Sooo-EEEE!

This here is Razzoo's. It's a bar on Bourbon Street I don't think I've ever set foot in in my four trips to New Orleans. Which isn't particularly noteworthy -- there are a lot of Bourbon Street bars that I've never been in -- except for the recommendation we got on our last day in town. We had stopped into Checkpoint Charlie's,* a bar on Esplanade that I recognized as the first bar in the city that I ever drank in, way back when. (Seriously, when?) The pointer came from Larry the Racist, Misogynistic Barfly, who fascinated me with colorful hogwash and let me pick 5 bucks worth of jukebox tunes for him because his eyes were too bad to do it himself. But he did mention that he'd be going to Razzoo's later (even though it was pretty unlikely that he'd be leaving his stool before breakfast tomorrow). His description of the place? "Ah'll be goin' to Razzoo's, where the wimmin dance lahk wald piiiigs..."

Wild pigs, everybody. I should ask my hunter friends about how exactly wild pigs dance. Careful of the tusks.

Rob

*Fun fact about Checkpoint Charlie's: Both times I've been there, I've lost track of insane amounts of time. Hours, when I would guess maybe only one had passed. It's The Bar That Time Forgot.