RIP Ashley Morris, The Best Mayor New Orleans Never Had

If you know what SFMF and FYYFF mean, you may know that Ashley Morris passed away the other day.

He made a lot of grieving, rage-filled New Orleanians laugh. That in itself makes him a hero. A sample:



Ronnie Virgets had a great chapter in his book Say Cap entitled Sinn Fein, which means ourselves alone. That’s probably how we’re gonna get outta this mess, by ourselves. I’m not banking on anyone to do anything, because that’s part of the White House stragetizeing: wait us out until we’re bankrupt from mortgages and rent and no jobs, and then buy us out and create vinyl-sided McMansions. I think that they’re forgetting how hard-headed we are, and how we won’t bow down. They ain’t gettin’ nuttin’ from us. Especially Mardi Gras.

Da Paper has an outstanding piece by Brian Thevenot on how They view carnival. For example:

a writer for The Daily Telegraph in London described people watching last week’s Krewe du Vieux parade as being mostly “New Orleans residents, fueled by Hurricane cocktails and marijuana smoked openly in the presence of tolerant New Orleans policemen.”

Yeah, right. We all drink hurricanes and even my mother-in-law flashes her tits for beads, which she wears year round, when we aren’t busy being alcoholics and collecting welfare, and generally slacking.

Fuck you, Daily Telegraph. Go drink your gin and tonic with your stiff upper lip, and have a soccer riot killing hundreds and eat your organ meat and avoid the dentist and act hostile toward Pakistanis and Indians.

Oooohhhhh….shoe on dat udder foot, ain’t it?

Look, bitches. We know how to do Carnival. Us and Rio. We see what happens when You try to do it. You fail, miserably, because YOU DON’T GET IT.

The bastion of journalistic integrity, the Chicago Tribune stated that the city is starkly segregated.

Pot, kettle; kettle, pot.

Chicago is a fucking demonic cesspool of racism. Da whites live in da north; da blacks live in da south; da Mexicans live in da west.

So let it be written; so let it be done.

Fuck you Chicago Tribune. We are NEW ORLEANS. SINN FEIN. So just shut the fuck up and put more salt on the roads. And don’t you dare write one fucking word about how ourpoliticians are corrupt.

I can tell you this: I don’t know a single person in New Orleans, regardless of race, age, or sex, who don’t all want the same thing for Mardi Gras: A Zulu Coconut.

Sinn Fein, baby.

My biggest problem with Carnival, now that the excrable Krewe of America is gone, is probably Orpheus, with the Hollywood factor, and all the non-locals riding. And Steven Seagal? WTF are you thinking, Harry?

Sinn Fein, baby.

Without a doubt, the best marching band today was the MAX band, consisting of kids from St. Augustine’s, St. Mary’s, and Xavier Prep. These kids had 5 weeks to learn their book of 26 songs, and they rocked the llama’s ass.

Sinn Fein.

The third battle’s got a great dish on the New Orleans Flag, and why you’re seeing so many of them lately. I’ll tell you why, because we are no longer Americans.

We are New Orleanians.

I’ve always said that from about Panama City to Lafayette, and about 50 miles inland (not including Tallahassee or Baton Rouge) should be one state. I mean, do the people of New Orleans have diddley in common with the people of Bossier City? Do the people of Mobile have anything in common with the people of Montgomery? Do the people of Port St. Joe have anything in common with the snobs of Boca Raton? Hell no. But the coast, the coast has always been special. We all pretty much get it, although now Pensacola is more a military retiree home, and they’re trying to impose their Ohio values on people that just want to drink beer and fish.

Sinn Fein.

Gulf Sails calls for armoring the levees systems of this region with the skulls of these… twits.

Poppy has more rantings against Them, and she nails Them good.

Markus has compiled a list of K blogs, and there are a few that I don’t have in the linkeroos off to the left. I have since added the Building Big Easy, as there’s a wealth of info there, not just architectural.

As far as architecture goes, well, I’m with the Dutch helping us on that levee thing, but not really on architecture. I don’t want zigzag houses. I want them to look like New Orleans. Sinn Fein, bitch.

And I want to see Hastert when he comes to NOLA. He’s the fucking fuck that said the US shouldn’t rebuild NOLA. I want a shitstorm to attack his district. I want floods, tornadoes, fire and brimstone, locusts, earthquakes, dogs and cats living together, drout, famine, and mormons to attack this mutherfucker’s district. Cocksucker. I want to see him looking at people going through their belongings in the 9th ward, and him tell me to my face that the levees should not be rebuilt. I want his family to endure living in shit for 6 months. Better yet, I want him to look Leah Chase or Fats Domino in the face and tell them to move to a place with higher ground.

Finally, let’s look at the root of blame. We all know Brownie was a fucking clueless deer in the headlights, in way over his head. Well, here’s the etymology, courtesy of Cade Roux.

Joe Allbaugh was named director of FEMA. Allbaugh named Brownie. Who named Allbaugh? Well, evidently, ambassadorships are not the sole prize of political operative scoundrels any more.

The buck stops where, W?

Let’s close with a marvelous quote from the aforementioned Brian Thevenot article:

Nineteenth century writer Lafcadio Hearn wrote a letter to a friend in Cincinnati about two years after he arrived in New Orleans in 1877, during a grim period in which thousands died from yellow fever. He summed up his situation this way:

“Times are not good here. The city is crumbling into ashes. It has been buried under a lava flood of taxes and frauds and maladministrations so that it has become only a study for archaeologists. Its condition is so bad that when I write about it, as I intend to do soon, nobody will believe I am telling the truth. But it is better to live here in sackcloth and ashes than to own the whole state of Ohio.”

Sinn Fein.


Condolences to his wife Hana and family, and to good mutual friend Ray Shea, whose flag is flying here in Ashley’s honor.

Sinn Fein. Indeed. May Ashley Morris second-line over FEMA, the White House, the Corps, and every crooked contractor and insurance adjuster and real estate-development whore, unleashing a hellacious hailstorm of Zulu coconuts down on the heads of all such evildoers.



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One thought on “RIP Ashley Morris, The Best Mayor New Orleans Never Had

  1. Wet Bank Guy says:

    Hey, when did this pop back into the blog-o-swhatever? Welcome back. We (well they) are working to keep Ashley’s blog up, and we’re going to scrape everything or perhaps just the best of and get it into a or other easy-publish format. Will probably loop Greg P. as editor. If you want to help out with that a bit drop me a line.

    P.S. — Wet Bank is gone but Toulouse Street — Odd Bits of Life in Orleans lives on. (and PBB as well; being linked as a “New Orleans poet” with the luminaries on your old blog was one of the high points of my online writing life).

    markfolse AT rocketmail DOT com.

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