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Voodoo BBQ

2002-05-22: Voodoo BBQ - Toilets

No, I was not on the floor in a puddle of my own sick when I took this picture. I just figured I'd get a little artsy and take a worms-eye shot. This is the toilet of the Voodoo-BBQ on St. Charles not too far from Lee Circle. In the front is a BBQ joint and in the back is a bar. The bar and munchies combo is definitely one of my favorite types of haunt. Some people don't get hungry when they drink. I don't understand these people. After a few dozen (or so) beers nothing quite hits the spot like chicken wings, BBQ ribs, or a burger. This is why I spent 10 years fat. That, and an almost complete lack of physical movement other than the bowel variety.

I didn't actually eat the food, so I can't vouch for it, but I did see it. It looked and smelled good. And as they say, 80% of taste is smell, so I'm 80% sure that the food is good. On the subject of taste, did you know that cows have a more acute sense of taste than humans? What in the hell for? They eat nothing but grass. Maybe they need the extra sensitivity to tell the difference between tasty gourmet grass and shitty crabgrass.

So I'm sitting at the bar, coming as close to minding my own business as one such as myself ever gets, and in walks this hottie in a red halter top. I intended to pull the "Too cool to look" move, but my libido was way ahead of me and before I could react I was pulling the "Staring and drooling at bouncy things" move. The girl looks around the bar, yells something incoherent, and starts talking to the bartenderess. She dances to the imaginary rave music. She motions and writhes. The bartender asks her a question and she stands on the first rungs of two barstools and lifts her shirt. Her twin mounds of God (or doctor) given beauty shone in the neon lights of the bar.

When you live in New Orleans you do not need strip clubs.

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