Nawlins.... Finally

The Big Easy. What can even be said...

Well first, the directions the hostel gave us from the bus station to said hostel were terrible. One might even call them wrong. In this case, wrong means telling us to take a left turn instead of a right. This left turn actually sent us down a sidewalk down a freeway that just ends in the middle of it. Thanks guys.

We got to the hostel SWEATING. Like Jesus man, it was the most intense humidity I have ever felt in my life. I took a shower, yeah still sweating in the shower.

This entry blows so far.

The second day in Nawlins, we went and found some damn good food. The south knows how to fuckin' cook. I've got two words for you

DEEP FRIED PICKLES

Take a hint Canada. Deep fry everything and serve it with ranch.

JAMBALAYA

Yes please.

Jesse will eventually get it up on the food blog. He's pretty backlogged, I think he's still at Los Angeles.

So let's get on to the sweet part. Our last night, we met a new friend named "Jeff" from "Australia". Or so he claims. For sake of ease, why don't we call him "Butt Face" from "Ireland". Yeah everyone from Ireland is a Butt Face. I hope you're reading this Steve.

So Jesse. Butt Face and I each had our own 26. We also split a case of LANDSHARK beer and Butt Face and I had tall boy cans for the walk home. The wonderful thing about New Orleans (and most places south and east of Vegas) is that no one gives a fuck if you drink in the streets, as long as it's not in a glass bottle. So we had finished these 26's in some plastic cups we had acquired from a bar on Bourbon earlier that day where we had some Po' Boys. Oh I forgot about Po' Boys... I love you Louisiana. Please be my hot southern wife who deep fries everything. Word? Word.

Highlights of this night include

-someone threatening to kill me, then getting his ass handed to him by some guy I was talking to at the time about how rad Nawlins is
-Butt Face asking a girl in a bikini to if he could eat raw steak from her butthole
-I lost my shirt on top of a hotel sign, so I tore down one of those signs that points you to movie sets labeled, "Mighty" and pointed the arrow towards the ol' Hal Johnson
-I passed out in the bathroom of a strip club
-I passed out in the bathroom of a casino

I'm sure there's more, a LOT more. I think Jesse was fairly well composed this time around, mostly because there was no swimming pool in sight. Besides the one's we were sweating out every day. Oh I should mention we NEVER stopped sweating.

Wyoming, who cares?

-Cam
-