…but it sure looks fun. Muffti arrived in New Orleans late last night after many, many hours of driving. He is currently shamelessly milking and abusing enjoying the hospitality of the Kosher Eucharist boys, Michael and Chris. As soon as Muffti (and co-traveller/friend of Jewlicious Johnathon) drove up, we were told that drunken girls were looking forward to meeting Jews. Meredith (the other was absent) wore Michael’s tzitzit and started jumping. How can one not love this town?

Anyways, tonight we head downtown for French Quarter Mardi Gras madness. Muffti will report tomorrow. Sorry Laya, it’s back to boobs and G-strings for the next while. (Just last night we were shown the ‘thong of fortune.’) Next year we put up a Jewlicious float. L’shana habaah b’New Orleans

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  • I, um, claim no knowledge or involvement of any of the aforementioned incidents, and would like to make it known that I have been spending this period of debauchery and avodah zarah in prayer at the local synagogue.

    Anything he tells you I hereby swear is untrue, and any compromising pictures me or my associates may appear in are naught more than crude forgeries.

  • Well, it wasn’t mine. The Muffti can vouch for this. And that one thing, at least, will be the truth.

  • Muffti is glad to say that the thong was not Michael’s.

  • I set you up with Mardi Gras and all I hear about is that kosher boy’s thong???

  • If you guys have a Jewlicious float next year, you better produce those “show me your middos” t-shirts I keep talking about. You could make a killing from all the Jews at Mardi Gras….

  • Muffti repeats: it was shiksah’s girl’s thong. And it was purple.

  • The question one must ask himself is not the ownership or color of said thong, but whether we almost died roughly five times in a cab going about seventy in a forty.

    I can’t remember too well. Too much hurricane.

  • Muffti is glad to be alive. His secularism, however, remains. Michael has been a trooper, following the Muffti through the french quarter. Ck and Muffti, years ago, met a mime in the french quarter who was possible the (literally) dirtiest man they’d ever met. He stopped miming to ask for a cigarette and followed us around for a while til we went to cafe de monde. Ok, Muffti is rambling.

  • muffti is likely drunk, and in a gutter somewhere, bedecked in many beads and covered with hickies of unknown provenance.