It’s getting closer and closer to carnival season here in New Orleans. The Saints are in the playoffs and, dare I say, may have a shot at a Super Bowl Championship. It’s gonna be absolute pandemonium in the city.

The 2010 Super Bowl is scheduled for February 7, just a week and two days before Mardi Gras Day. By the time the Saints make it to the big game, carnival time will be in full swing, and Southeast Louisiana people’s heads will explode.

If and when the boys in black and gold win the Super Bowl, Drew Brees and company may be arrested for inciting riots throughout the city. Judging by the way New Orleans citizens and visitors behaved after the “13 N. O.” win, the Crescent City will undoubtedly erupt in utter chaos.

“13 N. O.” was like a free pass to do … whatever. The bartender at my local bar was smashed before she even started her shift. She was a mess, flicking off patrons when they asked her for drinks, doing shots behind the bar with random, flashing people.

At one point, she ducked off to the bathroom, and it was like an open bar. Grown-ass men were jumping the bar, making drinks, swigging whiskey straight from the bottle, putting their heads under the beer taps and drinking freely. It was insanity.

We decided to leave after she called my date “a spoiled slut,” threw a drink on her, and then proceeded to smack me across the face after I laid into her with some pretty heavy insults. I walked out the back door and ran into this old hippy woman known at the bar as “Hippy Chick.”

“Hey, Johnny. What the hell’s going on in there?” she asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “You got any good smoke, my hip, hip Hippy Chick?”

“You know me, baby.” So me and Hippy Chick chilled on my balcony and smoked a spliff.

She was intent on going down to the bar, even after I told her about the madness that was happening over there. I got myself together, grabbed a can of Silly String, and gave it to Hippy Chick.

“What’s this for?” she asked.

“You’ll see,” I said, as I slapped the can into her pruned hands. “Trust me, you’re gonna need that. We have to go in there armed.”

Not even 20 minutes later, down at the bar, there was a huge water-and-Silly String fight between this 30-year-old, obnoxiously drunk, lesbian barmaid and the 70-year-old Hippy Chick. The bartender was squirting water from the fountain drink dispenser, drenching the poor old hippy. But Hippy Chick whipped out the can of Silly String and smeared that nasty sh–t all in that broad’s hair.

It was great. In hindsight, I’m glad I made that random Silly String purchase.

These are strange times in New Orleans. Besides the crazy weather, the Saints, the ensuing Mardi Gras season, etc., this city has a good vibe about it.

It’s a good vibe, but different and a little uneasy. Despite the happiness and excitement over the holidays and over the Saints, there’s still that feeling of impending danger hanging over the city.

I think it’s the feeling that rioting, crime, and chaos are very real possibilities in the near future for this city. I think I’m more worried about myself getting sucked in and involved in these riots and criminal activity, rather than being a victim of violence and chaos.

There’s something about this place that just gets into you. You start to breathe it in, and in some magical or Voodoo way, this city bonds with your soul, possesses you. You fight it at first, but soon you give in, and you become one of the relics that you only used to hear about or see on occasion.

It’s wild, but then again, so am I.

Happy Friday!