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  2. Woah mi viene duro solo a vedere le foto. poi vado di testa con la donna in tacchi e lingerie

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  3. I watched one made want to see you or make you squirt. love that shit. i commented on it

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F inally, the season of making errors in New Orleans is here. And as a longtime resident, I can tell you that nothing, save Mardi Gras day itself, has ever lived up to its star billing like the Mardi gras body paint nude Ball.

The event Mardi gras body paint nude the true carnival torchbearer, much more so than the dowdy official season-opening parties. My own invitation had appeared a week earlier, attached with a ribbon to my front door. The year before, 32 musicians had stood on stage at the height of the festivities, not including the six totally nude body-painted female vocalists.

The band finally stopped playing at 9am, but only because the party ran out of booze and no one was sober enough to go get more. The gathering was dangerous, given the large amount of unrestricted fire involved. It took place in a sticky year-old molasses factory, and the neighborhood of abandoned warehouses was also a bit edgy. Each year I tried to remain practical, and paid attention for the bad guys while traveling to and especially from it. I carried a substantial lead pipe, glitter-coated in Mardi Gras colors by way of disguise, pocketed in my sleeve in case my quasi-hoodoo outfit did not deter an uninformed non-religious mugger.

Like most ballers, I would use the event as an instrument to start thinking about the all-important Mardi Gras outfit. Costumes or nudity were required for the ball entry, and considering my current body, public nudity was not an option for everyone concerned. Then I remembered. My late neighbor, who was one of the greatest of Porno de fat black legendary New Orleans drag queens — his Loretta Young was exquisite — had gifted me at an earlier carnival with an amazing mask.

A horned demon. I pulled the mask from its wall display, found a black velvet cape and further dark accoutrements. I was happy with the overall image: with my hair and beard sticking out top and bottom of the mask, I looked pretty damned demented, which was the desired effect.

I needed a container to transport good bourbon. There are never many top shelf liquors at the ball because nobody can tell the taste any difference after 10 or so toddies, so people bring their own favorites. I needed a vessel and could find none. I even considered an empty hot sauce bottle, but decided against it, figuring that if I fell over, as occasionally happens, I might Mardi gras body paint nude impaled upon the former cayenne container. I decided to use a resealable quart-size Gladbag for my Kentucky bourbon.

Even though it looked rather like a urine Mardi gras body paint nude, the plastic envelope worked, and sealed well. Rather than walk I decided to ride my bike the 20 or so blocks to the ball, and hopefully back safely home.

There was some sort of logic roiling about in my head that involved me escaping harm by hurtling down streets in a cape and mask, balanced on two wheels.

I tucked it into the inside pocket of my cape, kissed my dozing partner goodbye, hopped on my bike, and headed off to the ball. Four blocks away from the entrance there was a pack of a dozen grizzly-looking, fully costumed and snarling werewolves — it was indeed the night before the full moon — picking up the ancient Mardi gras body paint nude bus they had arrived in, and carrying it sideways into a spot too small for parallel parking.

They grunted and puffed as they did their job, and all howled in unison once the vehicle was in place. It was frighteningly eerie and incredibly funny at the same time.

After chaining my bike to a light pole and putting the keys in my sock, I stood outside the gate, pulled out my diminished supply of Turkey and poured a few ounces down my throat. As Mardi gras body paint nude was doing this, the Grand Mistress of Decadence, who is also the Mardi gras body paint nude real estate agent who finally found a house for me, walked out to survey the line of newcomers and spotted me. Three important areas of her body were spangled nicely in minute silver stars.

She carried a matching metallic bullwhip. You are so uncool. Everyone was taking it. At 11pm, only an hour into the party, there were already more naked, though amusingly decorated, people walking around than I had seen on the entire last Mardi Gras Day. The Creole Wild West Mardi Gras Indians warmed up the crowd, marching through the Mardi gras body paint nude lot and into the molasses factory itself, playing drums and chanting.

I am afraid she had whirled or dervished a little too long. My baggie emptied, I made my way to the bar. My request for whiskey was met with a ounce glass.

The word moderation now a distant memory. There were two large oriental rugs laid out, one with a massive gold-leafed and velvet-cushioned throne, and one with an ornate marble-topped table. At one point I realized that I could no longer see the band.

While still audible, and now into their third set, the Wolfman and friends had disappeared in a towering cloud of dust as the dancing became more ecstatic. I decided to go home. I admitted myself indeed a wuss, as the last set was not scheduled to start until sunrise, and jumped on my bike. We never thought that what we had witnessed that night would be the last ball. This was a decades-long tradition, an annual casting-off of the responsibilities of daily mundane Mardi gras body paint nude, ignoring the real universe, to just plain be silly.

There was just not enough time. But a couple of months later, in spite of negative reactions from the national media and some governmental officials — I suppose we were supposed to be in mourning instead of living — we were silly again, for Mardi Gras Here we are a decade later, with no Decadence Ball, but still silly as hell. And quite happy about it. Facebook Twitter Pinterest. Topics New Orleans. Louisiana Festivals features.

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