Le Monde De Merde

Home, Home, and Deranged (2007)

Stories of Katrina exiles returned from the badlands of Texas, as told to the editors of CRAPS (Crime Reports And Psychiatric Studies), the new New Orleans Mad Magazine. Musical accompaniment by courtesy of “Ghost Riders in the Sky”;“Green Green Grass of Home”;“El Paso”;“I’m an ole Cowhand from the Rio Grande”; and – yes, you’ve got it!!

An old cowpoke went ridin’ out one dark and windy day,
On Gentilly Ridge he rested as he went along his way.
When all at once a ragged bunch of red-eyed folk he met
Scavengin’ the houses for whatever they could get.
Yippee-I-ay, yippee-I-oh
Crazed people asking “Why?”
Their faces gaunt, their eyes were blurred,
Their shirts all soaked with sweat,
They’re tryin’ hard to get some help, but they ain’t found none yet.
Cause you’ve gotta beg for ever for that Fed pie-in-the-sky,
And that Road Home winds forever, as they howl their mournful cry.
Yippee-I-ay, yippee-I-oh
Crazed people asking “Why?”

The old town don’t look the same
As I come back on the train,
There to meet me are the ruins of my city.
Down the street I walk with Crazy Mary,
And it looks much like a tumbleweed prairie.
It’s rough to see the long black lines of home.
The old home is still standing
Though it’s open to the sky,
And there’s that old wrecked car I used to drive in.
Round the block I walk where the rats are scary,
But they’re scared themselves of my poor Mary.
Yes, it’s rough to see the long black lines of home.

Out in the beaten-up town of New Orleans
I fell in lust with a Mexican guy.
Night-time would find us at old Tipitina’s
Music would play, and Francisco was high.

Redder than blood were the eyes of Francisco
Madly reflectin’ his own brand of hell.
My lust was so strong for this Mexican loco
But he was so drugged, it was vain, I could tell.

Now I’m on Monkey Hill overlookin’ New Orleans
I can see old Tipitina’s below.
My lust is still strong and it pushes me onward
To see if Francisco has finished his blow.
Off to my left I see many sombreros
Off to my right are a dozen or more,
But there’s just one I want, so I can’t let them catch me,
I have to make it to Joe Cool’s back door.

From out of nowhere Francisco has found me,
Openin’ his fly as he kneels by my side.
Comin’ before he is ever inside me,
Well, what an asshole – Francisco, good-bye!
I’m an ole cowhand, with a fleur-de-lys brand,
An’ I’m back in town jus’ to hear brass bands
I’ve heard all the songs ‘bout the big, big blow,
And the Long Road Home where few dollars flow,
Cause I’ve heard it all on the radio
Oh, yippee-I-oh-O-Z

I’m another cowhand, and I’m on remand,
And I learned to steal, soon as I could stand.
I’m a lootin’ fool with a big ole truck,
I know every route through the mud ’n’ muck,
And I only quit when it’s time to…eat
Oh, yippee-I-oh-ki-ay.

Oh, they brought us back home
Where the paranoid roam,
Where the cheerless, without much hope, pray,
Where often is heard a discouraging word
And the sighs are so loud all the day.

Yes, we’re home, home and deranged,
But we cheer for our Saints when they play,
And through all may be heard these encouraging words:


C.R.A.P.S. Fingers The Dike (2006)

DUTCH ALLEY — Throughout the soggy Crescent City, whenever anyone breaches the topic of the redevelopment of New Orleans, the central requirement is an improved flood protection system. Despite a rising tide of pleas from the public, it had become clear that the federal government’s commitment to the city is as shallow as the steel pilings in the 17th Street Canal, and that the Army Core of Engineers is in over their head. Given the necessity of immediate and decisive action, members of Krewe de CRAPS have decided that there is only one organization they can truly trust to get the job done right: themselves.

More accustomed to creating public spectacles of themselves than preventing public disasters, Krewe members were nonetheless surging with enthusiasm. They quickly organized a trip to Holland after hearing about the famed “Dutch Solution” for flood control. Dutch engineer Ed Am was gouda nuff to meet with the CRAPpers, and offered his assistance in developing a plan for New Orleans.

When asked about their budget, the Krewe members, fresh off a spending binge in the brothels and hash bars of Amsterdam, went through their pockets and managed to gather $50 in loose change. “That will be about $29,999,999,999.50 short for our modern system”, said Am. “But we have an older flood control system that should fit your budget.” He then related the tale of the Dutch boy who saved his town from destruction by bravely sticking his finger in a leaking dike. “While it’s true that you can’t solve your problems just by chasing some fairy tail, there is historical evidence that the insertion of a finger can be an effective method of reducing built-up tension in moisture-laden dikes.”

“The Dutch are uniquely qualified to finger your dikes because of our long history of tending to our own tulips,” he continued. “Plus, you won’t have any difficulty finding workers that will fit your budget, given the fringe benefits.”

Krewe members were immediately enthused (and erect) at the thought of a Dutch army spread out over our city fingering our beleaguered dikes. They quickly snatched up enough willing volunteers from the streets of Amsterdam. This group, who dubbed themselves the Orleans Board of Guardian Yeomen from the Netherlands (OBGYN), demonstrated a firm commitment to their vocation.

“It is well known that the holes in the dikes of New Orleans can be quite hairy,” an OB-GYN spokesman explained. “We’re not a bunch of bush-league eager beavers who are just going to give lip service to this. We are committed to give a triple-digit effort, to get in up to our elbows if necessary, though we promise to always do this Gentilly. We understand how important it is that we not muff this up.”

The merry band of itinerant inserters has also indicated that they will also take over maintenance of the levees. “We’ve heard about the ‘three martini lunch’ inspections CRAPS Fingers the Dike that were done in the past, but rest assured that we will make sure that all of the dikes receive their annual. We don’t want to stirrup any more trouble.”

The OB-GYN spokesman also made it clear that they would stay only as long as the people of New Orleans want them. “If you think things start to smell fishy, or if we rub you the wrong way, we’ll clam right up. The last thing we want is to get caught in a hot and sticky situation over here. We mean that cliterally.”

This troupe of prurient penetrators is scheduled to begin their duties on the evening of February 11th, starting (appropriately enough) at the Den of Muses. Come out and feel the buzz and vibrations as Krewe de CRAPS fingers the dike!


Constitutional Reform Arms Pissed-Off Species (2005)

URSINE STREET — Alarmed by the dramatic rise in gun violence in New Orleans, Mayor Ray Nay-Gun recently called a public meeting outside City Hall. Members of Krewe de CRAPS joined the throngs of New Orleanians who uzied out of their shotgun houses, from Barracks to Magazine Street, to hear what Nay-Gun had set his sights upon. Hizzoner scoped out the crowd, squeezed one off, and then began.

“My friends, these are desperate times. Most New Orleanians have easier access to hairpin triggers than to healthcare. Tourists trolling for hookers on Burgundy Street are more likely to find hand guns than hand jobs. Students at McDonogh AK-47 spend more time at pawn shops hocking up Lugers than rifling through textbooks. Gun manufacturers and the Needledicks Require Ammo (NRA) have ensured that wackos are heavily armed in every volatile corner of the world, including The Abbey. Rather than recoiling from the kickbacks demanded by the NRA, politicians in Washington have shot their wad accommodating them.”

“The situation,” he sniped, “has become unbearable.”

Nay-Gun’s speech sent shivers through the chambers of the shellshocked CRAPpers. The need to act was clear, but the question remained: What would Krewe de CRAPS do? Though more accustomed to choosing who to do rather than what to do, the CRAPpers resolved to take a break from downing shots and pumping their way through porn magazines to move full-bore towards reclaiming their troubled City.

Nay-Gun’s use of the word “un-bearable” resonated deeply with the membership. The image of a band of able bears disturbed their drunken slumber, leading to strange dreams of what appeared to be a furry citizens’ militia. When they awoke, the solution was fullyautomatic; the way to fight the sub-human gun lobby was to enlist the aid of non-humans. But what species could bear the weight of this task? Who could create the required level of pandamonium?

Krewe members soon heard rumblings of a hitherto-unknown survivalist movement that was bunkered down in cubbie holes in the swamps of Bearataria. A group of endangered Louisiana black bears had organized a citizens’ militia to protect themselves. Might these soldiers of fortune also be willing to bearter their services to protect New Orleans (for a bear minimum)?

CRAPS sent their representatives Stanley Koalaski and Blanche DuBears to meet with the leader of the bear insurgents, Militia-Man Chester, known for insisting that members of his pack don’t cry out loud. Chester lunged at the opportunity to aid CRAPS in their effort to reclaim the mean streets of New Orleans. Asked what specific services he could offer, Chester foamed at the mouth as he described the skills of his Ursa line:

“Smokey Bear is with us; everyone knows he’s great in a fire fight. That guy over there is called GoldiGlocks; we all know he’s bi-Polar, but as long as he only wears his teddies in private, we don’t ask and he doesn’t tell. Cody Yak here can’t hold his liquor, but he gets grisly when there’s trouble bruin.”

What about their arsenal? “We’ve been partial to the snub-nose,” Chester clipped, “but lately we’ve had to upgrade our fire power. You humans can now legally carry assault rifles, so we’ve recently acquired a ‘SureMan’ Tank to protect ourselves. Like the assault rifles,” he said with a wink, “it is purely a defensive weapon.” When asked how they got their paws on a tank, Chester said “There’s this organization called Hallibearton, and they’re not known for keeping close tabs on their equipment. Let’s just say we’re ‘borrowing’ their tank for awhile. They won’t miss it.”

Despite their obvious noble intentions, there are some who question whether supporting an armed bear militia is a good idea. These overbearing types roar about small cranial capacity, lack of opposable thumbs, and tendency to hunt and eat humans as reasons for disarming the species. When asked to comment, CRAPS spokesman Koalaski points out that Americans have a long history of providing weapons to those in the position to hurt us most, like the Talibears, and that CRAPS believes arming humans’ only natural enemy in North America helps to perpetuate this grand tradition. “Plus,” he added, “it is unlikely that we will be the ones to bear the consequences, at least not immediately. So why worry?”

Because of these perceived threats to our civil libearties, and fearful of being slapped by negative rulings of activist judges, CRAPS has initiated a movement to amend the state Constitution. We officially invite you to come out of hibernation and join us, as we begin our struggle to convince Louisiana to Protect the Right to Arm Bears!

In order to kick off this movement, and to provide New Orleans with a proper introduction to their furry protectors, Krewe de CRAPS has arranged for the bear militia to koala-esce and storm the Faubourg Marigny and French Quarter on the evening of January 22nd. Get ready New Orleans, it’s Carnivore Time!


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