Rich Party: A well-to-do local narcissist has rented a major Seattle landmark for his own birthday party. It's a Cowboys and Indians Reunification theme, and the partygoers are all decked out—predictably, the men are mostly dressed as cowboys, with women choosing sexy Native-American garb. There's a cash bar, but the burgers—"Made from real buffalo!" my Plus One and I hear repeatedly—and the mechanical bull rides are free. I watch an incredibly drunk man dressed as a cow get destroyed by the robotic bull, and I'll be wrestling a long time with those Freudian implications.
Poor Party: This BYO40-ouncer party, in a "shithole" house featuring the Dirtiest Bathroom in King County, is a showcase for some hot punk acts, most notably the Trashies, who are now officially my favorite Seattle band to see live. Everyone gets totally plastered, and when the Trashies play their set, it's like a 45-minute fistfight between band and partiers. Two audience members conspire to give the lead singer the most painful wedgie I've ever seen, and as the vocalist thrashes around on the floor trying to get his underpants back into working order, someone steals the mic and takes over the lead vocals. There's a half-full-can-of-PBR fight, and by the end of the set, half the audience has the band's blood smeared somewhere on their clothes.
The Verdict: I know I'm supposed to be an impartial journalist, and they're both great parties and everything, but lemme tell you, I know which side I wanna be on when the revolution comes...
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