Laissez les bons temps rouler

The beads were flying last night as the ministry embarked on its first-ever Mardi Gras parade. The Pug Life parade float was a marvel to behold. Featuring a papier-mache likeness of yours truly that towered 35 feet above the streets of downtown Dallas and snorted fire and brimstone at regular intervals, our float was clearly the crowd favorite. Two dozen buxom beauties tossed beads into the crowd, their curly tails wagging in time with the music of the Grambling University marching band, which followed closely behind. Wendell ran alongside the float, performing tricks with his Frisbee and showcasing his ability to catch dog biscuits tossed from the crowd. A pack of tiny-motorcycle-riding Elvises (Elvii?) circled the float and performed wheelies and other stunts. Meanwhile, I sat at the front of the float with a megaphone, barking a fiery sermon for the thousands assembled for this year's MystiQal parade.

After the parade ended, we mingled with the crowd, stopping for a pair of beignets. Though it did not quite match the experience of licking the powdered-sugar-covered floor of Cafe Du Mond in the French Quarter, our snack was tasty nonetheless.

Farther into the city's West End, we spotted a roadside preacher. He was much like myself, minus the charisma and adoring fans. With his megaphone in hand, he railed against everyone in attendance. "You are all hypocrites!" he bellowed. "You claim you are Christians, yet you are not! This used to be the Bible Belt -- now it's the Hypocrite Belt! Look at you, drinking the devil's brew!"

"How uninformed this man is," I whispered to Wendell. "I am a Muslim pug and have not claimed to be anything but that since my jailhouse conversion. I suspect that if anyone in this crowd is a hypocrite, it is this judgmental blowhard."

Then mother slowly approached the man. "Excuse me, sir," she said, her throat parched from a night of revelry. "Could you tell us where we can find the hurricanes?"