Our hosts are a worldly couple—they met in Namibia, which is, apparently, a country—who open their lovely home once a year for a party known as S&M. This is S&M IV, but before you visualize my Plus One being spanked by a man in a leather hood, the "S" stands for sangria, the "M" for maki rolls. The hosts have spent the better part of a day rolling their own sushi and occasionally dumping an entire bottle of rum into the sangria, and that hard work really pays off. This is some of the best sushi anyone's eating in Seattle tonight.

The sangria ain't bad, either. Partyers are already getting red-cheeked. One man, ostensibly speaking quietly to a woman, hollers: "I swear to God, he had his nipples surgically removed! I shit you not! He doesn't have any nipples anymore!" A muted television plays Iron Monkey and guests occasionally interrupt conversations to supply kung-fu sound effects for the movie.

The hosts' 160-pound Neapolitan Mastiff, Gracie, charms everyone. Gracie—who resembles a hybrid bear-dog with lots of extra skin—has no neck, but she can perfectly impersonate a wookiee, a whale song, and a trombone. Meanwhile, a guest has brought a coconut and a dull machete, and drunken partyers are trying to open the former with the latter. (A drunken observer snarks, "This is like a dumbass King Arthur legend.") Ultimately, someone splits the coconut, which leaves a backyard full of drunks with a machete and no purpose: the recipe for a perfect party.

Want to explain to The Stranger that the Iron Monkey movie is "Not that Iron Monkey. It's a different Iron Monkey movie that I bought by accident, trying to get the other Iron Monkey," at your house party? E-mail the date, place, time, and party details to partycrasher@thestranger.com