There are a number of items you will need to throw a good New Year's party.
One unwitting person's house.
Two crates of pre-gummed glitter confetti.
Three cases of Kool Aid mix.
Four gallons of grain alcohol.
Five jars of Crisco.
Six underage friends who feel a burning need to . . .
Well, I don't think I can really write anything very funny about throwing parties
right now. I love throwing parties. Yeah, some asshole/close friend always
offends the neighbors and pees in the backyard or vomits in the laundry machine
or tries to fuck and do drugs in your room or breaks something by "just leaning
on it" they swear. But I love giving parties. I'm a workaholic and I love
getting an evening where my only assigned task is to have fun. Well, as the
Cambodian crew we had a bunch of parties and I enjoyed that, but Cambodia
as a house is no more. I was quite ready to move on and have huge
blow-outs in a new environment. I wanted to live in a house with more
firearms, less bickering, and a more diverse guest list. We found a place.
We set a date for our first bash. We named our new home Hollow Point. We
got a bad recommendation from our landlord. We were screwed. If I had
some place to sleep the crusty-eyed morn of January 1, 1993 . . .
I would feel more inclined to usher in the New Year with a guffaw. But
don't worry, this will be a humor 'zine again in our upcoming careers issue.
Mutant inablility to get on a career track? Very funny. Grotesque relations
with partners with cool haircuts and social diseases? A giggle and a half.
The dumb-ass lies freaks tell themselves and their loved ones every day?
Hilarious. My landlord ran up a three thousand dollar water bill before
I moved in and he wants me and mine to pay it if we want a good enough
recommendation to move out of his leaky fire-trap? My resolution for
1993 is to see the humor in that. I know it's in there somewhere.
Well, I don't think I can really write anything very funny about throwing parties
right now. I love throwing parties. Yeah, some asshole/close friend always
offends the neighbors and pees in the backyard or vomits in the laundry machine
or tries to fuck and do drugs in your room or breaks something by "just leaning
on it" they swear. But I love giving parties. I'm a workaholic and I love
getting an evening where my only assigned task is to have fun. Well, as the
Cambodian crew we had a bunch of parties and I enjoyed that, but Cambodia
as a house is no more. I was quite ready to move on and have huge
blow-outs in a new environment. I wanted to live in a house with more
firearms, less bickering, and a more diverse guest list. We found a place.
We set a date for our first bash. We named our new home Hollow Point. We
got a bad recommendation from our landlord. We were screwed. If I had
some place to sleep the crusty-eyed morn of January 1, 1993 . . .
I would feel more inclined to usher in the New Year with a guffaw. But
don't worry, this will be a humor 'zine again in our upcoming careers issue.
Mutant inablility to get on a career track? Very funny. Grotesque relations
with partners with cool haircuts and social diseases? A giggle and a half.
The dumb-ass lies freaks tell themselves and their loved ones every day?
Hilarious. My landlord ran up a three thousand dollar water bill before
I moved in and he wants me and mine to pay it if we want a good enough
recommendation to move out of his leaky fire-trap? My resolution for
1993 is to see the humor in that. I know it's in there somewhere.