Who needs off shore bank accounts when there’s New Orleans?

It’s official, if I ever win the lottery or snag a bundle from my photo of Tom Cruise and Kenny Chesney in a romantic embrace (ya’ll do know they’re totally gay, right?), I’m not going to send my new-found wealth to Switzerland or put it in some offshore bank account in Grand Cayman. Instead I’m simply going to take my happy a$$ down to New Orleans.

Over the weekend the Queen and I were in the Big Easy for part work -part vacation. It was my first time back since Katrina took NOLA out behind the wood-shed and her virgin trip. The French Quarter was virtually untouched by the hurricane; left standing was every conceivable drinking establishment and entertainment emporium any discerning connoisseur of leisure could dream of. Fortunately for Bokesha, the storm did little to impede her 300 pounds of vivacious goodness from standing out on Bourbon street flaunting her Wal-Mart negligee, whimsically asking every passer-by if they’d like “a taste of the goods.”

“No sunshine, I’d rather not watch you grind on four John Deere tractor salesmen as you bounce quarters off of your ghetto booty to “Back that thang up!”.

For those who have never visited NOLA the ability to depart the city and vaguely remember anything is exceptionally common. What New Orleans lacks in water levees, it more than makes up for with its ability to get the tourists as completely sh** faced as possible. As evidenced by every bar offering happy hour 3 for 1 drinks daily. Did I mention that they start at 10AM? There’s nothing like washing down a $100 Brennan’s breakfast with a Hurricane or a Hand-Grenade.

I immediately discovered that for anyone visiting New Orleans there is really only one requirement – have cash and lots of it! In addition to laying waste to the 9th Ward, Katrina evidently wiped out every credit card machine in the town. The IRS could surely solve our national debt problem if they just audited all businesses between Canal St. and Esplanade Ave. Some of the most established restaurants in the city don’t take plastic, one of which is Cafe Du Monde. This confectionary palace is folding-money only since 1862 and there is a line out the door almost daily yet their service is dreadful. But after orally fondling a beignet or two, who really cares?

Supplemental greenbacks will be an absolute necessity for the 200 cabs you need while there. With the likelihood of getting shot a distinct possibility, especially if out after midnight; the use of taxis is a matter of self preservation. When asked if they take credit cards they either respond with a guttural negative or look at you like you just insulted Mohammed. Try to pay for your cab ride to airport with plastic and a late flight may be the least of your problems.

If a man was looking for a place to hide nocturnal activities from prying eyes, then next to Vegas, New Orleans is his spot. He would just need to tell the expense report department he was in New Orleans to explain away that $500 in cab fare.

“Hell yeah, I’ll take another 2-1 lap dance! And we’ll put that under taxi to Metairie”

I inquired as to why so few locations accept charge cards and the answers were all the same “cheat the government”. So IRS, if you’re reading this, send some peeps down to the Big Easy we all think you’ve had enough fun with me.