Such was the refrain from a poor sap from Kansas City who had just finished his second hand grenade dacquiri. “They don’t have no see food in Kansas, only cows.” Strange vibes and bad craziness at the Sing Sing Bar on Bourbon Street. We were there on Saturday Night packed in and dancing to Wang Dang Doodle belted out by a beautiful bald diva channeling Aretha and Koko Taylor. Left to see what else was going on but everything else sucked. When we tried to find it again it was gone like a mirage in a sea of sloppy drunks and stinky puddles of god knows what. We came back a few days later to make sure we were not dreaming and found it right where we left it. A beady eyed drunk shambled in and started banging his beer bottle on the bar. He couldn’t keep rhythm with the Hendrix that the band was rapping out. Asked nicely to leave twice, given a third chance but too impaired to see the shark bubbles rising from the deep. Given the bums rush after he layed hands on the bouncer. The drummer dove on him from the riser and a helpful patron from Vegas joined in for good measure. The bass player hopped behind the skins to finish “The Wind Cried Mary” as things got heavy. The bouncer grabbed a bar stool and chased him down Bourbon street, laughing as he returned. “This shit happens EVERY NIGHT”. We saw bad rhythm boy later cuffed and docile with his face against the wall. He seemed somehow at home in that position. The cops looked bored. Just another Monday night in the Quarter.