I know naught what will transpire in this nether place, but this I may say without doing my tale a disservice, that when the description of this party is given, the reader will react by discharging three times in succession.

A bowlful of lollipops and condoms is passed most appropriately around a darkened room, adding an element of sweetness and safety to the pornographic party I find myself in. Girls and guys, each more attractive than any other in America, dance eagerly to "Video Killed the Radio Star." A porn flick, starring the party's hosts and a medium-sized dog, is projected onto the wall. It features "implied bestiality" and nihilistic electronic music.

Roller Girl rolls past me, laughing and shouting triumphantly. She will dance for hours with her fellow porn stars. Sperm and eggs collide on one of the walls in an apparent attempt to explore the science of sex. For those who just don't get it, "FUCK" is spelled out in huge paper letters nearby. An alarming rumor begins to circulate that someone has been lit on fire upstairs. The story is not given much credence and I cease my halfhearted attempt to find a fire extinguisher.

These delicious hours are spent with none but the elite fuckers. They become completely drunk and perform horrors of such absolute filthiness that I should not be able to describe them without doing an injustice to the less libertine tableaux I have yet to offer my readers.

Want The Stranger to explore more sadistic tableaux at your house party? E-mail the date, place, time, and party details to partycrasher@thestranger.com