Sat July 16
Top o' the U-District
The sun is setting over the backyard, the coals are cooling on the barbecue, and excited partygoers are hard at work duct-taping malt liquor into each other's hands. The game is Edward Fortyhands, and the rule is that you can't cut the giant glass bottles off your mitts until all 80 ounces have been consumed. For most, this means that they can't even use the bathroom until the two-thirds of a gallon of Old English is gone, although one adventurous woman succeeds, thoughtfully noting, "The hard part is wiping."
As people begin stumbling about, the talk turns, as it always does, to sex: One man, asked for his orientation, proclaims that he is "ambifuckterous." Someone else, being picked on for his recent lack of sexual activity, retorts, "I almost got laid last night," and a friend snaps, "He heard his neighbors having sex."
The whole party theme is sweet, in a tenderly masochistic way: drunks gingerly tugging the duct tape off each others' hands, giggling at the girlish shrieks when all their knuckle hairs are ripped out. One guy, staring off at the sunset, explains why it's good that he's experiencing this particular party at this time in his life: "Back in school, I would've done it because I thought it wasn't cool. Now that I'm an adult," he pauses, looking at his boozy appendages, "I do it because I know it's cool." ■
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