New Orleans holds a special place in the American urban landscape, mostly because there isn’t a single other city in the rest of the country that can truly rival us on the fiery battlegrounds of food, culture, or ability to have an open alcohol container outdoors... so we’ll just have to take on ALL of them.
All the Coke dollars and Ted Turners in the world don’t seem to be making your football team any better, now do they? We actually kind of enjoy it when you hate on us, because everyone knows NOLA is just better, and you’re really cute when you’re mad. Bless your hearts.
We might both be neighbors on the Mississippi, but only one of us doesn’t have terrible pizza and deep-fried ravioli (calling them “toasted” isn’t fooling anyone, STL). Love your frozen custard and Chuck Berry, though. So you ain’t so bad after all.
We have cheese in NOLA, too, you know. And when we go fishing, we don’t have to cut holes in frozen water. That just seems miserable.
We love you, Chi-town, we really do. But we’re never going to forgive you for Ditka. EVER.
Hey, the Internet and sourdough and Ghirardelli chocolates are lovely, but not if we have to sell all of our bodily fluids on a regular basis to manage the rent there. And we can afford more than one room (with six roommates, all of whom have wacky dietary sensitivities and well-used yoga mats). Namaste, San Fran.
We tried to make a list of complaints about this town while we were here on vacation, but wound up too baked to do anything but eat ice cream and nap in the grass. You’ve got us on this one, Denver.
New York City (Manhattan)
Even New Orleanians become stabby in Times Square. That’s saying a lot. But we have to concede that it’s worth it for your deli food.
New York City (Brooklyn)
For the love of all that’s holy, please stop sending us your hipsters. We have reached peak mustache wax and ironic tattoos here, and it’s threatening to turn ugly really, really soon. We have enough bartenders, latte artists, and condescension to last us a century right now, so we’re good. Seriously.
There is a bumper sticker in our town that says, “This is La. NOT L.A.” ‘Nuff said.
Hate to be the bearer of bad news, Dallas, but you are the Los Angeles of Texas, only your tacos aren’t as good. Yeah, we said it. Go complain about it to your daddy on his private jet.
Did someone say tacos? Fish tacos and great weather and... what was I talking about, again? Doesn’t matter. Fish tacos, brah. Fish tacos. [Editor's Note: We’re kind of in love with you, SD. Call us, maybe?]
You're in Delaware.
Meat and cheese on a long roll is a good thing, but it’s better when it’s called a po-boy. Also, your bell has a crack in it and your sports fans are the thing of nightmares. Really, y’all should put Xanax in the beer supply at Iggles games. Didn’t anyone tell you that football is supposed to be fun?
Oh, so you’re all excited about live music, are you? That’s adorable. Did we mention that we INVENTED jazz? You can keep your Blake Sheltons and pop-country pablum... we’re perfectly happy with our Nevilles and Marsalises, y’eard?
OK, your Mardi Gras pre-dates ours, but you know down in your heart of hearts that ours is just so much better. Cool battleship, though.
If we wanted to lose our shirt gambling, we’d do it in Biloxi. At least then we can find a way home (and no one will care that we’re not wearing a shirt, because we’re pretty sure that shirts are illegal in Mississippi).
We would make another hipster joke, but hipster jokes are soooooo over (sneer). By the way, you didn’t invent coffee OR craft beer, and your weather is like the devil with a prostate problem pissing on you all. Day. Long.
Where over-the-hill musicians, magicians, and comedians go when they can’t book a show in Branson. Shirts optional.
In the 1960s, an LSU fraternity placed a crate of sanitary napkins on their front lawn with a sign that read “STOP THE CRIMSON TIDE.” Never forget.
You want to be NOLA so bad, it’s embarrassing. Stick to what you do best, Red Stick, namely tailgating and being the home of really terrible politicians.
We share a lot of your Irish/Italian ancestry and even have a similar accent, yet we figured out how to celebrate that without being total douche-nozzles who consider punching someone in the head an appropriate morning greeting. Also, your cheating-ass football team and its crybaby QB can kiss our collective black-and-gold taint.
At least the biggest menaces on our streets are the actual streets and not the people behind the wheel. Between your nana driving 6 mph and the kids practicing their Tokyo drift, it’s like the goddamn Fury Road in Miami, but with more cosmetic surgery and matzoh balls.
The rest of Florida's cities
Thrillist NOLA will say nothing disparaging about the great state of Florida, because we’re pretty sure they’d kill us, store our bodies in an ice cream truck, and then make stew out of our internal organs and handbags from our skin. And that’s AFTER violating our corpses. Yes, we will say nothing, and you shouldn’t, either. You scary, FL.