(via Getty Image)


Somewhere in the catacombs of a downtown New Orleans law firm, the city’s foremost old white men gather to drink scotch, remember the days before women were so mouthy, and to assign various Mardi Gras grand marshal duties to celebrities and dignitaries.

Old White Man #1: And so it is decreed that Quentin Tarantino will reign over Orpheus?

Old White Men: [together] Aye.

Old White Man #2: The motion is passed.

Old White Man #1: On to the next topic: more scotch.

Old White Man #2: Say, Beauregard, what’s that rumbling noise?

The table and glasses of scotch began to shake.

The door bursts open.

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Rob Ryan: WOOOOOO, WHAT’S GOING ON FELLAS? I HEARE YOU HAVE SOME HIGH-QUALITY FUN UP IN HERE!

Old White Man #2: I’m sorry but–

Rob Ryan: DREW TOLD ME, YA SEE. NICE GUY, CAN’T KEEP QUIET AFTER TWO BEERS, THOUGH. HE RATTED ALL Y’ALL OUT IN 10 SECONDS. SO WHO’S GOT THE HOOCH AND WINGS?

Old White Man #1: This is highly-

Rob Ryan: SO WHAT DOES A BROTHER GOTTA DO TO BE THAT FANCY GUY AT THE HEAD OF A MARDI GRAS PARADE? I BET YOU GET ALL THE BEST VIEWS OF THEM BOOBS OUT THERE.

Old White Man #4: Not just *anyone* can be a grand mar-

ROB RYAN: NOW, LOOK HERE, SON. YOU LET DREW DO IT A FEW TIMES. AND I KNOW YOU ALWAYS GET SOMEONE FROM THE SAINTS TO DO IT. WHY NOT ME? BEHOLD MY GLORIOUS, LUSCIOUS LOCKS! MY MANE IS SAID TO BE AN APHRODISIAC IN 12 DIFFERENT NFC CITIES.

Old White Man #2: We do not care for the trifles of Phoenix-

ROB RYAN: HEY, IF YOU WANT TO CUT OUT THE BIGGEST CHICK-MAGNET YOU COULD POSSIBLY HAVE IN THIS THING, BE MY GUEST. BUT I’M A MAN OF THE PEOPLE, YOU SEE. AND THE PEOPLE WANT THEIR ROB AND HIS MANE.

Old White Man #1: I’m sorry, Coach Ryan but there are rules…

ROB RYAN: TIT.

Old White Man #4: Coach, Drew was an upstanding citizen of the community-

ROB RYAN: EES.

Old White Man #2: This kind of behavior for Mardi Gras is abhorrent. The rules…

ROB RYAN: RULES??? (Swigs scotch) AIN’T NO RULES IN MARDI GRAS, SON, AMIRIGHT? JUST BOOZE AND BOOBS. YEEEE-HAW!

Old White Man #2: We are sorry, Coach Ryan, for there is no room for.

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ROB RYAN: AW, COME ON, GUYS! ALL THOSE LADIES NEED MY FINGER GUNS! THEY NEED THOSE BEADS! THEY NEED HIS ROYAL DUDENESS!! I WILL MAKE YOUR PARADE CLASSY WITH A CAPITAL ‘ASSY’!

Old White Man #3: Gentlemen, a word?

Old White Men huddle.

Old White Man #3: [whispering] I think I have a plan. There are, what, 200 parades during the entire run of Mardi Gras, right? And he doesn’t really know any better, right? We can shove him off on one of the smaller ones!

Old White Man #6: Or, better yet, one in the suburbs!

Old White Men mumble in agreement.

Old White Man #3: Then it’s settled: we’ll dump him in Metairie with the strip malls.

Old White Men: [together] It is so.

Old White Man #3 turns back to Rob.

Old White Man #3: Coach Ryan, we have reached an agreement and hereby dub thee Grand Marshal of the Krewe of Argus!

Rob Ryan: WOOOO! THANKS, BOYS. LET’S CRUSH SOME BUD LIGHTS!

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Rob Ryan: OH, HEY, DO YOU HAVE ANY OTHER SPOTS LEFT? I GOT SOME FAMILY-

(Door flies open)

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Rex Ryan: HEY, BOYS, WHERE’S THE PARTY?

-fin-