Behold the shit show that is the actual day of Mardi Gras; the day that all of us realize we have no idea what to do with ourselves except walk around in outlandish outfits and scour the ground for dropped wallets and menthol cigarettes, because for whatever reason, every time someone drops a full cigarette on the ground, it's a god damn menthol.
This year, Bob and I swapped outfits and dressed as each other. This horrified a lot of our friends...
...because we were far more identical than anyone had originally anticipated.
Happy fucking Mardi Gras. Now that it's over, maybe we can all go back to being sane people.