Have You Ever Seen the Inside of a New Orleans Jail?

On our last night in New Orleans, our group was upstairs at the Cat's Meow. I like being downstairs at the Cat's Meow, but I quickly get bored upstairs. Despite the fact that Christi, Terry and Melissa were forming a pyramid in the corner, I was getting not only bored but restless. About that time, Melissa broke away from the pyramid building and came up to me and asked if I wanted to go down to Bourbon street and catch beads. I said, "Hell, yes."

Once we got down to Bourbon Street, the bead catching lost its allure and we hollered up to our friends on the balcony that we were going to the Famous Door. They hollered back for us to wait for them and they would be right down. We waited about ten minutes...okay, it was more like five seconds...then, Melissa and I sprinted away down Bourbon Street.

When we got to Big Daddy's, the strip club right across the street from our hotel, Melissa and I realized that, although we'd been staying at the same hotel for the last ten or so years, we had never been inside Big Daddy's. How rude of us.

We went inside and watched a few strippers, most of whom were a bit past their prime. We did, however, like Heather and Jasmine. I was going to ask Jasmine if she was wearing makeup on her nipples but I didn't know if that was proper strip club etiquette. After we finished our required one drink minimum, we moved on.

When we got outside, I told Melissa to stand in front of the sign so I could take her picture. All weekend I had been telling people that, no matter how nice a person looks, never give them your camera when they ask, "Would you like to be in the picture, too? Let me take it for you," because they might run away with your camera. So, when the first guy who walked up to me on Bourbon Street, as I was exiting a strip club, asked, "Would you like to be in the picture, too? Let me take it for you." I said, "Sure," and handed him my camera.  Picture above.

The guy who took the picture looked like that big nurse guy on ER and he had a friend with him who also looked normal, relatively speaking. However, they were with the Charles Manson looking guy you can see with me and Melissa in the above picture. They claimed Charles Manson Guy was ER Nurse Guy's brother-in-law. We discussed the weather and such with this trio until the club next door caught my eye: Live Sex Acts. We were intrigued.

As soon as we walked into the club, a woman latched onto Charles Manson. Charles Manson offered to pay the guy "stripper" a dollar to let Melissa "touch it." For the record, a dollar in a live-sex-acts strip club will buy you a nice guy in boxers with a funny little pouch in front that holds "it" who will sit and chat with you.

In case you're wondering what goes on in a club called Live Sex Acts, here it is. There was one stripper in the place who would half-heartedly dance in twenty second increments near the bed on the stage, disappear and reappear to do a little more dancing. Whether the music was playing or not was irrelevant. Then, there was Pouch Guy and Chatty Woman who were sitting with us. That's it.  Three "performers."

I kept asking everyone, "Where are the live sex acts? The sign says live sex acts. I don't see no stinkin' live sex acts." Pouch Guy said, "You can go up there, if you want." I said, "Are those sheets clean? Those sheets don't look clean." Note to self: Next trip, bring clean sheets and Lysol for my Live Sex Acts routine.

As one of the normal guys and I made small talk (he was an entrepreneur...I met several entrepreneurs over the weekend...there are a lot of "entrepreneurs" on Bourbon Street) our conversation turned to football for some reason. These guys were from Philadelphia and Dallas is getting one of their players or something. I said, "Dude, the last time I was excited about football, it had something to do with the Dallas Cowboys...or the Houston Oilers...and Neon Deion...or something."

At that point, my attention was diverted when I overheard Charles Manson ask Melissa if she had ever seen the inside of a New Orleans jail. He followed up that zinger with, "Have you ever robbed anybody?" There we sat with two semi-normal guys, Charles Manson, Chatty Woman (whose outfit had cutouts so her nipples would stick out) and Pouch Guy. It was time for us to make our exit.

Melissa said, "I think it's time for us to leave. My HUSBAND is going to be wondering where I'm at." I said, "Yeah, we're here with about FIFTEEN people and I'm sure they're all out there looking for us." Nobody moved. They all kept sitting there like we were hanging out in someone's living room on a Tuesday night. Finally, Entrepreneur Guy said, "Why are we sitting in here when Bourbon Street is right outside that door?"

To paraphrase Lynyrd Skynyrd, that was the sign we'd been waiting for. They gave us three steps, mister, and we headed right toward the door. When we got outside, Melissa called her husband and we caught up with everyone at the Famous Door. They were annoyed with us for scaring them half to death by disappearing, but also jealous of our adventure.

I told them it was their fault. They know better than to let me or Melissa out of their sight, let alone to let us both out of their sight at the same time. Rookie mistake.

Oh, did I tell y'all we met Steve Buscemi...


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