INDY'S WEEKLY ALTERNATIVE NEWSPAPER HIGHLIGHTING ARTS, ENTERTAINMENT AND SOCIAL JUSTICE

Downtown Diary

by Rocky the Diabolical Cat™ I arrived in New Orleans and was met by my proteges Ikey and Brooklyn Ivan. As we walked the garbage-filled streets, young Ikey told me that the Feline Front had rescued hundreds of cats and that the Feline Black Cross medical team had saved the lives of innumerable others. He also told me that he and Brooklyn Ivan had discovered two refrigerated warehouses where the bodies of dead humans were being hidden by the U.S. government to suppress the death count and protect juntahead Bush. We walked into an expensive neighborhood and immediately noted the difference in conditions. We stopped in front of a gaudily ornate house where five white men in seersucker suits sat beneath a veranda. They were guarded by a machine gun-toting mercenary, the latest in conspicuous consumption in New Orleans. We approached the veranda. The machine gun was trained on us. “Hello fellows,” I said, “I’m a journalist from up North. Who are, er, y’all?” “We are a group of business leaders plotting the future of New Orleans,” one of the men replied. “New Orleans will be ‘New Orleans,’ jazz will be ‘jazz,’ voodoo will be ‘voodoo.’ Sort of like a theme park. New Orleans will never, and I say never, be a majority black city again! And if we can get rid of all the fags, all the better!” “Fags? Fags? Did I hear the word fags?” Ikey screeched. He then leapt in the air and delivered a karate-chop to the nose of the mercenary, who crumpled to the ground. Brooklyn Ivan grabbed the machine gun and disabled it. We three then made quick work of the five businessmen, who then lay scattered on the ground like dominoes. Ikey, Ivan and I cleaned our paws with our handkerchiefs and departed. "I’m sure they think they are seers," I said, "but really they’re just a bunch of suckas."