hoarr

Adventures in New Orleans (Part One)

My older brother ended up getting married to his girlfriend of five years in New Orleans last Saturday.  The wedding was great, the reception was delicious (seriously — bacon wrapped shrimps, blacked tuna, fried cheesecake?!?), and my toast went off without a hitch.  I stumbled slightly in the middle, but it’s only because I had censored myself due to all of the younger people in the audience.  I got laughs and compliments afterwards, which is all that matters really.

After the wedding, we hit Bourbon Street with several of Rod and Jen’s friends.  We stopped by Pat O’Brien’s (above) for Hurricanes, Tropical Isles for Hand Grenades, and several other places in the French Quarter to soak in the city.  The group was getting along, drinks were being drunk, and we were all having the drunken times of our lives.

Even though all of the chicks in our group were taken, there was one in particular who I found to be particularly stunning.  A raven hair’d tan thirty-something that was thick in all the right areas; I couldn’t help but constantly eye-fuck her at any given chance.  At some point in the evening, I ended up hanging out with my friend Mark and we both noticed that my eye candy was leaving the club directly across the street from us with her husband.  Mark whistles and gets their attention, and in true drunken fashion we start up a conversation that consists of nothing but intoxicated shouts and muddled wishes of “seeing some goddamn tits sometime tonight, goddammit.”

The Mammary Gods must’ve been listening in at that particular moment, because the woman who I’ve been observing the entire night starts to pull down her dress to showcase her glorious cleavage.  Then, without hesitation, she pulled her top all the way down but made sure to jump up and down and jiggle her healthy sized boobs to anyone who wanted a gander.  I was floored!  The whole night, I was praying that we’d come across an industrial mill and her royal blue dress would somehow get ripped off of her in some type of freakish gear accident.  Her willingly showing them off to us was so much more practical!  And I didn’t need ninety nine cent beads, either!

God bless the hooch.