I finally saved up enough money to go to Louisiana for the big Tuesday event this year! I am so excited to finally experience culture of my country like never before!! I almost forget to bring my own beads to this celebration festival, but I can’t find any! I know my wife will be mad that I took her stinky black beads from the no-no drawer, but I’ll be darned if I ain’t looking suave at the Super Tuesday celebration. As I board my flight, it seems like no one else is in the party mood? I try saying to a young looking guy “Hey, this Tuesday’s gonna be pretty P-H-A-T am I right?” and give him that cheeky wink I’ve been practicing in the mirror every night. For some reason the TV monitors in the terminal keep showing this rat-faced fellow and two old white men with red faces, with the headline “Super Tuesday” at the bottom, but I don’t see any confetti, or sequined colored fedoras, or beads, or beignets? I am starting to think this Tuesday is not going to be very fat, and it sure as heck ain’t super. When I get off my plane and out into the Louisiana humidity, I am barely seeing any cool signs for the Mardi Gras festival, only signs that read: “Vote Bernie Sanders,” or “Joe Biden for president,” or “keep young infants away from water, rampant enraged alligator loose.” I am distressed, everyone was saying that to miss the big Tuesday in NOLA is to miss out on the party of a lifetime, but the only party I can find around here is political. I ask civilians if they know where the parade is and how I can join but they just give me weird looks and tell me my breath smells. Maybe I have to eat as much fried Cajun food as I can to get fat for Fat Tuesday? Everyone else seems to be doing that, but my prescription medication keeps making me eject it all out quickly. I wander the streets, desperate for a whiff of that Marty Graw, refusing to accept the fact that there are two big Tuesdays in one month. I mean, who wants to hear politicians squawk at each other when we could partaying babay??!!! I am starting to think I came to the Old Orleans instead of the new one because I can’t find any trace of this big Tuesday party. Later that night, I’m the only one drinking White Russians in the swamp bar during the night, while all eyes are on a tv saying that Sleepy Joe keeps winning these dadgum states. As I fade out of consciousness due to the many beaded necklaces slowly squeezing my esophagus, I shed a single tear, wondering what cruel god played this trick on me.