King Cake

Sorry for all the Mardi Gras posts, but when the Big Easy calls, accept the charges.

I was involved with eating this world’s largest King Cake. The cake stretched a couple blocks of the French Quarter. To be truthful, whoever made it cheated; it was really a bunch of single King Cakes stuck together. But New Orleans is certainly not Lawful Good, Evil, or Neutral, so no one cared. In retrospect, it is not hygienic to eat cake on the street where people have urinated, defecated, and fornicated. In retrospect, I still don’t care.

One year, there was about a six week gap between 12th Night [official beginning of the Carnival season] and Mardi Gras. To fill the time, a group of us had a King Cake party every Monday. The host was the person who got the baby the week before. It turned into a great way to get to know people, as the party grew in size every Monday. It also gave party goers a chance to see other party goers a couple times; there are several people who are still close friends now who I got to know because of King Cake parties. I one time ate so much cake I vomited: Twenty jello shots did not help.

One Mardi Gras I saw my first ever horde. A group of twenty or thirty young teens got together and ran through the parade crowd, trying to knock everyone’s stuff over and maybe perform some light mauling; it was certainly ruckus causing. What to do against a mob of thirty 12-year olds? Nothing but get out of the way. Then the Po-Po showed up and police brutality ensued. There was lots of throwing to the pavement and stepping on faces. I mean, they are 12 and weigh about 100 pounds. Of courseĀ  throw them to the ground. But the face step? Please, we can do better. I prefer the not-yet-patented kneel on the back, which I experienced. If they will do it to a 30 year old, they should do it to someone who is 11.

Two of the dirtiest places in America to have sex are toilets at Mardi Gras and in the trash, empty plastic cups, and assorted other garbage at Mardi Gras. Yet, they both occur with some frequency. To be fair, I only saw one example of intercourse in the garbage, but it was enough. Again, to be fair, they were between cars, which I respect; at least that way, there is only a one second glimpse. People having sex in the San-o-Let is a different matter. There I am, standing in line, and I have to pee. I wait and wait a little more. The door opens and out come Joe and Jane Smiley; both zipping up their pants. That was a good give away, as was the condom in the toilet. There was also pee all everywhere an imaginative couple could have sex, which leads me to believe those people got in on in the pee-soaked porta potty. I would also surmise they broke up fairly soon after they returned to Alabama or Ohio or wherever they were from.

This is a more romantic place.

This is a more romantic place.

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