As we approach the party, we're a little confused, and we ask our posse, "Why is the roof undulating like that?" It turns out that this soiree is being housed under a huge tent, which looks to have been created by placing a large fan under 200 yards of trash bag-colored fabric.

To enter this unusual structure, we walk through a creepy alley, where a big guy stops and informs us of a $5 cover. We have no money, but we tell him we're not drinking liquor anyway. (When we get inside, they're charging for booze too, though, so we can't figure out what the $5 was supposed to pay for. Seamstresses?)

Inside the fabric dome, it's visual overload. People everywhere are dressed up, many as clowns. This is sorta scary because the setting is so dark their white makeup glows in the black light. One woman is dancing up on a podium in a clown face and baby clothes. The music is coming out of a computer--not a laptop, but a regular PC with a big ugly monitor. The bartender has a large headdress on.

In another quadrant, paint-splattered walls glow in the omnipresent black light. The music has shifted from trance to Beck, but the dance floor is unpopular here. We notice a door with the sign "VIP, FUCKOS" written on it, and thoroughly freaked out, take that as our cue to leave.

Want The Stranger to crash your house party? E-mail all the details (date, place, time) to partycrasher@thestranger.com.