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On your trip down to The Big Easy, when you’re chugging bourbon and banging 7-gram rocks like Charlie Sheen in standstill traffic, keep in mind you are entering a warzone of raging. You’d be hard-pressed to find more debauchery in one place. Bourbon Street on any weekend is a madhouse of drunken sin, but during Mardi Gras, shit hits the fucking fan. Unless you Google “fat tits” or something similar, you’ll never see this many unattractive pairs of fun-bags in one place. Don’t get me wrong, some hot slams definitely flash their goods, but you have to fight through a sea of camcorder wielding welfare recipients to get a glimpse of those hot tots.
Frat Tuesday is about washing King Cake down with some Hand Grenades at Tropical Isle and Hurricanes at Pat O’Brien’s. Then, hitting The Penthouse Club and making it rain on the finest strippers Nawlins has to offer.
When you’ve had your fill of pretending you’re Pacman Jones and shoving through the hordes of geeds in the street, you can head up to your private balcony to look down on the less fortunate. Here, you can make it rain in a different fashion by throwing things at GDIs, and tossing beads to girls with low self-esteem looking to make daddy proud. If a geed looks up at you with disrespect, look down on him and roar,”SHUT THE FUCK UP PEASANT.”
If you can’t be in New Orleans, do your best to recreate a similar atmosphere at your respective frat mansions. Remember, this is all acceptable, because starting tomorrow you’re giving up blacking out before noon, for Lent. Don’t do anything The General wouldn’t do.