It's the week before Mardi Gras, haters are everywhere. I feel like there's a demon inside me. The Krystals from last night and pack of cigarettes weren't a good idea. Neither was the chili cheese lucky dog or the $150 trip to Harrah's. Hangover food is necessary. Let's go.

Perseverance. Determination. Fortitude. Justice. Integrity. Honesty. Loyalty. Benevolence. Fellowship. Brotherhood. Bravery. (Insert inspirational word here)

Team, these words are there for a reason. They trigger the very same emotions I get when I think about .... OYSTERS ON THE MOTHERFUCKING HALF SHELL. Dude, the oysters at Oceana are as big as your fist. And get this, they didn't taste like an oil spill. My stupid ass little cousin was in N.O. for a frat party, smart, and he ordered a crawfish crepe a.k.a. fancy omelet word. It was legit. Crushed a bloody buddy and a few screwdrivers.

Later that day while raging, that demon I mentioned earlier wanted to come out and play. Luckily for me the shitter was clean and vacant. I walk in a lock the door. It's quiet. Then the door opens. In I. The girls bathroom by mistake. They begin tugging on my stall door and ask if anyone is in there. I replied in the girliest voice I could muster. Heart racing, the chicks leave and I race out. Like a boss. I didn't flush.

We raged. Will J. had all of Bourbon Street Chanting "Tits and Clits". I only saw 1 rack the entire time and I think it was a grandma.

Eff. Two days later, the Big Nasty, I mean Big Easy got me sick as fuck. I can and will survive. No more stories. Detoxing as we speak.

Have a great place we should visit? Let us know, offer to buy us a drink, and we can probably make it happen.

You're opinion is probably wrong but leave a comment anyway.