The first time I saw Sonny I was just about this tall. And he always made my mama kinda crazy when he'd call. And him and my old man would stand and whisper in the hall. Then they'd disappear, and maybe not come home at all.

Then one day Sonny stopped coming around. Heard he got himself into a little trouble up in town. Some time after that, he finally disappeared for good. But he pulled that ole Houdini, like we always knew he would.

Welp, 2013 sure is off to a rousing start. As if those gavones over in Atlanta stepping on their own dicks and getting themselves clipped (because, of course, it's what they do) weren't enough to snap you out of the funk, Tuesday brought the long-awaited great news that our beloved capo di capi finally got himself sprung from the joint. At long last, the family is once again whole and this thing of ours is back in the action.

I'm sure that Sean's got himself a list written up in one of them there legal pads he's been filling up over the last nine months, and sooner or later everybody on it will get done up right. The retaliation will be fierce, scores will be settled. They'll all get theirs in due time.

But first things first. Evidently the caporegime were called in Wednesday night for a sit-down, and you've gotta figure that there was some serious heat at the table as the underbosses had to answer for why their crews haven't been earning like they should have been over the last nine months. No doubt Spags was called on the carpet, and I assume word will be hitting the street sometime soon as to whether or not he's gonna get chased over it. Far as I'm concerned, he'll be lucky to avoid getting the Big Pussy treatment.

Meantime, while order is being restored and all manner of unpleasant business is being handled behind closed doors, it's all smiles out in public. And why shouldn't it be? Sean's done his sitting, paid his bullshit so-called debt, and there's nothing that can be done to get the last nine months back. But he ain't gonna sit no more. They can't keep him there no more. You bet your ass it's a fine, fine day.

We've got the rest of our lives to carry this vendetta, but now is a time for celebration. Sean made it back alright. He doesn't seem any worse for wear. It's been a long time coming, and the beef is far from settled. But for now, there are glasses to be raised. Backs to be patted. Acquaintances and re-acquaintances to be made. Sweet freedom to be enjoyed. Bro hugs to be distributed all around.

I'm choosing to appreciate this time and to be grateful. Not to Roger, because fuck that guy, but for the fact that Roger couldn't tear us down. For the time being, that'll do just fine for me. To hell with Roger. Far as I'm concerned, we owe it to ourselves to forget Roger for a little while and just bask in the return of our fearless leader. Not because Roger deserves a break, but because we do. We deserve our moment of joy, of relief, of unburdening. No sense in wasting the opportunity to unclench our collective butt cheeks for a while and have ourselves a little fun.

Now don't get me wrong here. I'm not saying any of us should forgive and forget. Never. I'm certainly not saying we should heed the condescending pre-emptive admonitions coming from the mayor and Roger's sycophants in the Legitimate Media™ to put on a happy face just because the smarmy, corrupt asshole who sent Sean up in the first place is coming to town for a few days next week to preside over the league's annual corporate orgy.

And I'm damn sure not saying we ought to buy into the ridiculous, revisionist assertions that Roger should be treated as some kind of fucking champion of New Orleans just because damn near a decade ago, on orders from his boss, he executed a plan of action conceived with the league's best interests in mind, which just happened to coincide with the best interests of the city as well.

Roger doesn't give a fraction of a fuck about the city and he never has. Which is fine, that's not a crime. He's under no obligation to give a shit about the city. But the notion that Roger rode in on his white horse and saved the Saints and the city out of the goodness of his heart is as insulting as it is absurd. It would piss me off if it weren't such a hilariously desperate attempt to mollify the angry mob they for some reason assume will be second-lining down Poydras next week.

(Besides, we all know that it was Joe Goddamn Horn who saved the Saints and the city when he marched into Tom Benson's office in San Antonio and by god DEMANDED that the old man bring the Saints back where they belong! Or something like that.)

Roger Goodell: New Orleans Hero

Yeah. Good luck trying to make that bullshit fly.

Anyway, setting aside Roger's self-serving ploy for retroactive redemption, this is simply the latest example of certain members of the Legitimate Media™ taking themselves (and by extension the situation) way, way too seriously. They've conjured up this horrifying image in their minds of a citywide angry mob unleashing all manner of incivility under the brightest of international spotlights, and they've taken it upon themselves to pre-emptively plead with us to behave. To condescendingly lecture us on how important it is that we somehow manage to control ourselves while the elites are among us. You know, for the good of the city. Wouldn't want to project the image that we're a bunch of butthurt lunatics at the mercy of our own misguided spite. Or something.

Shove it up your ass, Duncan. You too, Mitch.

This just in: It ain't exactly NOLA's first rodeo. It's not like New Orleanians aren't grizzled veterans when it comes to grinning and bearing it while hosting big events attended by a bunch of dicks. We've made a goddamn career of it.

Look, there are crazies everywhere, and New Orleans damn sure is no exception. We can only hope that none of them find an opportunity to do something truly abhorrent to Roger or anyone else. But surely not even Duncan and Landrieu are deluded enough to think they're gonna reason with the crazies and talk them out of acting on their impulses by way of a press conference or a condescending opinion column in what remains of the local virtual newspaper.

But these admonitions aren't intended for the crazies. They're intended for the normals. They're directed at us. It's not about refraining from committing some senseless act of violence or anything like that. It's about not hurting Roger's feelings. It's about taking down the "Do Not Serve This Man" signs, and leaving the ridiculously overpriced tee shirts with the oh-so-clever slogans on them in the closet, and not booing him at every public appearance, and not rolling giant vagina floats and not throwing anal beads with Roger's smug face on them and whatnot. It's about not "embarrassing the city" by… you know… being our irreverent selves.

It's about wearing our Sunday Best and sitting still and keeping quiet and being good little boys and girls so as not to annoy the company.

Fuck all that.

It truly boggles the mind that so-called "locals" could be so oblivious to the fact that all these puerile yet ultimately benign demonstrations of our discontent are really just for shits and giggles. Sure, they come from a place of anger and spite and righteous indignation, but so what? Lighten the fuck up, Francis.

This just in: We don't like the guy, and no matter how hard you try to convince us that we oughta, we're never gonna. And hell, it's not like we're the only ones. From Seattle to Miami, New York to Los Angeles Oakland, with the conspicuous exception of the sycophants in the Legitimate Media™, everybody has some problem or another with this asshole. Why the hell should anybody decline any opportunity to sling a little shit in his general direction?

Why? So that the rest of the world doesn't get the impression that we're a bunch of boorish jackasses for amusing ourselves at Roger's expense?

Oh boo fuckin' hoo. Let's all shed a tear for Roger's hurt feelings. Let's throw him a fuckin' parade in gratitude for his steadfast dedication to the city and all he's done for us. Let's pat him on the back and apologize for having forgotten how good he's been to us over the years. Good thing the Legits were there to remind us! And just in the nick of time, too!

Drunk Bobby: No.

Screw Roger. Hell, it's not like he hasn't had himself one hell of a good week as well. After all, Matty Ice's annual choke job saved him from having to cancel Super Bowl XLVII altogether due to lack of interest. (Bullet dodged, am I right Rog?)

And screw all these uptight pearl-clutching Uptown Ladies who think NOLA's gonna suddenly turn into Detroit next week just because Roger's in town. That's just not how we roll.

Murdering powerful assholes in the face while they're in town for a visit is really more of a Dallas thing anyway. In NOLA, we just mock and deride them. Mercilessly, and hilariously!

I mean… for fuck's sake… A GIANT VAGINA! This! Is! New Orleans!!! Your move, Japan!

Sorry to have to break it to you prudes, but we're gonna have fun with this thing whether you like it or not. Because that's what we do. It's who we are. It's our goddamn raison d'être.

Don't like it? Go the fuck back to Kentucky.


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