Party Crasher

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