I don’t know how you like to celebrate this fine holiday, but I like to do it with a Hurricane in my hand and half of a cream cheese filled King Cake in my belly. A spicy Po Boy is nice too. (And a towel).
I would like to give a special shout out to the lovely woman (pictured here, known simply as ‘Fat’) who once deemed my custom-made tee shirt (embellished with nine, felt, muppet-looking boobs sewn on to it – I was too modest to earn my beads the old fashioned way) too offensive to wear to a Mardi Gras party. Never mind that her own costume featured bare breasts, Fat here was stricken with fear that her 13 year old son would lay eyes on my nine puppet titties and become corrupted by lust.
It is worth mentioning that the youth in question was guzzling Jack Daniels straight from the bottle (his mother was perfectly fine with that of course). No matter, my be-teated shirt was considered as tempting as the song of a thousand buck-nekkid sirens – the allure of which would be too great to resist.
Thank goodness Fat was able to rest her thick, spongy head on her tiny, flattened pillow that night with the knowledge that she had protected her son’s visual virginity from my salacious attire.
Happy Mardi Gras – laissez les bon temps rouler!