A word about Mardi Gras in New York City and other places outside of South Louisiana

As you may or may not know, tomorrow is Mardi Gras day, the culmination of weeks of Carnival festivities all over South Louisiana where we Cajuns eat, drink, dance, and revel just for the fuck of it. We are also typically joined in this celebration of life by thousands of tourists who invade our state and proceed to completely lose their fucking minds. It's quite a spectacle. Something so decadent, hedonistic, gluttonous and, some would even say, vile, that it truly is one of those rare things in life that must be experienced to truly believe, where even the loftiest of great expectations are routinely exceeded.

So I guess it stands to reason that many people each year try to replicate the event in other places on much smaller scales. New York City is one such place. Thus, somewhat predictably I suppose, I've received quite a few emails over the last week or so asking some variation of the following question..."Hey Cajun...where's the party at in New York City on Mardi Gras day?"

My response to that question is this...I have no fucking clue.

Look, let me try to explain something here, using a sexual metaphor, naturally. Let's pretend for minute that you're a guy, a guy who happens to be fucking the woman who, at the moment, I think may be the most beautiful creature to ever walk the face of the earth, Italian actress Monica Belluci...



Now, again, you're fucking Monica Belluci on the regular, and you're pretty damn in love with her. Sure, she has her faults...she forces you to go shoe shopping with her occasionally, she can't cook for shit, she spends way too much time in the bathroom, her temper toes the fine line between sanity and insanity from time to time, she's obsessed with doing you in the anus with a big black strap-on, etc., but you overlook all of that, because you're in love with her, and her imperfections make her all the more perfect after all, and, let's be real here, she's ridiculously hot.

So when you're away from her, naturally, you miss her. A lot. You think about her all the time. You wander the streets at night when you're away from her wondering what the fuck you're doing whatever it is you're doing where you are and aren't holding her in your arms at that very second. Rightfully so I might add.

Now, let's say there's this other girl who wants you really bad but knows that you're in love with Monica Belluci and that you're fucking her and all that, but is undeterred in her efforts to win your affection, so much so that she's willing to put on a wig and get her lips injected and undergo all sorts of plastic surgery and cake layer upon layer of makeup on her face to make herself look more like Monica Belluci and woo you into her web.

So this girl, this Monica Belluci imposter, makes a play for your attention and you notice her. I mean, how can you not notice her, right? But when you get closer to her you see the scars on her face from all the surgery underneath the makeup, you notice that her hair isn't her own, you notice that her Italian accent sounds more like someone doing a bad impression of an Italian accent than the real thing, nor does she smell the same or feel the same when she brushes up beside you. In short, you notice that that this woman, even when you close your eyes really tight and employ every fiber of your imagination's being, is definitely not Monica Belluci!

Now, the question facing you is this...do you give in to your loneliness and longing for your faraway love, drink yourself into an altered state, then close your eyes and bone this comely, eager to please Monica Belluci imposter?

I, for one, am not that kind of guy and most certainly would not.

But I do understand how some guys would, and I make no judgments against them. I, however, would prefer to just stay home and watch Two and Half Men or whatever and wait for Monica Belluci and I to be together again, rather than sleep with some cheesy wannabe for the sake of an easy nut that I'd wind up hating myself for and regretting the rest of my life.

Look...when you're fucking Monica Belluci, every other piece of ass is only bound to disappoint, so why even bother?

So again, hypothetically, if the person in the picture below were the living, breathing embodiment of south Louisiana on Mardi Gras day...



Would you cheat on her with some hideous wannabe for the sake of a cheap thrill?

Which gets me back to this...I have no fucking idea where the party is on Mardi Gras day in New York City!

(All Monica Belluci porn courtesy of my friend Mandalay)