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.