"This neighborhood has some of the highest property values in Seattle," our host says when my Plus One mentions the nearby yacht club. The host rents, though, and he's leaving for New Zealand, so he's throwing a White Trash 40th Birthday Party for his Dodge Dart. An overturned fridge in the backyard is full of malt liquor. Even though half the partiers work in a restaurant so fancy that you've probably never even heard of it, this spread is lowbrow: Dorito-fried chicken, which is delicious, and bologna loaf with Velveeta sauce, which sends me running to the bathroom. Nearly all the desserts involve Twinkies.

These people take their hickness seriously. There are a lot of mullets and American flags and lyrics from Boston's Greatest Hits being bandied about. One woman is dressed as a pregnant cheerleader with a black eye. "This [pregnant stomach] is a perfect beer holder!" she exclaims. Everyone gathers to play Nails, a drinking game that involves throwing a hammer into the air, catching it, and then hammering nails into a stump. If you drop the hammer or miss a nail, you drink.

Support The Stranger

Someone shotguns a High Gravity malt beverage and shouts, "Get rich or die fuckin' tryin'!" Someone else shotguns and shouts, "Locked and loaded!" All out of catch phrases, our host does a traditional Maori war dance on top of the fridge. I get more fucked up than I've been in years and the party is a raging success. Even in blue-state Seattle, our inner Bubbas are just waiting to leap out, play the tune from Deliverance, and motherfucking par-tay. recommended

Want The Stranger to mistake bug repellent for confetti at your house party? E-mail the date, place, time, and party details to partycrasher@thestranger.com.