To all my alkie peoples on Bourbon St. today: get right, and have several for me. Yet another Mardi Gras has come and found me stationed hundreds of miles away from New Orleans. The only thing I can take solace in is that the closest thing Pittsburgh has to Fat Tuesday, our St. Patty's Day Parade, is coming up this Saturday. We have just as much booze, beads, and buffoonery; but, at 50°F, there's a lot less bare boobage (and that's really the best of the "B's"). Maybe next year I'll get to dance on Bourbon St. with a Hurricane in my hand and a cutie like the one below on my hip? A man can only dream. Again and again and again.
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