You are not prepared.
Dear sweet zombie Jesus, it's a Bacchanalia of the DAMNED.
Half a block in, and I was sucked into the crowd, a drunken blob of doom that shifted with the winds. I followed the ebb and flow of the people, going where they wanted me to go, occasionally surfacing long enough to cling to a lamppost like it was my salvation. Any thoughts of taking photos at ground level were quickly dismissed; it was just too chaotic.
Thousands of people, pushing and shoving as they aimlessly wandered from one spot to the next, tangled into knots without reason or rhyme. At one point, after I'd literally been pushed forward by some person for several minutes, I turned and chirped, "That's the best backrub I've had in years! Thank you!" to a somewat confused college-age girl and the guy draped all over her. I didn't so much -walk- as I pinballed through the crowd. I witnessed more beads for boobs, as well as one case of ass for boobs.
I got within 10 feet of an all-girl fistfight, and let the crowd carry me -away- even as the cops shoved past me to break it up.
I groped at least a dozen girls ... and a few guys, and it wasn't even intentional. It was all a matter of pushing off of one person to redirect myself in one direction or another. And the favor was returned. I either got lucky or mugged, but since neither pants nor wallet were missing afterwards, I can't be certain what happened. Hopefully it was good for them, too.
In short, I can truly say I've experienced Bourbon Street near the height of its power, and I'm honestly afraid to see what it'll be like come the next few nights. Fool that I am, I'm sure I'll give it a shot anyway.
(In other news, I suffered no actual injuries after experiencing what I can only call a hailstorm of beads at Endymion's parade. But more than one bag definitely bounced off my head...)