Ah, I love summer, tropical weather, tropical drinks, vacations, bikinis, “boats & hos,” just fun in the sun. There’s nothing better. I didn’t realize that we were in the swing of the sunny season until I got a little wake-up call from a couple of Tulane jerk-offs.

I was eyeing a very cute blonde as we walked up to the line for the Afroman concert in Uptown New Orleans. As we got closer, this blonde beauty got uglier and uglier.

I’m not talking about her physical appearance. She was “hot like a barbeque at Satan’s crib” (Lil Wayne) on the outside, but this was the ugliest, nastiest, dirtiest, little tramp on the inside. What a shame! She really had potential if only she could’ve kept her stupid tramp face shut.

She and her boyfriend were talking by the front door, and it was clear she was talking about me and my friends. “Look at these stoners,” she said, almost as if she wanted us to hear. “O.M.G. Look at the hair on that one. They smell like a couple of skunks.”

Okay. That’s fine. My hair’s pretty wild, and we had just got done smoking some potent, funky, skunky, medical marijuana. After all, we were at an Afroman concert. Why? Because we got high, because we got high, because we got high. La-da-da da da da.

But then she crossed the line. “Wait,” she said to her man. “That’s the guy that always rides his stupid, little, trick bicycle to The Boot.”

I snapped. Nobody rips on my bike.

“Excuse me, Miss. You got something to say?”

“Not to you, you dirty hippies,” then she turned back to her boyfriend. “I didn’t know they let ugly people in here,” she said.

“I bet you also didn’t know that your breath smells like dick, bitch.”

“Uh, excuse me?” she said with some attitude, snapping her fingers and rotating her head around her shoulders.

“Why don’t you shut your cute little mouth before someone slips a dick in it,” I replied as I mocked her head movements.

Of course, her boyfriend didn’t appreciate the negative words, but he looked like a sissy. He probably spent more time in front of the mirror than his girl did.

This little pipsqueak was dressed up like the poster boy for the next season of VH1’s Tool Academy. He had the spiked hair, the extra-medium “Affliction” tee, tailored jeans … he had everything but the juice-monkey muscles. That’s probably the only reason I unleashed on this hooker.

But he eventually chimed in, as he pulled his girl inside, “You got a big mouth. You better watch your back, biker boy.”

“Ooooo!” we all retorted in unison.

The situation was over for the moment, but karma’s a mo-fo. One week later…

I had just gotten off work at around midnight, and I was on my way to The Boot on my bicycle to go tie on a few and play some video poker – a typical Monday night in NOLA.

I was cruising down a one-way street with my back to the traffic. All of a sudden, a car pulled up behind me, so I pulled to the side of the street and slowed down to let him pass.

As I slowed down, so did the vehicle creeping behind me. The car was a small SUV with dark, tinted windows, so I couldn’t see inside, but I could tell that this was not going to be good. It was dark and we were the only people on the street.

I decided to speed up and get on the sidewalk, cut a quick U-turn, and head over one block to Audubon, where there were plenty of cars and people. But as I pedaled harder, the SUV sped up, too, and it started to veer closer to me, forcing me off the road.

I tried to get to the sidewalk, but before I could make it, my front tire hit a pothole, and I went flying over the handlebars. I tucked and rolled along the pavement, trying to make my landing look as graceful as possible.

Judging by the laughter echoing from the passing SUV, I’m sure it looked pretty f-ing hilarious, and I felt pretty f-ing ridiculous as the car sped off, honking its horn.

I figured, “F–k it. I’m not letting that ruin my night.” I got back on the bike and made it to The Boot, and I won $200 on the video poker machine. So I pedaled back home with a big smile on my face and a huge roll of five- and ten-dollar bills in my pocket.

The next morning, I was in so much pain that I had to go to the hospital and get my shoulder X-rayed. Apparently, I tore my rotator cuff.

So I’m writing this article while doped up on Percocet with my arm in a sling. Good thing I won that $200, because those X-rays were not cheap.