Is this what kind of Elysium? Ilium?

Suppose the guys with the big foreheads come to visit and we can't drain the sludge off into Lake Ponchatrain quickly enough to get the cajun jazz and zydeco roaring again? "Hey, where's the Dixieland?" they would certainly want to know, not having had backed up their Space Plymouth for no reason. And...then they would cook us all!

No Tipitina! Oops, wrong planet!

So now, this N'Orleans misaster is a worsening thing than 9/11, so who do we declare war on now? The weathermen? FEMA? The Train They Call the City of New Orleans?

Heigh Ho, Steveareno.