Dem was some bon temps.
At 7 a.m. on Mardi Gras Sunday, I was already drinking. The weather was cold and windy, and the future looked bright. I was headed to Church Point.
Home to one of the most popular Mardi Gras events in Acadiana, Church Point is located about 15 miles west of Lafayette and a little ways north of the interstate. It has never disappointed.
Mardi Gras revellers adorn makeshift costumes constructed of various cheap, frayed fabrics. Everybody who is anybody dresses up.
The day-long event begins with the chicken run, aptly named because the participants compete for who can catch the most chickens.
I chose to abstain from this year’s chicken run on the grounds that it resembles rugby with birds.
At 7 a.m., I left the house wearing neon yellow medical scrubs with patchwork fabrics sewn on the front. On the back, I had drawn a house cat with a crown, draped by an American flag and standing next to E.T., who was wearing a “Thug Life” T-shirt.
My friend and bodyguard on this expedition was wearing the exact same thing, except on his back was a nutria rat and an outline of Louisiana with a pot-smoking armadillo on top.
By 8 a.m., we had arrived in Church Point and were setting the pace for what would be a very intoxicating day. We managed to forget coozies, and since Dollar General did not sell them, I was forced to purchase a single glove for each member of my posse as a substitute.
As we stood there listening to zydeco music and sipping our Budweiser, looking like a gang of Michael Jacksons, we began to feel like kids on Christmas.
As the rest of the parade-goers began to catch up to my level of intoxication, the day just got better.
There were not one, not two, but three fights.
The first was started because a person on a parade float confused his handful of beads with a baseball. Said “beadball” ended up hitting an equally hammered individual in the crowd, who then charged the float.
I saw a gentleman pick up his girlfriend and sling her over his shoulder — what appeared to be abuse was actually heavy-handed restraint. The female in question was hell-bent on attacking another female who had apparently punched her in the face.
By the last fight, I could hardly stand, much less see. I’m told it consisted of an individual jumping on a moving pickup truck and then punching the driver in his face until he drove into a ditch.
As you can see, bon temps.
No amount of violence, pelting beads or police could prevent the people of Church Point and the surrounding area from making this the favorite day of the year for many.
This was what Mardi Gras is supposed to be. Let the tourists have New Orleans — I don’t need to motorboat any more large-breasted strangers to make my
Mardi Gras complete.
Parker Cramer is a 20-year-old political science junior from Houston. Follow him on Twitter @TDR_pcramer.
Editor’s Note: The Daily Reveille does not condone underage drinking. The activities mentioned in this column are representative of the columnist only, not the publication as a whole.
 
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Contact Parker Cramer at [email protected]