Review of New Orleans

Preaching the humble word of Christ outside of Female Impersonators: Seeing is Believing strip club for maximum effect

I just got back from New Orleans today, having never been before. On the plane down there I took JetBlue so I split the flight down by reading Holy Blood, Holy Grail and then watching A&E's "Secrets of the Book of Revelation" special on the tv in the back of my seat, which informed me that the concept of the Rapture where believers get bodily assumed into heaven before Armageddon happens is not in Revelation at all, but was actually invented about 100 years ago by some embezzler/real estate speculator/trustworthy biblical scholar named Schofield, who thought it would be a good idea to, I don't know, REWARD BELIEVERS BY REMOVING THEM FROM THE EARTH PRIOR TO ITS DESTRUCTION.

In any event, as I walked around Bourbon Street, with a hundred bars with nearly identical neon lights that said things like "Mango Mango Mango" and "Huge Ass Beer," obese people walking around with drinks shaped like fleur de lis and hand- grenades and cover bands blasting "Sweet Home Alabama" onto the streets as the college fratboy Alabama Sugar Bowl fans wearing "Bama" shirts pumped their drinks in the air and screamed "Roll Tide Roll!", I knew for certain that we are now in the last days and that when god comes down to smite the earth he will be smiting Las Vegas first, followed IMMEDIATELY by New Orleans. It was like walking into Satan's lair. I have absolutely no doubt god was watching me and everyone else shoving Cafe Du Monde beignets buried under trough-fulls of powdered sugar in our faces at 10am and was wondering how the hell earth could have possibly gotten this bad.

What's really ludicrous is that in none of the coverage of Hurricane Katrina did anybody suggest that the storm might actually have been god's warning to the city that they will smitten for sure unless they start cleaning up their act, for starters including The Royal House Cafe stopping triple frying their "eggplant straws" to the point where they disintegrate on contact and Pierre Maspero's stopping encouraging people by charging ONE DOLLAR FOR A LARGE STRAWBERRY DAIQUIRI. Apparently, one other person agrees with me on this because in the middle of Bourbon Street near "Barely Legal" and "Little Darlings" strip clubs as drunk people were tripping over themselves and drinking hand-grenades, the guy pictured above planted a cross and started shouting stuff about Jesus with a megaphone and I feel like he really made an impact.