Slaphead. I forgot to mention yesterday the notoriety brushings in Lambert Airport of St.Louis. While reclaiming my shoes from the scanner machine I was sandwiched between two famous peeps.

Retrofitted Sunday of the Sixth in the month of April:

Precariously balancing like a drunk monkey on one foot to slide on my black leather shoes, I look up and see Dick Gephardt. Minority house leader, democrat yadda yadda bladdy poo. Immediately, I wanted to march over to him and inact a Travis Bickle inspired scene. As in; Taxi Driver when he blows fake congratulations up the presidential candidate's porthole. Then my second thought was to sneeringly admonish him for having a jelly backbone and kowtowing to whatever the current commander in chief's whims are.

And then around the tenth second I remembered that I have more respect for filth that collects on the bottom of my Pumas than I do for politicians. The incident passed like bowel wind.

Then I spin around to grab my carry on. The chick from ER, the one who got all deaded up ( or did she? raised eyebrow ) in Memento was standing in front of me, arms spread like an albatros, getting wand scanned. She's cute as a Chinese baby. Immediately a mile high fantasy was embedded into the freak brain files.

Onward and geekward.

Monday of the Seventh in the month of April, dusk time, continuith: We rubbed our tummies and licked our lips. The grub sassified.

We decided to lazily saunter in a slightly zigzag pattern around the streets of the Quarter. Get the overview eyefulls. Leave our tracking scents at spots we would revisit with more attention. Observe the human traffic. Take it sleazy.

I was being checked out. I know this will sound pompous or full of myself, but it seems I am more attractive in New Orleans. I was studiously undressed at least three times by chicks with their eyes on the first evening. You ladies just aren't as skilled at hiding your lust stares. Us grubby boys are trained early to snag quick peeks, resume innocence posture and store the visual for later use.

I believe, believe now not completely certain, but believe that the local flavor seemed to think I was part of the recipe. Back to yesterday's entry when the inn keeper assumed I was a regular habitue of Nawlins. What I am completely certain of is; I would have vigorous mack powers in that town. The cock would stay wet.

While on the subject of lusty views. The women of New Orleans have the finest backyards I have seen represented in a cityscape. Talking per capita here. Bubble butts everywhere. Round poochy shelves. My tongue had a mind of it's own, speculating how delectable those biscuit fed mounds would be.

I say goddamn! Red beans and rice didn't miss her.

We heeded the warnings to avoid Bourbon Street drinking. Found a more local spot called the Shim Sham Shack on Tulouse. Great jukebox mix of old school punk, acceptable alternative like the Pixies, and crooner selections from the Rat Pack. The booze, she is on the cheap, no? Yeah, it's a drunk mecca. One third the wallet crunch I'm accustomed to in Gotham. Soaked the liver.

Sunshine got a bit toasty. Had to give her a brief spanking on Decatur in front of Tujague's while waiting for Shannon to pick our tipsy asses up. She gave me a good bite, I had to sting her backside a little.

Shannon took us to her shop. She opened up a video/dvd rental place nearly three years ago in Bywater, two blocks from her house. Spanky likes the slacker convenience. Admired the lifestyle she set up for herself I did. Mentions of possible other business ventures and expansions that I could get on the ground floor of. Move to the big swamp? I might melt in the swelter being a caveboy. We'll see kidlets, we'll see.

Quickly New Orleans sank her fangs into my heart. Didn't take long to see the similar symbiotic nature possible as I have with New York. It's a gorgeous place with a gorgeous vibe. Poured into the bed that night well pleased.