Gotta love New Orleans! This snipet from Wikipedia: 'New Orleans and its French Quarter are one of only a few places in the United States where possession and consumption of alcohol in open containers is allowed on the street.' OK then, I'm playin' by their rules.
Golf Guy wasted no time in researching New Orleans' open container laws: 'I'll take a large Jungle Juice, please. And make it a double. And make it to go!'
And then suddenly, within minutes of hitting the streets, I was stopped and told I was getting a citation. Granted, I was standing in the middle of a street taking a picture, but I wasn't even holding a drink. Turns out that the joke was on me ...
... as somehow, for the first-time ever in my life, I was cited for 'Not partying hard enough' and 'being too good looking.' I would have paid a $1,000 fine if this would go on my permanent record.
Antique weapons? I went in there and didn't see nary a mashie, niblick, cleek, brassie or a spoon. I did, however, unearth an Old Tom Morris wooden nickel.
'I finally get to go on a vacation, and they end up taking me to the streets of New Orleans. Seriously? I can't drink, I don't gamble, and I certainly don't understand what all the fuss is about involving these Gentleman's Clubs.'
Is this a Jackson Pollack-inspired piece of art work? No, and I've instead entitled it 'Bird poop and cigarette butts on a sidewalk.'
'Hi, I'm the Golf Guy's personal assistant. I know you are already on your way to a wedding, but the Golf Guy wants to know if you would marry him instead?'
History 101: Who says the Golf Guy can't be informative? Actually, this is just for my bosses to think I was acting serious. For at least a minute.
They say a man can go without food and water for a short period. Golf Guy wants to know if any research has been done on 'how long a man can survive on delicious beignets and rum?'
JOKE'S ON ME - PART II: This friendly fella came up to me on the street and made a bet that he could tell me the exact location of where I got my K-Swiss tennis shoes. Being a true gambler, I went with it. He then told me, 'You got them on your feet.' Well played, sir. He then poured soap on my shoes and wanted to charge me $20 to clean it off. I gave him $2. He then yelled at me. The French have a word for it: touche.
As always, the Golf Guy delivers ... BRING ON THE LADIES!!!!