Big fiction from the Big Easy
While many of Western’s sun babies
and party lovers were basking in the sun at Mexican resorts
or taking part in Club Med gang bangs, I was making the journey
to New Orleans to partake in the festivities that Mardi Gras
had to offer, and hopefully, ingratiate myself with a Southern
Sadly, my bushy-haired, tongue-tied charm was as ineffective
with the Bayou beauties in Louisiana as it is here with the
lovely ladies of Western. Even still, the week wasn’t
a complete loss: I watched some parades, consumed (more than)
a few alcoholic beverages and ran into a man who was a million
I was in a bar ordering a cool drink when he approached me
asking for a cigarette. I regretfully informed him of my lack
of tobacco and he began cursing the early humans of ages past.
“Freakin’ cheapskates,” he said. “They
walked around with the worst posture until I gave them a quick
adjustment and PRESTO, they were walking around with nice,
straight backs. Then they took my smokes and my lighter, only
to eat the cigarettes and light a campfire. They acted as if
they had never seen fire before.”
The million-year-old didn’t stop there. Before I could
leave, he started talking about the time he ran into Moses
in the middle of the wilderness with a bunch of people following
“He asked me for directions to the land of milk and
honey, so I told him where to go. But I later found out he
was looking for the other land of milk and honey. Last I heard
of Moses it was 40 years later and he was still lost in the
This raised my interest, so I asked him if he ran into Jesus
“Jesus,” he thought a moment. “Oh, I remember
Jesus. I ran into him about a couple thousand years ago in
the middle of a street in Jerusalem with a big crowd around
him. He was carrying a big wooden stick to the city limits;
come to think of it he looked a little nervous too.”
Then he really started rambling.
“He was a weird one, but not as weird as Bill Shakespeare.
I ran into him in London, England a few hundred years ago.
He was illiterate but had a few ideas, so I wrote them down
for him. He promised me some real big royalties for my work,
but he stopped returning my calls, so I burnt his theatre down.”
I asked him what is the most important thing was that he had
learned over the last few eons.
“The Dutch make the best porn, always have and always
will. Just as long as they eat all of that cheese and keep
those drugs legal they’ll have the most screwed up porn
forever. I mean what kind of a… ”
By the time he said “cheese,” he began drooling
all over his shoes, so I decided to leave the bar and find
a better venue to make up fictitious people. It didn’t
work and now you’re stuck with this silly story.