Furious George in New Orleans

In March, my promoters took me to New Orleans to try finding me a boxing match. They told me the Big Easy is full of rowdy drunks who like to fight. That sounded right up my alley. I don't know what the drunks did to this nice church by Jackson Square, but if you're mean enough to beat up a church, you're probably pretty tough.

No one really seemed interested in boxing me. I thought maybe it was because I wasn't drunk and rowdy enough. I made my promoters take me to Pat O'Brien's where they make some strong hurricanes. Those drinks were so good I kept ordering them three at a time.

Well, I finally started getting rowdy. When my promoter, Tyler, said he thought I'd had enough to drink, I disagreed. He tried to take away my hurricane, so I nailed him with a left hook. He was out before he hit the floor.

There was this girl hanging out with my promoters. She was their accountant, or something. If they're as bad at holding onto money as they are at finding me fight they must be flat broke. I don't know if an accountant would even help. She was pretty cool, though. She bought me drinks. Oh yeah!

I didn't just get free drinks. I got these cool beads, too. My other promoter, Angie, was drinking hurricanes as fast as I was. Maybe that's why she wasn't being a big jerk, like Tyler. When you're in New Orleans and you can't find a fight, it's time to party!


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