Welcome, Brulee!

nikki - poorantisaint - margot robbie

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Forget everything you know about Louisiana swamps. Forget what the media has told you, what tourists have told you, what you have seen in pictures; they don't know shit. There's no such thing as 1,000 ft alligators or mass-murdering deformed cajun folk. There's also no such thing as clean swamp water, or even clean water really. There are, however, such things as the Rougarou, a legendary creature in the Laurentian French parishes (I know, I saw it when I was a babe and it freaked me the fuck out), a shit ton of mosquitos, some weird ass lookin' animals (like the Nutria...ooooweee so nasty, but crawfish?! ohmigod crawfish mmmmm), and yes, babies raised in the swamps.

I was one of those babies. No, we didn't live like Bobby Boucher in the Waterboy. We are civilized Cajun people, okay? We actually had a pretty nice 3-story house raised up on stilts on Iberville river, just a boat ride away from Bayou Manchac. And we were only twenty minutes away from Hammond. See? Not as padoo as you think. Alright, well maybe me going froggin' and shrimpin' might be a little padoo, but I totes know how to do it and I even wear the right fashion (boots, jean shorts, tank, etc.). Anyways, that's neither here nor there.

Ma mere (mom) and ma pere (dad) were restaurant owners, and we always served the best, freshly-catched seafood around. People all over the country came to our restaurant whenever they visited New Orleans, so I was pretty well off growing up. Mentioned earlier, ma pere taught me how to fish, frog hunt, shrimping, crawfishing, and even catching alligators. No, they didn't let me keep one as a pet, but the one I raised from a baby knew me whenever we went into the bayou for our restaurant (it's pretty freakin' sweet when alligators don't try to eat you). And ma mere taught me how to be a lady and cook. But what I learned in the bayou was something little that can go a long way, and still has to this day. I guess you can say that I have a little green thumb....

I learned how to grow cannabis. Yep. That silky Mary Jane, that home-grown reefer, that wonderful weed, that delicious dope. I know what you're thinking. You're like, 'But you totally don't look like a pothead! You're like blonde and stuff.' Well, technically I'm not a pothead, but I sure know how to grow the best kind, in the world some say. The kind that got me into a heap of trouble with my parents, the cops, gangs, high-rollers, mafia leaders.....yeah. I could tell you the secret, but then I would have to kill you (hint hint: bayou water).

I've been to jail numerous times. Almost to prison, but the judge is a huge fan of my parents' restaurant so he let me go by the skin of my teeth. My weed has gone global; so much so, in fact, that I've had to move locations quite a few times since I've been selling (typical threats of murder, marriage, black market, ya know...). There has been so many people that tried to copy my shit, but they could never get that truly special touch, and they never will honestly.

Hence why I am moving again. To Colorado actually because why? Uhhhh, weed is legal there. And I won't get into trouble. And hopefully no one will recognize me.

As they say in my hood.....Laisser les bons temps rouler! (Let the good times roll! Errr, in my case, let the good weed roll..haha!)

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