The Crazy Rants of Samantha BurnsThe Gangs Of New Orleans
Lol, I don't know about you, but something about a gang leader wearing a pink jumpsuit and fluorescent red wig doesn't exactly strike fear into me.
Apparently, New Orleans roughnecks come in the form of a flamboyant transvestite gang that wanders the streets and looks for the finest fashion to raid.
“They’re fearless,� said Ogle. “Once they see something they like they won’t stop until they have it. They don’t care, they’ll go to jail. It’s really gotten bad. You know it’s ridiculous when everyone on the block knows who they are.�Geez, people, I'm sure there is a very simple strategy to disband this "motley" crew.
Like, say, get a bunch of women to start flirting with/hitting on the drag queens.
That ought to make them run away... and fast!
Some open trackbacks: Common Folk Using Common Sense, Freedom Watch, Tor's Rants, imaginekitty, Conservative Cat, Blue Star Chronicles
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Y'know, that's not that funny. Brings back memories of living in The Big Easy...
There I was, walking back from a 27-hour shift working for The Man, with my $1.98 monthly paycheck jingling softly in my jeans pocket. Times were tough then, and half the pennies would fall out of the holes in my pants if I wasn't careful or if the duct tape peeled off. Anyway, there I was, dog-tired and walking home at 2:30 AM, and when I looked up from the broken sidewalk, I was surrounded by 'em. Five o'clock shadow, Adam's apples, Revlon Peach Delight lipstick, and velour track suits an Italian housewife would run over an old lady for at Filene's. They were terrifying. The ringleader's bright red wig seemed to glow like Hell's own fire in the streetlights' glare, and when he/she smiled, I saw dentition so horrible that I will carry that image to my mausoleum.
"Gimme whatcha got, sugar, 'fore we take it and more," she/he said, in a deep, gravelly voice that squeaked on the high notes like James Earl Jones being rogered by a desert cactus.
Hands shaking, I fumbled with my pockets, trying to gather up the nickels and pennies in a quick and non-threatening manner. I heard the ever-deafening "click" of a switchblade opening behind me, and I knew that no matter what I gave 'em, I was still a dead man. These trannies were out for blood.
Grinning from ear to ear, the leader reached out for the money, his/her crimson Lee press-on nails gleaming dully like the talons of a fearsome street raptor. At the last moment, I flung my hands up, change flying everywhere. While they scrambled to pick up the precious nickels and pennies amidst the busted crack vials in the gutter, I ran away in the confusion.
Thank God my worn-out Keds could beat high heels in a street race, or I wouldn't be here now.
Yup.
Posted by: Dave D | June 27, 2006 05:45 AM
Reminds me of some really bad Stephen King movie...
Posted by: Butch | June 27, 2006 08:20 AM
Shut Up. I Bet U Wouldn't Say That To A Real Blood. Well Maybe I'm Wrong. You're Dumbness Has Gotten U Dis Far U Might As Well Go All Da Way.
Posted by: Why | May 21, 2007 04:57 PM