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There are a few places in the world that every self respecting human should see before they die. The Grand Canyon. The Great Barrier Reef. Whatever Europe is famous for. The clean pure air of these places is enough to make anyone smile and appreciate the peace and serenity of our world. But we are not self respecting humans, and New Orleans sure as hell isn’t one of those places. New Orleans is grimy, chaotic, loud, and more than anything else sinful. And that’s exactly why we love it so much. If you’ve never been, you might not believe the hype. It’s just piece of shit city with one good street that almost drowned, what’s so great about it? How ignorant you are my friend.
New Orleans, for several reasons, is one of the frattest cities in our glorious nation. No, I’m not talking about your snooty, tennis playing, Martha’s Vineyard kind of Frat. I’m talking about the dirty, no holds barred, alcoholic, balls to the wall, Fratting-so-hard-you-need-a-shower kind of Frat. A few key elements ascend New Orleans from mere city to glorious Fraternal Mecca.
First thing to note: The bars don’t close. Let me repeat that, in case you missed it: The. Bars. Don’t. Close. So naturally any ambitious Fraternal gentleman can (and should) drink until the Bloody Mary specials start in the morning. Go ahead and rail an adderall, because you aren’t going to be able to do this on your own.
Second: Hand Grenades. These sweeter-than-anything concoctions might first seem like a vaginally inclined Sorostitute drink, but don’t let their fluorescent green color fool you. Sure, it tastes like a liquefied Jolly Rancher, and granted its signature cup isn’t quite as manly as a Natty Ice tall boy, but these facts couldn’t be more misleading. Hand Grenades are the nectar of Satan himself designed for only one purpose: getting you unreasonably fucked up. The price is steep at around $7 a pop, but once you hit your third you’ll know why. Once basic motor functions become nearly impossible, I recommend you double-fist two more. I don’t know anything about Absinthe, but America’s alcoholic “green fairy” is more than enough for me. Europe sucks anyway.
Finally: The People. Anyone whose been knows exactly what I’m talking about. NOLA is the closest thing to a freakshow you can find without going under an oversized circus tent and being surrounded by elephant shit (though Bourbon Street does tend to have a distinctive aroma). Before New Orleans, I never thought it was possible to have fun in a city with so many crackheads and prostitutes (I took advantage of neither, trust me). On top of that, I’ve seen everything from dildo-carrying bachelorette parties, topless cougars, and even a blackout drunk Santa Claus.
A personal favorite experience of mine was when I met a toothless old man in the bathroom stall next to mine at Tropical Isle (Home of the 1000 proof death trap Hand Grenade). This interesting character alternated preaching Jesus quotes with snorting lines of coke off the urinal. He kind of looked like Jesus too, which only made it better.
“You gotta do unto others…” *SNIFF* “As you uh…you know kid..”
Only in New Orleans.