Every party has That One Guy. That One Guy who doesn't really know anybody at the party but was invited because he's a coworker and who shows up already obliterated. That One Guy came to Noah's fried-food birthday party in Roosevelt, and by the time everybody chips in $22 to pay for his cab ride home, everyone has a different story about something he did. For the most part he sat in a corner, wrecked, randomly mumbling and cussing, and trying to hit on girls. One girl tells me, "He spit in my face because I wouldn't smoke pot with him."

Once that little disturbance was out of the way, the rest of the night was open for some good ol' American deep-frying. Guests were encouraged to bring adventurous foods to fry. Some notables: marshmallows, pickles, bok choy, cheese curd, Twinkies, oatmeal, avocado, and jerky chunks. Sure enough, everything tastes better once it's beer battered and fried. My contribution: Red Baron Deep Dish Singles. Deep-frying pizza can only make it taste better, right? Goddamn right it does.

By the end of the night, there is a general feeling of nausea among the people who have been hanging out next to the fryers all night and sampling whatever came out. The whole apartment reeks of heart attack. I find out firsthand the next day what the combination of deep-fried constipation and beer shits dueling it out in my stomach feels like: wretched but worth it.

Want to tell people at your party that The Stranger guy totally asked you out in the library once? Well don't, 'cause I didn't. But if you insist, e-mail the date, place, time, and party details to partycrasher@thestranger.com.