We’re all after a slice of something genuine when it comes to traveling.
Living like the locals for a weekend is fascinating—so says every idiot in an Airbnb that costs more than actually paying rent on a crackerjack box-sized apartment. And while New Orleans residents are complaining about their city being turned into the Disneyland version of the Big Easy, tourists are actively seeking out the raw and rugged, drawn to authentic experiences and lodging like a sugar fiend to a pile of beignets. Enter this “RETRO 2005 Brag It Up Post K Style” Airbnb rental that we’re seriously hoping is satire.
Simply put, it’s a blighted, abandoned house in the Seventh Ward. If you’ve ever wanted to test the efficacy of tetanus shots, this is most certainly the rental for you. The $300 a night listing offers up accommodations for more than 16 people, with just as many beds.
There’s no way to tell how moldy the mattresses are (or if “beds” and “bedrooms” are actually just code words for pallets of wood). Apparently the floor is pristine, because there’s a no high heels policy. There are also no walls, because walls are just manmade confines of oppression, man—or your host is too lazy to add such modern amenities.
We can’t even begin to explain what a lack of plumbing means as a comment on society, but it doesn’t matter. Your host, Roger, has your back with plenty of cans of Anheiser Busch water to go around.
Looking for a bit of internal ambiance and a reason to sing that Meters song about the zoo? This condemned palace has rats and cats and comes with a security dog, so you’ll either be the safest you’ve ever been thanks to your animal army or dying of rabies as you lock up each night with a rusty golf club. All for the equivalent of $15,000 a month. What a steal!
Roger, who looks like a cross between the reality shows Amish Mafia and Face Off, considers the place a 5-D experience. The definition of “D” could mean anything from “dimension” to “dilapidated” to “dysentery.” In any case, he wants you to metabolize it all, and encourages visitors to “eat the street kale growing in the lot next door,” whatever the hell that is. Street Kale is probably the name of his fusion electro-Zydeco band.
Bro says he’s only been in the house for an afternoon and likens the sound of gunshots to those plastic confetti poppers that never quite fling their streamers out far enough. If this hasn’t deterred you from inhaling black mold and hitting up a caricature who came to New Orleans for a bleach commercial, maybe Roger’s idea of fun will drive the message home: “If you run out of things to do, give everyone a funny nickname and trade stories of drinking 4 loco in prep school! So fun.”
Thanks, but no thanks, Clorox bro.
Photo via Airbnb