Easter with Peenee

This Easter was just lovely. The divine Mr. Peenee and his charming entourage (the wonderful Tim and Diane) came into town. On holy Saturday, while Jesus was harrowing hell, we had drinks at the "Friendly" bar.


 I fired up my hi-tech infrared night vision flip phone camera and took some scary photos:

No, this is not at the Smithsonian.  This is the  "pay phone", I guess if you're prissy and want a ride home *without* anal rape.

Club crackers. Actually, that'd be a good name for a bar, wouldn't it? The Cracker Club. I'm sure I'm too late.

Just a note of advice: never eat deviled eggs sitting out at a gay bar.

The next day as peenee jetted back to Texas, we caught a bit of Chris Owens' Easter parade, in which a mummified stripper entertainer celebrates the resurrection of our Lord  and savior her face by tossing out left over beads from Mardi Gras. It's an ancient tradition.

This guy had live chickens in a cage on his bonnet.
Show off.

Anal rapists, no doubt.

It's Mr. Peenee!      No, it's  just New Orleans' finest, Miss Owens herself.
(sorry peenee)

 Too bad you can't see her face.  (you're welcome)