That's it. I'm leaving. After a triumphant return, some cutting-and-pasting of an email correspondence, dragging out a simple list of 25 items, and (per my contract) one diatribe every seven posts, I'm leaving. It's been fun. But the wealth -- again, the wealth! -- is just too much. And here I am, typing this in my bathrobe.

Hardy-har-har! (I expect that, when you laugh, it sounds like you're pronouncing the name of an anthropomorphic hyena. And if you don't know what I'm talking about, then maybe you should watch Hanna-Barbera cartoons other than The Jetsons [1962-1963], The Flintstones [1960-1966], Scooby Doo [1969-1976], Johnny Quest [1964-1965], Yogi Bear [1961], or Tom and Jerry [1940-1957]. Or maybe I shouldn't be such a pretentious bastard. [Though, at least you now know the root of said pretention!]) But seriously: I'm leaving.

On a trip, that is! Hardy-har-har! (Don't worry, I had to Wikipedia "Hardy har har" just to know what I was talking about in the previous paragraph.) Confused? I am, too.

Yes. New Orleans. Mardi Gras. The throw-down in the, uh, low-town... Last time I visited The Big Easy, it sparked a massive, two-country expedition that's only a third of the way chronicled in The Road to Mecca. The last two-thirds of the trip were so vile, so disdainful (and all because Ben refused to see Laser Radiohead in Seattle!), that I was too psychologically scarred to continue the blog. Or I got lazy.

So who knows what will come of my trip down to New Orleans. My goal is to make it on EVERY SINGLE ONE of the Girls Gone Wild videos. And if I fail that goal... Well, let's not even consider that an option.