What the Devil? Sick sick sick.
A girl has wandered over from a nearby picnic table full of stoners to ask what we're doing. Our host explains that it's a mass wedding to Satan—after all, it is 6/6/06. Excited, the stoner girl asks if she can help, and the host tells her to lie down—we need a sacrifice and, brandishing a knife, he adds, "For our intents and purposes, you'll be a virgin." She quickly retreats.
Some 40 devil-brides, summoned to Volunteer Park primarily by forwarded e-mail, look giddy on their day of nuptials to the Dark Lord. Some wear white, some wear black, some wear masks, and several of the men probably should've had their backs waxed. An accordionist performs some of hell's greatest hits, including—I knew it!—Van Halen's "Jump." A choirboy brings a George W. Bush satanic hymnal. There are games and prizes—my Plus One scores a Hooters T-shirt. A man with his skin dyed red arrives with two snakes, which get passed around and admired.
While chasing down an ice-cream truck, several of the brides happen to run into a group of drag kings from Kent, and they all play Twister. "That's my ass!" a blushing bride shouts from the Twister board, and soon a tiara comes flying out of the twisted mass of flesh. Eventually, the wives of Beelzebub will retreat to a house for a drunken reception, but I have to move on. There are more 666 parties—including one in the Devil's Playground... West Seattle.
To be continued next week.
Want The Stranger to witness a toy being anally violated by a pony—"It's Enumclaw Elmo!"—at your house party? E-mail the date, place, time, and party details to firstname.lastname@example.org.