Category Archives: Food and Drink

Saturday Odds & Sods: Splendid Isolation

Father Mississippi by Walter Anderson.

Father Mississippi by Walter Inglis Anderson.

It’s been a relatively quiet week in New Orleans. There’s a new gentrification controversy involving changes to an Uptown green space known as the Fly. I’m for the status quo but I’ve decided to keep my fly zipped on this issue. I hereby apologize to everyone for that joke.

Meanwhile in Baton Rouge, the budgetary sky is falling. 8 years of Jindalnomics have left the state in such dire straits that not even Mark Knopfler could fix things. Once again, I need to apologize for that joke, which means I have to take the walk of life in atonement:

The new Governor gave a sort of chicken little speech about the state’s financial woes, which doesn’t seem to have moved many votes in the lege thus far. John Bel Edwards did, however, imply that if there were more budget cuts to higher education, the LSU Tigers might not play football next fall. Now that’s a serious threat here in the Gret Stet of Louisiana: No Leonard Fucking Fournette? Only time will tell if that helps, but the lege is loath to raise taxes on our 1%, which consists mostly of oil tycoons and people named Benson who own sports franchises. I have no idea what’s going to happen but it won’t be pretty. Neither was PBJ now that I think of it…

PBJ Spanked

This week’s theme song was, in part, inspired by the artist who painted the featured image. Walter Inglis Anderson was born in New Orleans but did much of his painting in nearby Ocean Springs, MS. Anderson was plagued with mental health issues and in 1965 rode out a hurricane with his own form of Splendid Isolation:

In 1965, months before his death, he rode through Hurricane Betsy on his beloved Horn Island, tethering his little skiff to his waist, climbing at night to the highest dune, wanting to feel the storm first hand. The water rose to his chest.

“Never has there been a more respectable hurricane,” he wrote, “provided with all the portents, predictions, omens, etc. The awful sunrise — no one could fail to take a warning from it — the hovering black spirit bird, the man of war, just one, comme il faut.”

Warren Zevon also lived life on the edge, but even the most extreme story told about him isn’t as wild as the tale of Walter Anderson and Hurricane Betsy. We grow our eccentrics larger than life here in New Orleans, y’all.

Splendid Isolation is one of my favorite WZ tunes; so much so that I’m posting three radically different versions. We begin with the piano driven studio version from the Tranverse City album:

Next up is a version with David Sanborn and the house band from the, uh, splendid but short-lived teevee show Night Music:

Finally, a live acoustic romp featuring Zevon’s fellow rock eccentric Neil Young:

Instead of putting tin foil on the windows like the character in the song, we’ll pull up our socks and muddle through after the break.

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Wishbone Ash Wednesday


I cannot believe I blew the chance to use that pun with the ACAW feature. Better late than never. I’m still recovering from the long Carnival season. My feet are sore, my legs are stiff, and I ate way too much king cake. There was so much king cake around the house that Dr. A made a very yummy king cake bread pudding yesterday.

I’m a bit behind on the political news but the Granite State primaries went as expected. Any time there’s a New England Democrat on the ballot, they win in New Hampshire; even Mainer Ed Muskie in 1972. That’s right, McGovern didn’t win in NH, he exceeded expectations. On the GOP side, it could be Goodbye Rubio Tuesday all over again as Marcodroid Rubiobot laid an egg after being eviscerated by Governor Asshole at the last debate.

Wishbone Ash is, of course, a venerable British band who never quite achieved the success they deserved here in the good old US&A. This punny title is unlikely to help their cause but there are actually two-count ’em two-tenuous links between them and Carnival. First, the title of the song below evokes king cake if you’re inclined to whimsy. Second, it comes from an album entitled Argus, which is the big Fat Tuesday parade in suburban Metry.

It’s probably time for me to atone for this post title but we all know I’ll pun again. It’s what I do. Besides, I’m not Catholic and the only thing I’m giving up for Lent is Carnival. I considered amputating my aching legs but some friends talked me out of it. Why? I’ve always wanted to use the old Vaudeville line: Cut off my legs and call me Shorty.

That is all.


Saturday Odds & Sods: Hey Pocky Way

Rex Float 1960's

Rex parade some time in the 1960’s.

Carnival may be a marathon, not a sprint, but I’m feeling winded after our annual Muses open house, which was a bit too open for my taste this year. Additionally, the crowds on the parade route are getting rowdier and more aggressive even on our relatively civilized corner. Even the best parade throws such as a Muses decorated shoe are just junk on Ash Wednesday. So it goes.

I hate to do this but this week’s Odds & Sods is going to be characterized by brevity. I’ve been having back problems, which led one of my friends to prescribe a cure: a fifth of Jameson’s. I only had some of it but I’m a bit the worse for wear anyway. I’m not even sure I feel like punning right now. I suspect you’re uncertain whether to be scared or relieved at this point…

I may be crapping out this week but there *is* a theme song. It’s one of the great Carnival anthems, Hey Pocky Way. It’s rooted in the traditions of the Mardi Gras Indians, with which Art Neville of the Meters and Neville Brothers is intimately familiar. His  beloved Uncle George Landry was Big Chief Jolly of the Wild Tchoupitoulas.

The song was written by the original Meters and began life as Hey Pocky A-Way:

I’m not sure why the A was dropped by the Nevilles since they’re definitely A students when it comes to music:

Finally, a live version from the good old Grateful Dead with keyboard wiz Brent Mydland on lead vocals. The Dead started performing the song after touring with the Neville Brothers:

That’s it for this truncated edition of Saturday Odds & Sods. Time to eat some party leftovers including some homemade chicken curry courtesy of one of Dr. A’s colleagues. In the meantime, don’t forget to:




Saturday Odds & Sods: From The Cradle To The Grave


Krewe of Comus float, 1916.

I had an epiphany on Wednesday and realized that it was Twelfth Night. Mardi Gras day comes ridiculously early this year, which means that Krewe du Vieux rolls on January 23rd. We’re shitting bricks trying to get ready for that early parade date. I’ve spent a lot of time inhaling paint fumes, swallowing sawdust, and, most importantly, drinking beer in anticipation of the big day. The Krewe of Spank specializes in hyper-local satire and this year’s theme is sufficiently obscure. Only New Orleanians will get this one. I don’t mind: I’ve got a forum for national satire right here.

We just put 2015 in the grave and now it’s time to slap the 2016 baby and see if it’s alive. Metaphorically, not literally as the Veep would surely say. Speaking of babies, we’re knee-deep in King Cake season and whoever gets the little plastic baby Jesus has to buy the next King Cake. Fuck that shit. I am a seasoned King Cake baby liar. I blame my disorder on this creepy mascot our NBA team unleashes on its unsuspecting fans every Carnival season:

King Cake baby

Seeing double with King Cake Baby and Pierre the Pelican.

Have I ever mentioned how much I loathe and despise mascots? I hate them almost as much as I hate Vodka, which is only suitable for drunken Mensheviks. No wonder Lenin had them all liquidated. Speaking of horrendous, there’s actually a vile-tasting King Cake Vodka on the market:


I *almost* wrote about this week’s theme song earlier but wound up riffing on King Cake babies  and Vodka instead. From The Cradle To The Grave is the title track of the brand spanking new Squeeze album. The video below features age-morphing, which is much better than the lame and insipid  Krewe of Morpheus, which is best known for its EMPTY FLOAT.

Now that I’ve thoroughly confused you with that hyper-local Carnival joke, let’s play another Squeeze song before the break:

A totally ridiculous video for a great song. More ridiculous nonsense after the break.

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Fog Of Historical Pictures: Huey Long Behind The Bar

I stumbled into this picture whilst hanging out with Mr. Google. I’ve never seen it before and the folks who posted it said it was Huey in the 1940’s. Oops: he was gunned down in 1935.

My hunch is that it *may* be the Sazerac Bar at the Roosevelt Hotel in New Orleans BUT that’s just a guess. My partner in defogging history, James Karst, thinks it “could be a bar in NYC, a city to which Long imported the Sazerac bartender to teach those Yankee heathens how to make a proper gin fizz.”

Whatever the case, it’s a good picture to post 3 days before NYE.

Huey bar

Quote Of The Week: Drew Magary Edition

My chef friends have been buzzing all week over The 2015 Hater’s Guide To The Williams-Sonoma Catalog. Drew Magary is best known as a snarktastic sportswriter but he’s also a Chopped champion, so he knows from kitchen tools. Here’s how he started his third annual piece:

I have terrible news for you, America. I know that you’ve already endured a harsh autumn of partisan politics and mass tragedies and inconsistent NFL officiating. I know you can’t handle one more goddamn piece of bad news right now. It’s too much. It may break your spirit entirely. But I have to do it. If I don’t tell you now, you may learn this from an enemy, or from Twitter, or from your rich asshole brother-in-law:

There are no chicken coops for sale in this year’s Williams-Sonoma Christmas catalog.

I know. I know. Stay strong. We’ll get through this TOGETHER. I know you feel lost now that you won’t be able to shell out $1,000 for a goddamn chicken coop made out of driftwood by celebrated Carroll Gardens wood visualist SAMUEL PINE. Between this and the collapse of that one Blake Lively catalog, your interminable compulsion to run up your credit limit on horrible crap may never find a proper outlet.

HOWEVER, I do have some good news to soften the blow, my friend. While the coops are gone, the Williams-Sonoma Christmas catalog is still here. And yes, it remains as hilariously tone-deaf as ever, ready to help you plan the PERFECT holiday entertaining season, because to experience anything otherwise would be COLD DEATH. You must have a flawlessly laid-out dinner spread. You must have coordinated china and stemware patterns. The lyrics to “Sleigh Ride” must literally BE your life. You must SING! Yes, you must join hands with your gorgeous WASP children and sing carols in perfect harmony aloud for all to hear, so that the rest of world knows the truth: that their lives are SHIT and you, good friend, live among the holiday gods, in an evergreen paradise scented with luscious peppermint oils and laden with soup tureens and festooned with garlands sewn from the skinned corpse of a dead swan.

Chicken coopless? I don’t know about you, but I’m desolate. It makes me want to chicken out and fly the coop or contemplate this Seeds of Decline float:

Choke Mor Chikin

Photograph by Michael Homan.

The Cake Troll

My longstanding internet policy is a simple one: Do not feed the troll. Now we know what to feed a troll; at least a whiny titty baby Louisiana neo-Confederate malaka troll:

Last Thursday, Chuck Netzhammer posted a YouTube video that has since had more than half a million views.

In it, he tells about his effort to prove a point at a local Walmart after hearing the corporation was eliminating items with confederate flag symbolism from its shelves.

The ploy started by trying to order a cake with the flag and the words ‘Heritage, not hate,’ on top at a Slidell Walmart.

“She was very nice. She said I’ll try to run it through. She did the paperwork, said, ‘I’ll have to run that by the managers, more than likely, they’re probably not going to do it,'” he said.

Later that day, the call came that the order was in fact denied. Netzhammer then sent his wife to a different Slidell-area Walmart with something he considers offensive, the ISIS flag.

“She presented this image, they wrote up the paperwork. Everything is fine. The next day we picked it up,” he said of the ISIS order.

A Walmart spokesperson said in a statement, “Our talented bakery associates take pride in what they create for our customers. It’s unfortunate that one customer sought to take advantage of an associate who did not know the flag or its meaning. This cake should not have been made and we apologize for the mistake.”

Netzhammer says the employee isn’t the problem.

“Walmart should not be telling me what is moral or offensive at all,” he said.

The WWL-TV report can be found if you follow the link but here’s this bozo’s video on the YouTube:

More troll drollery after the break or is that droll trollery?

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Election Day

It’s election day in the United Kingdom and the right wing press has been going batshit crazy during the campaign. The invisible man of the Labour campaign, David Axelrod, popped his head above the parapet and spoke to Politico Europe:

POLITICO: But what about the press? You say it has disproportionate power here.  Do you think Britain’s conservative print media is more powerful than Fox News?

DA:  Yeah, I do. I do think the parties approach media as partisan players. So you see parties disseminating messages through the print media in a way that is unusual.


Fox is certainly very conservative, skews to the Republican side, but there isn’t a kind of lockstep between them and the Republicans.  Fox tries to drive the Republican agenda more than reflecting it.

Here there are relationships between the parties and media outlets that are deeper so you see a lot of themes being previewed in the media in a way that you don’t see in the states.

This election cycle, the pro-Tory press has worked itself into a frenzy. I thought I’d give you a sample of some of the wildest front pages. First, the Murdoch Sun, which has been beside itself for months. The first front page is from yesterday and features a year old picture of Labour leader Ed Miliband eating a sammich:


FYI, porkie is a Britism for a lie. More stupid Tory press tricks after the break.

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Bigotry Is Bad For Business

I didn’t know that Dave Duke had moved to Jersey:

“No matter what you are — Muslim, Jewish, black, white, gay, straight — you should be proud of what you are. I shouldn’t have to feel bad about being white,” Boggess told the Hunderdon County Democrat in March.

However, many people had a problem with Boggess’ sign, including his neighbor, Bhakti Curtis, who accused Boggess of “mocking Black History Month,” according to the Hunterdon County Democrat.

Boggess took down the sign after a few days and apologized to Curtis.

However, it seems the apology was not enough to keep Boggess in business. Boggess closed his deli and has started a GoFundMe page for his deli in hopes of raising money to reopen.

“It was only supposed to be a white thing but people read more into it than that,” Boggess wrote on his GoFundMe page about his sign. “I did get tons of supporting letters from all across the USA. Which was very comforting during such a stressful time.”

“Then the bottom dropped out and customers were no longer coming into my deli, and now I am forced to close down my Deli and lose my American dream. I have become heavily in debt and getting shut off notices from everywhere for both business and home,” Bogess continued in his note. “I don’t think I deserve this just because I wanted to be proud of being white and be able to celebrate my heritage like everyone else does.”

As of early Friday morning, Boggess had raised $215.

I don’t know about you, but I have no idea what a “white thing” is or  what “white history month” would look like. Did Boggess plan to show episodes of Fifties sitcoms like Ozzie and Harriet, Leave It To Beaver, or Father Knows Best? He clearly didn’t not know best despite having an awesome surname, which sounds like the Blogess.

Here’s the deal: controversy isn’t good for business. It’s a cliche, but the only color that matters is green. There was a local business, whose name I won’t mention to protect the guilty, that did some serious trolling on Twitter last year. Their act included gay baiting and egregious gun nuttery. It was a classic case of keyboard courage because the offensive tweets were deleted within an hour post-outburst. After a series of flame wars, the stupid tweets stopped and the whole thing ended up in the dustbin of internet history. The moral of that story is: use your business feed to promote your product, service or whatever and not your opinions, especially if you’re a dumbass

I hate to see anyone’s business damaged by something like this BUT it’s a self inflicted wound. I guess Boggess was hoping to emulate the Indiana pizza bigot’s tin cup rattling but it’s been a flop thus far. Next time maybe he’ll think first before doing something like this. Then again, thinking doesn’t seem to be his strong suit.

Repeat after me: Bigotry is bad for business.

Headline Of The Day: Fast Food Malakatude Edition

The MSM have been making asses of themselves since Hillary Clinton threw her headband in the ring. This headline on a Wall Street Journal blog is the apogee of stupid:

Clinton Bypassed Centrist Taco Bell For Liberal Favorite Chipotle

The post goes on to share semi-interesting marketing data about which chain attracts liberal customers. Here’s the deal: Hillary was hungry and sometimes one just wants to have a burrito the size of a Great Dane’s head.

Odds & Sods: Friday Follies Edition

the-who odds--sods

There are always follies on Fridays; most other days as well. At the risk of sounding like Keith Olbermann, we begin with:

From Debrisville To Durstville: Robert Durst has been making headlines in New Orleans since his arrest. He faces gun and weed charges locally. I’m glad the DA’s office is charging him since the case against him in the murder of Susan Berman is the *opposite* of a slam dunk. Hopefully, it won’t be an air ball.

More Friday hilarity after the break; at least I hope it’s funny. I dread turning into Jack Webb as Joe Friday at times like this. Why? I’ll never know. Continue reading

Odds & Sods: March Reading List

the-who odds--sods

The Idea of March have come and gone without my being stabbed in the back, so I figured I should celebrate by suggesting some articles. It’s a good thing I don’t know anyone named Brutus although my late mother had a crazy, rather incontinent dog by that name. He never stabbed me in the back. He did, however, pee on my copy of Tupelo Honey. I guess he wanted to be named Ocatavian…

The Israeli Election: TPM’s Josh Marshall has been blogging the hell out of it so y’all should check out the editor’s blog at his joint. My favorite recent post on the subject was one about a forgotten Labor Prime Minister, Levi Eshkol, and why Isaac Herzog wants to be like him. It amounts to a pledge for less drama to an electorate worn out by Bibi the actor. I’d call him a ham but it wouldn’t be kosher…

Speaking of the annoying Mr. Netanyahu, Haaretz has an excellent thumbsucker (think piece, A’s not the only one who knows newspaper slang) about why Bibi and Likud may lose the election.

American Political Scandals 101: Andrew Burstein and Nancy Isenberg try to put the stupid, petty, and downright ridiculous media controversy about Hillary’s emails in historical context.  Btw, the authors are LSU profs. Hopefully, Governor PBJ won’t shitcan them for writing above the 4th grade level.

School Daze: Anyone remember Spike Lee’s 1988 film about African-American frats and such? It was pretty good, actually, even if it goes down as a lesser joint.

Anyway, I’m not the only NOLA blogger who has been ransacking his archives. Jason Berry aka Damabala was inspired by the Okie racist frat flap to pull out a 2010 post about then Mayoral candidate John Georges and his bratty, fratty days. Georges is currently the owner of the New Orleans Advocate but he’s still a DKE at heart. Jason’s post is called, quite appropriately, The Specter Of Jim Crow Still Haunts The South’s Fraternity Row.

The Original New Orleans Diva: Let’s close on a lighter note. My twitter friend and fellow San Francisco Giants fan April Siese has written a superb profile of the late, great Adelaide Brennan. So, make yourself a cocktail and read about a true New Orleans original.

Class dismissed, but not before I circle back to Tupelo Honey:

Call Any Vegetable

I’m not sure whether Pat Robertson is descending into senility or if he’s becoming an absurdist comedian. In either case, bless his heart:

 Televangelist Pat Robertson said on Monday that marijuana users and drinkers are “enslaved to vegetables.”

Speaking on his Christian Broadcasting Network television show “The 700 Club,” Robertson said that addiction is contrary to God’s will, because man has dominion over “all the vegetables.”

Robertson continued: “Cocaine is the product of a vegetable, alcohol is the product of a vegetable, marijuana is a vegetable. And yet, people are enslaved to vegetables.”

“Why would you become a slave to a vegetable?” Robertson said. “Why? Why would you do it?”

Beats the hell outta me, Pat. I have no desire to be squashed by a zucchini or in butternut squash bondage. He’s starting to sound like Tom Stoppard’s take on Tristan Tzara in the great play Travesties: his art belongs to Dada. In Pat’s case, to the great dada in the sky, you know Jesus’ dada.

Pat’s latest trip to the weird side gave me this post title and a meaty, beaty, big and bouncy earworm. (Sorry for the Who reference, I couldn’t help myself.) It also reminds me of a vegetable related Captain Beefheart story. Humor me, please. I saw Beefheart and the Magic Band open for Zappa right after the latter had a semi-hit album with Apostrophe. It wasn’t the usual Zappa crowd, it was sprinkled with people who thought Don’t Eat The Yellow Snow was the cat’s ass. Beefheart finally got pissed off by the talkative yahoos in the audience and said, “Playing to you people is like trying to turn pickles back into cucumbers”

That’s my vegetable story, y’all. Call any vegetable, call it by name. Ladies and germs give it up for Frank Zappa and the Mothers:

I Ain’t Superstitious

I didn’t grow up with any New Years food superstitions. My mother was a sensible Midwesterner and my father wanted to leave the past in the rear view mirror. He openly derided Greek folk myths such as the evil eye. One of his Greek Greek cousins, Sophia, was a firm believer in the evil eye. Once my mom got overheated and nearly fainted in the crowded Athenian market place of Monostiraki. Sophia was adamant that it was the evil eye and insisted on making some sort of stinky poultice. My mom gave in and let Sophia apply it even though she was overheated and not cursed. It was over 100 degrees. My father was horrified and, typically, blamed my mother for being too nice. Never blame a Greek when there was a non-Greek around to take the fall. So it goes.

That was a long way of getting to my refusal to go along this year with Southern New Years food superstitions. One is supposed to eat black-eyed peas, cabbage, and corn bread; all three of which I like but I do not consider lucky. The only thing that particular combination has ever brought me is gas and I have no desire to be the Mr. Methane of New Orleans. There are some regional variations: one friend insists that one should eat greens as opposed to cabbage. That made me hot around the collard because she’s Irish and should be a cabbage head…

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Odds & Sods: All About Christmas Eve Edition

the-who odds--sods

I was originally going to try and solve the world’s problems in this post but decided I don’t feel like it. That’s selfish of me, but what can I say? I’m more of a Scrooge Potter Grinch type than some sort of freaking elf. I’m not big on elves, they can be Hobbit forming…

That leaves me with a helluva post title and a few longer articles that I’d like to steer you toward. We’ll start with the serious one first:

Jeb Bush and the Terry Schiavo Case: Charlie Pierce thought it was an excellent time to post an excerpt from his book Idiot America. Why? Jeb Bush may be running for President and he played a crucial and horrendous role in making a bad situation worse. So much for being a moderate.

Have Yourself a Colonel Sanders Christmas: TPM is branching out into longer feature articles and Molly Osberg’s piece about Christmas in Japan is a doozy. Hint: they think the late chicken mogul Harland Sanders is Father Christmas and that we all eat fried chicken tomorrow.


I must admit to some familiarity with the concept of a Kentucky Christmas but it usually involves Bourbon, not a bucket from the Colonel. I’m strictly a Popeye’s kinda guy.

Young Waif With A Horn: My friend and fellow horrid punster James Karst did some sleuthing recently and learned a secret from Louis Armstrong’s past. I won’t spoil the surprise for you.

Since I’m stupidly proud of this post title, I’ll give Bette Davis as Margot Channing the last word:


Stupid Even For Twitter

I mentioned earlier this morning how frustrated and annoyed I’ve become with the Tweeter Tube’s culture of instant outrage.  This flap takes the biscuit as the silliest one I’ve ever seen:

That’s right, ladies and germs, it’s racist to make a pun on the name Juan. Members of the pun community are running for cover. I myself am feeling pale and wan in the wake of this revelation. I may even have to swear off won-ton soup jokes, which makes me feel all hot and sour…

The company in question decided it was easier to delete the tweet and apologize, which was the wise thing for a business to do. I would hope, however, they’d ignore the loonier suggestions of firing people and banning puns. While I prefer smoke free joints, I draw the line at pub pun bans.

There are so many valid claims of bigotry and racism in the world that specious ones such as this drive me up the fucking wall. It turns out that there’s a “racist” Mexican restaurant in Austin whose name is Juan In A Million. It’s owned by a man named Juan Meza. Guess that makes him a self-loathing Chicano. The slacktivists are planning to do absolutely nada about this. At least I hope not, the mere thought makes me nada off.

It turns out that we own a “racist” coffee mug designed by world class punster Sandra Boynton:


It’s time for the American pun community to circle the wagons and fight against this tiresome Twitter tyranny. We should not take this pun persecution lying down; it’s not punny any more. Actually, I just put the lie in lying down. The pun community is resilient, so we’ll just get over it and move on:

The Great Georgia Okra Raid

Did you know that okra leaves resemble cannabis leaves? I did not know that. Why? Because they don’t except when you’re a nark  in a helicopter. Here’s a story that came across my twitter feed via Liprap. Oy, such malakatude:

Georgia police raided a retired Atlanta man’s garden last Wednesday after a helicopter crew with the Governor’s Task Force for Drug Suppressionspotted suspicious-looking plants on the man’s property. A heavily-armed K9 unit arrived and discovered that the plants were, in fact, okra bushes.

The officers eventually apologized and left, but they took some of the suspicious okra leaves with them for analysis. Georgia state patrol told WSB-TV in Atlanta that “we’ve not been able to identify it as of yet. But it did have quite a number of characteristics that were similar to a cannabis plant.”

Welcome back to stupid cop tricks theatre. It’s yet another argument for ending the so-called war on drugs. Weed legalization is slowly wending its way across the country, which should give the po-po pause when they consider bringing the stupid to a citizens’ residence. It’s the South, we eat okra be it fried or in gumbo. Sure, it’s an acquired taste with the consistency of snot but they eat it in Georgia too. Schmucks.

I think the Peach state po-po should ponder this song:

This whole thing has me worried about what might happen to that chanting, vegetable slinging NOLA icon, Mr. Okra. I’m not betting on the Gret Stet staties being any sharper than those in Georgia. Here’s Mr. Okra in a photo taken by my friend Dakinicat of Sky Dancing fame:

Mr. Okra

Leave Mr. Okra alone even if  y’all can’t tell the difference between collard greens and weed. Ya feel me? Here’s a short film about Mr. Okra from Nom de Guerre Films:

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Today In Responsible Gun Ownership: Restaurant Edition

I’ve picked on gun nuttery in other states, it’s the Gret Stet of Louisiana’s turn:

Walk into many stores, restaurant or workplaces nowadays, and you see the signs reading “No weapons allowed.”

But a popular local restaurant is bucking that trend by not only encouraging people to show off their guns, but offering a discount to those who do.

It’s the Friday lunch crowd at Bergeron’s with fried catfish, the top seller. Owner Kevin Cox says 500 people come through the Port Allen restaurant daily. So about two weeks ago, he started a new promotion to help some of his customers save money.

“If you have a gun on you, I’m going to give you a discount,” said Cox.

The discount is 10 percent off if you show that you’re carrying a gun into the restaurant. Cox said it’s an idea that started with welcoming police officers with their duty weapons on their side and has now branched out to include civilians.

“My friends and relatives would come in with their guns on their holster. I felt good about that. It made me feel safer that they were there with their gun so why not include all good citizens with the officers too,” said Cox.

Those citizens who are customers agree saying not only are they protected by their Second Amendment rights, but they’re also providing a service to the restaurant and all its patrons.

“I think it protects the restaurant. It discourages people from breaking in. If they think someone may have a gun and it’s concealed, you’ll think twice about coming in and robbing somebody,” said Bergeron’s customer Steve Moore.

Mike Campbell left his gun in his truck and carpooled with a buddy so no 10 percent discount for him, but, he too believes the new promotion is a plus.

“You feel safer because I mean somebody walks in and wants to rob the place, they’re going to think twice when they see it’s not a gun free place,” said Campbell.

Fried fish might be the special of the day, but the talk at Bergeron’s is about guns, and a restaurant owner hoping more law-abiding customers won’t be afraid to show them off.

Port Allen is across the Mississippi River from Baton Rouge. It’s now a place where you can both pass the boudin and the ammo. I won’t try to parse this guy’s “logic” but I know one place I won’t be eating in the unlikely event I’m in Port Allen.

The link came to me via horrid punster James Karst on Twitter and it’s given me an earworm:

Yes, that’s my homey, Jerry Garica, on guitar with Dr. A’s homey, Bruce Hornsby. No surprise.