July 27, 2005
A REPRESSED MEMORY
I was somewhere around Jackson Square when the tequila kicked in. I was shopping for shirts for my offspringus, moths swirling about my head, when I decided I needed to be a gangsta, white folk being in short supply thereabouts. My ever-patient shopping companion purchased a bandana for me, obviously to shut me up, as I'd begun barking like a seal for no reason, and doo'd me. I had an immediate craving for bitches and ho's, but lacked the wherewithal to purchase any. Nonetheless I proceeded at a list around the corner to a sweaty, fetid bar, where some girl was performing performance art fellatio on some cripple. Found my ho.
Strange town. Bone reading was the order of the day, apparently, but neither this guy nor this guy wanted to read my bone, which says, in chartreuse ink, Bonedaddy@velociworld.com, Jacksonville, Florida, United States of America. Of course, in my current state it merely read "Bo".
Having somehow managed to spend a weekend in the Big Greasy without much contact with my patroness and soulmate, I decided to skeeze out in order to sample the debauchery of Bourbon Street, in the company of fellow debauchees. Now, my flavo flav band from the previous evening was AWOL at the Sea Port, and I was therefore deprived of seeing my hinky tight have her index finger come like two badgers fucking like it did the previous night when the guitarist played B.B. King with the nail. I did, however, play brass pole for her later. Got me all the way to "Boneda..." it did.
Somewhere I picked up a straw cowboy hat in a bodega, I have no idea why. It certainly looked better on my swaying barmate, Suzie Q, than me. And then, of course, there was Barbarella capturing my insanity on digititis. I can't wait to burn her fucking house down if she posts those things. Did I say that?
Where was my traveling companion? I saw this fuckweasel on the plane there, and the way back. Breakfast, too. And bloody marys. But he was Vlad the Impaler come nightfall, obviously skulking about the filthy streets of the Quarter in search of the passed out slut, or the inebriated rat. Blood is blood to those types, they say.
I thought I had a date for Saturday night, but I'm used to no shows. These things happen. These things being, in this case, repulsion. What can I say? She has good taste.
This is all the hypnotist can get me to recall, other than a visit with some aliens, and a cruel, cold titanium anal probe. You should have seen the look on that alien's face when I crammed it in.
All I can recall for now. Another session Friday. Maybe I'll remember what happened to my Astro Glide.
Sounds like a bad Bob Dylan song.
Posted by: rightisright at July 27, 2005 10:56 PMDammit, man, that was almost like I was there...
Wait, wasn't I?
; )
Posted by: Christina at July 27, 2005 11:02 PMI stil can't believe you all crashed for the night by 12:30 both nights. But then again, I can't believe I took a 5-hour siesta during prime partying hours...both nights. Guess I gotta do it again 'til I get it right. Oh, no...not that!
Posted by: zonker at July 27, 2005 11:10 PMHey, if you would have thrown your bone down on the pavers, I'd a read it fer ya. No shit. And the cowboy hat is you, brother.
Posted by: Dash at July 27, 2005 11:12 PMI can't say that I have anything to add to that...
Well, other than I do believe Astroglide is one word. (Second only to nature.)
Posted by: Key at July 27, 2005 11:30 PMBe cool man...I've got your Astro Glide...REMEMBER?
Posted by: Sam at July 27, 2005 11:32 PMWell, Astroglide is certainly one thought. So you have me there.
Posted by: Velociman at July 27, 2005 11:32 PMNot that we need to change the rules, but New Orleans is two words...so is Astro Glide.
I'm just saying...
Posted by: Sam at July 27, 2005 11:35 PMWell, if Key gonna talk about Astro/Glide, she can spell it any way she wants to. Velociman rules.
Posted by: Velociman at July 27, 2005 11:39 PMWrong Man...KEY / rules!
Posted by: Sam at July 27, 2005 11:40 PMRepulsion? Pshaw. :p
And what happens in N'Awlins stays in N'Awlins. We've got plenty of Astroglide to go around, so pop on back by if you need some more. ~wink~
Posted by: Karen at July 28, 2005 8:34 AMAnd just think,,,ya'll didn't EVEN cross the bridge into the great unknown swampland. Next year, when I'm there, I'll take even farther into the land of the weird and wacky when we go to southern Louisiana!!
Posted by: Michele at July 28, 2005 9:13 AMMichele, most people wouldn't be able to handle that. But, this group just might. What do you think they'd do if they witnessed a boucherie and a fais do-do at the same time?
Posted by: Dash at July 28, 2005 9:33 AMAaw... thanks Sammy baby.
Dash, correct me if I'm wrong, but "fais" means to make, non?
Posted by: Key at July 28, 2005 3:26 PMKey, baby, let me be yo Cajun Translator. I *did* learn a thing or two during my months in New Iberia: if you can make use of this, it means all my lonely nights in the Avery Island Days Inn were not all for naught.
Fais do-do means "to make sleep", but the Cajun meaning is the exact opposite. It's a PARTY, cher, with Zydeco music and lots of dancing and usually involves food and the passing of one or more fruit-jars. A boucherie? Gorier, but still a community event. It's where ever'body get together to kill they hawgs. Or whatever. It's a multi-family butchering event. Stinky and flyridden, but fun.
Only Cajuns - God bless their hearts - could turn a hog-killin' into a fiesta...
I WANT TO GO BACK RIGHT NOW! Can you tell?? :)
Posted by: kelley at July 28, 2005 7:35 PMZonker - Some us us, Sam and Barbie, Christina, Susan, Dash and I stayed up until 2:00 on Friday night. Where were you?
I see V-Man posted a picture of the homeless dude that he sicced on us.
Posted by: Denny at July 29, 2005 1:45 PMHey Denny,
Zonker did show up around 12:30 or 1:00 and lasted the last hour or so Friday night.
I believe the previous five hours he had something of a nap...
; )
Posted by: Chrissy at July 29, 2005 3:19 PMKelley is correctamundo as usual. Damn, that girl knows some shit. I grew up with all that, so it's second nature. La boucherie is the butchering of the hog. Let's just say it's an event. Everything on the hog is used for something, cher. The fais do-do is a big dance and party. Dem cajuns know something about dat, non? When mon fille, Michele said she wanted to take you deep into the swamp to experience the real cajun culture, this is what she had in mind. The cajuns are a hard working, fun loving kind. Just don't piss them off and they will be your ami toujours (friend forever).
Posted by: Dash at July 29, 2005 10:57 PM