skank. Tonight I walked past the same fine establishment when I was asked the very same question. "No thanks, I prefer my women without a penis..." Three steps later a cup filled with ice hit me between the shoulder blades.

I swung by and chatted with Catastrophe Curt and Blind Troy the street bluesman. Curt watches over Blind Troy on one of the toughest corners in the Quarter. About a month ago a couple of thugs tried to rob Troy and Curt took out after them. He grabbed one around the corner of Bourbon and Iberville. Curt chased them down when he caught up with one the punk turned around and stabbed Curt in the side. A dozen  or so staples in the side later, we are all joking about it.  This is the Quarter, your final mark may be a chalk outline.

I bullshitted with a Lucky Dog guy, a couple of doormen only to find my way back home. I don't want to live anyplace else.

Thursday, June 28, 2012

all the news that fits, we print

I've been in a funk the last few weeks. House painting work is hit or miss lately. I'll start a project, historic society facists bring the job to a halt. Line up something else and have to wait on materials. Lots of work to do for the magazine this month, but as always Otis and I will wait until 48 hours before we go to print before we ask ourselves "What the fuck are we going to do this month?" We are dysfunctional rats who can't really meet our full potential unless it's a crisis.  Panic, fear and eviction notices get the creative juices flowing. 

I shuffled across Toulouse to Molly's for the editorial meeting with Otis. Pondering such journalistic ponders as "Is it too soon for dead stripper stories?' or 'Who is the next convention in town that we can mock and ridicule?" Like Time magazine editors didn't go out drinking for an editorial meeting one day to a strip club and decide to have a hot milf getting her tit sucked on by an eight year old boy on the next cover. I bet they laughed their asses off and someone said "I dare you." I know we are only the Quarter Rat, Time magazine probably have twice as many readers than us. But our readers re-read every page at least three times. I've had readers start to quote their favorite story from the Quarter Rat to me. Once I interupted asking "What the fuck are you talking about? What? Oh yea I guess I did write that. I hope you didn't actually try it, I made it up."

Towards the close of the meeting we looked outside to see a local getting arrested again in the same spot he got arrested last month. For the same thing. Perhaps you know him, "Mr Kick-my-ass-for-$1" I mean, what exactly is your business model? Last month during your grand opening, you made one dollar and went to jail. 30 days later you get out, make a new sign and hope to make a new start? You had a fucking month to come up with a better hustle. He did revise his sign from last month. Instead of "KICK MY ASS $1" It read "Kick ME IN my ass $1"  That little type-o might have been the source of the problem last time. I mean that's a great deal, but one kick in the ass for a dollar is much more reasonable. I guess since he doesn't have a vendors license is why the cops hassle him. If he got away with it, soon the crackheads would be out there by the dozens holding hand scrawled signs that say "Fuck me in my ass $10"  I don't much like cops, but every now and then you don't mind seeing them crack the head of a stupid person. "Muthafuck me $1" you might get away with.

We didn't see any cops bust his head tonight, in all likelihood they waited until they got him down to booking.  Too many cameras that close to Bourbon Street. Although I think a few on Toulouse would have cheered. but there is always the one person with a camera phone who has to try and save the world from fascism. If Christ were crucified today he would be a YOUTUBE sensation. Pilot would be holding press conferences promising transparency and a thorough investigation. A few low level Roman soldiers would be tossed to the lions, and there would be a TV mini series, the end. 

We looked across the street to see mounted NOPD riding up one at a time, like the four horseman of the Apocalypse but in no particular hurry. Behold, I see the pale horse radio it in.  Soon our misadventure capitalist is in cuffs. Probably the same pair clicked on last month. It sucks being busted, I feel for anyone standing in front of blue strobes and the world rubbernecks at you expense. There is a reason it takes so long for a cop to run your I.D. or write you out a ticket. They want to make an example of you. Remind the fifty cars that drove by gawking over the past twenty minutes who is in charge.  I'm sure it's a union thing too.

You get a sick to your gut feeling as your arms are cuffed behind you and a gloved hand is pushing you by the top of your skull into a backseat.  That's the time you quickly realize that you had better get your shit together fast. If you don't, your night will defiantly go from bad to worse. Booking is always a buzz kill. The perp walk in the French Quarter is more like a second line parade minus the band. What did you think? The cops put him on the back of a horse? No. Handcuffed he was led down Toulouse, a right on Royal Street walking between four mounted cops.  Tourists quickly tried to catch it on cell phones. Poor guy was stepping in horse shit the entire three blocks to the 8th.  

After the amusement turned the corner, myself and another patron returned inside. Otis asked if 'kickmyass guy' got busted, I said yea. As I finished my PBR again Otis asked "What have we got to write about?" I shrugged "Dunno, nothing really stands out anymore."

Tuesday, June 19, 2012

Karma Inside Out

Every now and then I'll check up on the status of a film that I worked background in. I have yet to see one in the theater, or even rent one. I'll just wait long enough and it will find it's way on line. This one I think went directly to DVD, and YouTUBE. "Killing Karma" was one of the first ones that I worked on when I started to find work as a background actor. It was released as "Inside Out." I didn't even know who Paul "Triple H" Levesque was. Never heard of him, never saw him wrestle. The first time I crossed paths with him on the set was at the "Honey Pot" that's the name for the small trailer with the bathrooms that they have on set. I walked up the small set of steps, tried the door it was occupied. As I stepped back to wait my turn the door opened and Tripple H was exiting.  I don't think I was successful with muting my "Holy Shit!" looking up as this massive human stood on the steps in front of me after squeezing out of the tiny trailer door.

The station wagon is still my favorite star of this film. I stumbled upon this YOUTUBE version of the entire film. It has some sort of Arabic subtitles. I was surprised that it held my attention past my scene and I enjoyed it. Great to see Bruce Dern can still play a bad ass even at his age. "My scene" is about 0:57 minutes into it. Look for a balding guy in shades sitting outside a bar sipping a beer. to the far right of the screen. The director didn't have to tell us to act with the explosion, we just had to re-act. There were no flames or fireballs when we shot it. The fire was added later with CGI. However, the building was set up by the special effects team with huge compressed air cannons filled with large pieces of balsa wood, cork and cardboard. The break away "Sugar Glass" windows and balsa wood frames disintegrated at the moment the air cannons were triggered.  A large noisy explosion of air and fluff debris shot across the street. It was easy to re-act to it. 

Monday, June 11, 2012


(old pic I stole off of line)
I often gripe about my block and a half walk to work at the Pontalba Apartments.  Damn tourists stopping in front of me on the sidewalk, homeless guys bumming smokes, the brass band in front of the Cabildo playing "Bourbon Street Parade" ten times a day.  I had a new gig today a little closer to home, two doors down on Toulouse. My neighbor Jeff is the general contractor finishing up the extensive renovations over at the "Hotel Maison de Ville" a couple of doors towards Bourbon, across from Mollys.

I've started to become the history buff since I moved to the Quarter. It's tough not to take some interest when every street, every block and most every building has some interesting story behind it. I did a little online research of my new job site. The Maison De Ville is cool as hell.  Evidently it has always been "the" place to stay. I found some credible on line sources that filled me in on my neighbor's house. We were doing a little sheet rock in this small cozy room that opens up to this mint courtyard. As it should be since as a neighbor I had to listen to jack hammers and deal with truck for months. Some Spackle, some paint and sweat, that room will be sharp. That night on line I read that that was the room that Tennessee Williams finished "Streetcar named Desire." Room 9. I was like, get the fuck out....

It's true, Google it if you don't believe me.

I then stumbled across a list of celebs that stayed there over the years. "Elizabeth Taylor, Dan Aykroyd, Robert Redford, Michael Jackson, Julia Roberts and many others." Today at work I'm looking around the place thinking "No way, Danny "Fuckin Ellwood" stayed here, cool." This place rocks. I turned around to see my friend Peter O'Neill's painting on the wall. I could only point and chuckle, perfect.

I've wanted to do more history and interesting facts about buildings here in the Quarter, but where to start? I'll just explore my block for now. See what dirt I can uncover on Toulouse.


Saturday, June 2, 2012

barge rats

Usually when I correspond with someone up North, I always ask "How's the weather up there?" just so I can rub it in. It's the asshole in me.  I found myself asking an Alaskan Quarter Rat fan "How's the radiation up there?" That's the friend in me when someone I know may be hit with isotopes. Dumb Japs. If anyone should be the most careful it's them. Perhaps if you put as much effort into nuclear safety as you do bad animation and pervy porn, you wouldn't be living in a microwave oven right now. At lest Russians had someplace to move the population to. You guys are shit out of luck.

The Alaskan Barge Trash are good friends with the Quarter Rat, we are honored. A tug boat crew working Valdez Harbor spend the long sadistic winters passing around DVDs of Treme, listening to WWOZ on the internet and reading The Quarter Rat. Next year they want Fat Tuesday off. My friend Jeff said it's the only Mardi Gras themed tug working up there. See? They get it. 

I tried to figure out the connection between a tug crew working in Valdez with those working in the French Quarter,  I can't figure it out. Other than  those up on Valdez have as much respect for big oil companies as we do. Think about it. These guys live fairly exciting lives on some of the roughest waters in the world and they spend their down time listening to our music and reading the adventures of bartenders and strippers on Bourbon Street.

Thanks guys, we'll send ya some beads for those railings.

Thursday, May 31, 2012

Kick my ass for $1

I stepped out earlier to go to Rouses, as I exited my building I could see strobe lights flashing on my street. Lots blues and a few reds, cops are blue and EMT or NOFD are red.  Most people get the rubber neck and can't wait to look, I was tempted to back into my door without even glancing at it. Instinct as a former cab driver, if you see flashing lights go the other way. It's nothing I haven't seen before, and just as a rule of thumb, AVOID COPS. Even if you haven't done anything, it's just smarter to do so.  Let's say 5 cops are beating the shit out of some drunk and 5 more cops show up. There isn't enough ass to go around so the 5 new cops will grab whoever happens to be walking by at the time so they can have some fun too. 

It's just common sense to stay away from the action.  As I locked the gate behind me, my neighbor Richard comes skipping up to me from the middle of the mayhem like a little boy who just saw his first police car. Excitedly he told me what had happened, later Catastrophe Curt filled me in on more details.

Apparently one of our local characters was standing on the corner of Toulouse and Bourbon holding a sign that read "KICK MY ASS FOR $1" Sounds like he made a few bucks tonight.  Drunk on booze and high on bath salts he became belligerent to passer-bys trying to drum up business. Someone told him to chill the fuck out or the cops were going to give him a very bad night. At that point he started to muthafuck the cops who took that as a challenge. Now, no place on Earth do you start shit like that with law enforcement, especially in New Orleans. Seriously, after a NOPD cop in the Quarter gets done beating your ass, they let their horses have sex with you. It's been documented. 

I went on to Rouses, bought my coffee and hot dogs returning to see the ambulance pull away from in front of Molly's. As it chugged pass I glanced into the window to see a bloody and cuffed idiot on the gurney  having a very bad night. I wondered if he ever got his dollar. Life in the Quarter.

Monday, May 28, 2012


My friend Jeff does some work for my landlady.  We have a couple of dancers who live upstairs. Jeff asked if I would come up to the fourth floor and help find the dancers drip, he needed me to hold the flashlight. "Hell yea man, let me grab my coffee...."  Oh. Plumbing.  Of course I had to be a smart ass as soon I walked in. "I found your plumbing problem right here, you have a big brass pipe in the middle of the living room."

It is of course an old building. I think I saw a plaque on the neighbor's building that it was built in 1794 or something.  It's amazing what you'll read when you're taking a piss on a wall.  Very high maintenance structures here in the Quarter, lots of unpleasant surprises for property owners.   Say what you want about dancers, they do get the best service. I knew a dancer once, I swear Domino's delivered in 12 minutes. I was always afraid to eat the pie, she was a creep magnet.

(BTW,  the answer was twice on the pipes.)

Sunday, May 13, 2012

Politics in the French Quarter

I haven't paid too much interest in NOLA politics. I'm not sure I can say that I have a firm grasp of the political system down here yet. Coming from New Jersey I understood them up there. Jersey's last scandal involved politicians on the take, mobsters and rabbis. Down here political families are immortalized for picking up strippers on Bourbon Street or being a power hungry madman and getting a bridge named after them. 

Prior to that, political leaders used to have public duels and shoot one another. They play rough down in the Big Easy. I wish elected officials still settled things on the House floor by dueling to the death, I might start watching C-SPAN if they did.  Perhaps instead of elections we give them all weapons and let them settle it like men.  I'm not saying the survivors would necessarily be the best choice, but it would thin the herd faster than term limits.  Unfortunately the best man would probably be Sarah Palin hanging out of a helicopter with a sniper rifle.  I could picture Nancy Pelosi pointing a Russian made RPG back at her. She looks like she has stood behind a few being launched.

The French Quarter has had five flags fly over it. French, Spanish, English, Confederate and American.  Napoleon had one hand in his vest while the other helped write the laws here.  If they wanted something done right, they hired Pirates. Pirates, the original NAVY SEALS. 

The basic premise behind politics is the same no matter where you go, "What's in it for them." The three branches of government are: the elected officials, corporations, and the taxpaying sheep.  I know my place on that food chain.  Recently two of those branches held a little PR parade through the Quarter. "Hospitality Zone" self promoting self pleasuring committee or something like that.  Sounds great on the surface, promoting tourism in the city.  What's in it for them? More money, more taxes. For us, a little more money, a lot more vomit on our doorsteps every morning.

Another red flag is an "Appointed committee." I understand that not every city related position can be filled with an election. So the premise is that you elect a few barely competent lawyers and trust them to fill  needed positions with the best choices they can find. See the flaw in that ideal? We barely trust you guys that we voted in, now we must trust your buddies.

I won't attempt to explain the entire "HO ZONE" story. At first I thought it was just promoting the two blocks of businesses on Iberville Street between Bourbon and Decatur. But no, it's the the Quarter and parts of other neighborhoods.

Here are a few links:

New Orleanians: If you’re not disgusted by the proposed Hospitality District,
then you’re not paying attention

We Are a Community — Not a Commodity!

Hospitality District LA SB 573 amended, but not improved.

Genesis Report re: LA SB 573′s Hospitality District Legislation


Just ran into a good friend Rod the street magician at Walgreens. He said the city now wants to crack down on street performers. The city (or businesses) want only statue mimes since they don't hold a crowd. I know what the city is planning, they want to paint all of the homeless people on the benches silver.  Do they plan to clean up the Quarter so much that it just becomes like Disneyworld's sanitized reproduction of the Quarter? It won't work Mitch, we ain't got mice, we gotz ratz.

Monday, May 7, 2012


When you have 10 million visitors cramming themselves into your 70 square block neighborhood every year, you need a sanctuary. Very few of those 10 million ever get to see the nicest parts of the Quarter, courtyards.  The front of almost every structure is has it's toes on the sidewalk. Behind these iron gated and shuddered dwellings are open air  rustic brick lined spaces. The size can vary according to lot layout and building design.

The Pontalba building has small courtyards that are 4 stories deep. Those were designed primarily to provide cross ventilation in the days prior to air conditioning.  The townhouse layout utilizes long hallways, winding steps and lots of windows to funnel the slightest breeze from the balcony to the courtyard. Windows from each unit facing into the staircase are authentic. I remember one windy day, someone opening up the first floor door caused a door on the fourth floor to slam.

Some of the least expensive and yet coolest places to rent are slave's quarter efficiencies.  To my Yankee friends: Yes, former living quarters for slaves. Carries Karma with it.  The original popular layout is an apartment on each floor with two bedrooms off of the balcony facing the street, a sitting area and maybe a dining room. The kitchen area is usually a long narrow brick building connected by an exterior balcony (To you Yankees "decks") Two of these "L" shaped buildings facing each other produce a small courtyard in the center.

This time of year they are Eden like. Old and sometimes crumbling brick walls divide the space into small cozy halves.  I've been in some adorned with folk art and plush with tropical plants and fruit trees. Water features trickling as tiny green lizards dart about the fauna. Drink up under an umbrella during the day, smoke up under gas light at night and watch a rat bounce across the slate floor with that piece of chicken that your were saving for later.

The main apartment facing the street has the balcony that everyone associates with the Quarter, the slave's quarters balcony faces the quiet private court. It was easier to keep them in that way I guess.  A lucky quarter rat can afford one of these less than 200 square foot domiciles. It's about like living in a roomy RV. Most have 12 foot high ceilings with windows only on the side facing the balcony.  No cross ventilation here.  Mine has a large loft space for my bed at the 8 foot mark. Better suited for people in their 20's, most nights I end up crashing on the couch. Too sore and too old to deal with the fold up ladder. At my age I don't do bunk beds.

I enjoy my time out on my tiny private little balcony. If I want to stand out there in my underwear at 3 am to have a smoke, I can.  The other day I realized that the courtyard for the "Court Of Two Sisters" could probably be hit from here with one of those water balloon launchers. Just sayin.

Thursday, May 3, 2012

It's around here someplace

The other day I walked past a street musician who was performing a rather disappointing version of "The house of the rising sun." I remembered that I had always heard that it was a real house of ill repute somewhere here in town.  I could scarcely call myself a Quarter Rat if I didn't have some idea of where the old whorehouse was. Perhaps they were still in business and would like to advertise in the next issue of the Quarter Rat. So I turned to the greatest source of misinformation, rumors and lies, the internet.

There are several locations that stake claim to the title, the first being at 535 Conti Street. Built in 1801 the small hotel named "House of the rising sun" burned down in 1822. In later years large quantities of empty cosmetic bottles were unearthed on the site giving credence to the notion that painted women had once resided at the location.  Given the history of the French Quarter, odds are that every building at one time or another has housed prostitutes, speak easy's, pirates or some other kind of lascivious resident. Another address that takes claim to the title is at 1614 Esplanade Ave. In the 1860's and 70's the building was owned and operated by a French madam named Marianne LeSoleil Levant. The translation of her name from French means "Rising Sun."

Even the actual meaning of the lyrics are disputed. The most common notion is that the song refers to a brothel, others claim an illegal gambling house, others insist the reference is to a prison. One account that the reference is to an infirmary that prostitutes went to for severe syphilis where they were treated with the miracle drug Mercury.  The song was first recorded in 1934 by Clarence Tom Ashley. The origins of the song can be traced back to a English folk song.

My personal choice for the true location stands at 826-830 St. Louis St. The structure was purchased many years ago from the last of many madams who had managed the bordello for decades. During a recent renovation project, the latest owner discovered numerous risque postcards of half naked women dating back to the late 1800's.  As the contractors delicately removed decades of alterations from the original structure they uncovered a mural on the ceiling. A rising sun and three cherubs. Given the fact that the building is only about 3 doors down from Bourbon Street and the archelogical findings, I will give it my vote.

Also, it's the closest rumored location to my house, so I won't have to drag visitors from out of town too far to see The House Of The Rising Sun.

Monday, April 30, 2012

Views from a Vieux Carre' balcony

 I met David Akin through my buddy Richard at the Internet Cafe. Richard is a networker with both computers and people. He would meet up with me at my gate to tell me about this "Guy with a bunch of really high end camera equipment and he's a huge fan of the Quarter Rat." I'll admit, my ears picked up and I said I would be willing to take a few minutes out of my fast paced and hectic schedule as a cartoonist to meet with him. 
Living here in the Quarter,  you live in the midst of as much talent as history. Especially since NOLA has become Hollywood south.  You also meet a lot of bullshitters and wanna be's who couldn't direct a funeral down a one way street.  Shortly after meeting with David I knew he wasn't one of those. Impressed by his creative passion, being a resident of the French Quarter with a real resume. He does a bit of writing on Facebook called "Views from a Vieux Carre' balcony" I offered him this blog as a forum of life in the Quarter. Here is a recent post of his.
Views from a Vieux Carre' balcony: (still being redesigned).....take a gander at this website, if you dare! The real steamy, seamy, creamy underbelly of the Quarter and the trials, tribulations and victories of the French Quarter service industry will be revealed.....can you handle it bible belters and zombie tourists? I've partnered with Quarter Rat magazine mogul Otis B. Easy and animator/illustrator Eric Styles to produce a reality show and spectacle like no other before, taking you to Bourbon and beyond, Toulouse and cut loose, Royal and roll over, Burgundy and a month of hung over Sundays. 
There will be competitions, there will be infinite shots of Grand Marnier and absinthe, there will be gratuitous nudity, female/male and in between, there will be snockered shot girls, there will be fist fights with homeless drunks, there will be Asian lady boys, vampires, witches and ghouls. There will be Harleys and biker cowboys sporting colors, there will be no rice rockets. There will be battling bartenders and wily waiters and waitresses, glitter coated cranked up strippers and bluesy bayou swamp pop pickers. Dark temptations will be found on every corner and there may or may not be light at the end of the Harvey Tunnel. There will be sweat and various other body fluids....there will be blood. There will be an EMS team and mounted NOPD on stand by;) Stay tuned for over the top gutter gravy drenched decadent dilemmas and a bawdy Babylon Big Easy-palooza sports fans! Recommended for immature audiences only:)