After a brutal ride on Saturday I was determined to right the ship and a head for clearer skies or calmer waters? Whatever, some shitty sailing analogy. After Nashville felt like a loss I decided some BBQ for breakfast was the best way to get a taste of the dirty tramp Nashville is. I wasn’t able to bed her down but I’ll at least grab a boob of this fine town. I got my shit together and headed out, according to Yelp the best BBQ was a place called Bar-B-Cuties. Not that I trust Yelp to guide me in the right direction at all turns but this place was open early and being a cutie myself (it’s not even arguable so don’t bother, these freckles and smile? come on) it seemed right. To my delight the place had an option of drive though which some may see as a red flag for lack of quality, not me. I ordered the sampler which was ribs, chicken, pulled pork and frickles (apparently the proper term for fried pickles is “frickles” thanks Brittany). I patiently waited for my food to arrive and it was obviously delicious. Due to the sinus congestion, my taste buds were very fucked up (again this is Jamie’s fault). But that powerful BBQ flavor blasted through the mucus barrier and made its way to my compromised tastebuds. Did you guys picture a literal mucus barrier? Like a wall made out of boogers? If so, gross. That’s on you. After my meal was done, I fueled up and made my way to New Orleans.
The ride to New Orleans was pretty great actually, I drove though Alabama and Mississippi. The roads were smooth, no traffic and pretty much a straight shot. The best part of the Journey was the fact it was sunny and 73 degrees the whole way. I missed the sun and forgot how a little vitamin D can change your mood, right ladies? Alright that was too far! sorry folks. That joke was meant to make Ethan laugh.
Moving on, after 8 hours on the road I pulled up to the W hotel in New Orleans and finally saw a familiar face, Mr. Shane Sheldon. Being alone the past few days really made me miss my family. I’m using family the way Vin Diesel does in the Fast and Furious movies. My friends are my family, though the lines in the movie are douchy as all hell, the sentiment rings true, thanks Vin. So with one of my closest friends by my side I was able to smile a little easier. Also with Shane was my buddy Jason who was napping with the Hobbit on in the background for some odd reason. We rallied, grabbed a few drinks and headed to the “heated” pool. The word heated is in quotations because the heat in this pool was minimal at best but was pretty nice to take a dip in.
After the refreshing dip we got our shit looking real nice (I wore the historically best Hawaiian shirt of all time, hands down, can’t be debated. End of discussion.) we headed to get some authentic Creole food and I was not disappointed in the slightest. I had some alligator for the first time, and it was good! So according to my friend Brendan’s philosophy an alligator can no longer kill me in the wild. Brendan’s theory is this, If you eat an animal you are automatically higher than it on the food cain and it can no longer defeat you in the wild. So suck it alligators you creepy ugly dinosaur fucks. My meal was a little bit of everything I wanted; Gumbo, crawfish Étouffée and jambalaya. It was out of this god damn world, now fueled up we hit the streets of Bourbon.
I had suggested a gentleman’s club but based on the employees smoking at the front door “Rick’s” didn’t seem like the type of establishment I wanted to spend my hard earned one dollar bills. We landed at Coyote Ugly, yea like that really shitty movie. The idea of pretty ladies dancing on the bar and serving drinks appealed to us. Sadly since it was a Sunday there was only one bartender, who was pretty but didn’t have too much time to dance. I decided it was up to me to shake things up at Coyote Ugly and that’s just what I did. I requested the blue ball special which was a can of PBR and the smallest shot of fireball ever poured. I mocked the bartender for the softness of the bar and tried to challenge her to step it up. and step it up she did. During the night I was noticing a large collection of underwear bands and braziers hanging above the bar. I inquired to how the ominous undergarments made their way up there. My bartender who’s nickname was Weezy, which feels appropriate being that Little Wanye (Weezy to those fans of great hip hop) is native to NOLA. Though I don’t think our bartender took that into account when applying herself with that nickname, fun coincidence though. Matt! Fuck man, get to the part where things “stepped up a notch” already, I got shit to do and this blog is taking forever. Ok loyal reader, I shall press on. Weezy instructed me to remove my fantastic Hawaiian shirt, no problem. I jump at all chance to be shirtless, I don’t have an Hugh Jackman in Wolverine type body but it could be worse. Picture some muscles, beer tummy, some tattoos and manly chest hair (and some less sexy but still manly back hair). I’m Scottish, what do you want from me? Anyway, Shirt off Weezy gave me a piece of women’s lingerie top to wear. I did. Black lace number that was clinging to my chest for life. As a bonus I got to wear a Batman cape! which rules but the Batman cape had the Batman logo on it, which isn’t faithful to the comics because that cape has no logo. Moving on. She then tied my hands together, instructed me to lay down and then put a saddle on me. I didn’t flinch being the champion I am. She then administered shots in a sexually suggestive manner and I accepted. Then in a masterbatory gesture she squirted me with lime juice. Again I did not flinch.
After that I got back on my feet and the elastic band to my underwear was cut off and donated to the collection at the bar. I somehow managed to remove the rest of my underwear with my pants still on and thew it at the bartender. After that a porky biker walked in and saw my state, rolled his eyes and told me he didn’t want to see that. I quipped back “you love it”then ripped off the ladies top I had on like the Hulkster in the glorious 80’s. Side note, why do fat bikers think they’re tough? Alright you ride a motorcycle and look like you have diabetes and speak monosyllabically, punk bitches. Unfazed by the shenanigans I pressed the bartender more. She then suggested I try “the boot” the boot ladies and gentlemen is a shot out of said bartender’s actual boot she had been wearing all night. Up for all challanges, I accepted like a champion and took down the odd tasting boot shot. At the moment it didn’t seem like a big deal being a depraved individual as I am but today I’m getting the sense it was a poor (or pour move, PUN alert!) move.
I now have a sore throat which could be my cold or the result of chugging booze from an attractive woman’s sweaty boot. Fuck it, I’ve done worse and would probably do it again. As for today my compatriots have left the Big Easy and I’m solo. So I must book a hotel, shower off the lack of shame from last night and press on. Thanks for reading folks!
Keep smiling (even with a mouth full of funky boot booze)