When was the last time you attended a house party? Not a family gathering or a one month old kid’s birthday party. A proper house party with ratchets and a little bit of chaos. A house party isn’t a house party if someone doesn’t throw up, a fight breaks out or someone or some couple randomly starts crying. The crying bit I’m yet to understand. How is a party related to sorrow?
I haven’t been to a house party in years and I’ve started a petition to reintroduce house parties. You shall find the form attached on my next post. The few among us that have no diapers to buy, still want to get wasted and paint the town or rather house with semi-solid edibles. Just like the old days when Jesus turned water into wine because the party don’t stop till the sun come up.
I’ve mentioned a few parties I used to attend in uni and unfortunately this memory stems from the same basic friends that I had. They weren’t bad. They just didn’t know how to throw parties. I can’t recall one good house party they threw. Not a single one. The best one ended up in more than five guys looking at each other in the wee hours of the morning because a scorned girlfriend had taken all the girls with her; even the ones she met there.
So the party started like all other parties would start; with a text. “There’s a party. Bring the booze, we have the bitches.” I was young, hot, pretty skinny and looking to skin another human being. Such kind of texts got me over the roof and I spread the word to my trusted crew. I’ve never been a fashionista so dressing up was never part of the plan as long as I had fresh breath and a pack of condoms. I always though rough rider was legit until I met a girl whose ride didn’t last long enough and I had to be dropped along the way.
We met up and being the cool people we were, decided to buy a slightly respectable beverage. It was quite cheap but very few people knew of its existence and I had no money. After various lobbying conferences and secret caucuses, we bought another fairly priced bottle and set off to conquer the world with less than $10 between us. Nothing was impossible in the face of fairly shaven female crotches and a slight whiff of perspiration stemming from walking to the party.
The school was in a remote area but I had spent quite some time in the area and knew my way around. All the way to the venue we were just praying things wouldn’t follow the same path they usually did. Disaster. You remember that time traders were having a party at the temple and out of nowhere Jesus comes in, pissed as a bull in a Spanish street and whips people around? That’s how I usually reacted to these whack parties. Only difference is that I get invited. I had no whip but I’d make sure nobody enjoyed the evening. Even if it meant calling the cops on the parade.
So we got to the party, hungry and all. We were met by loud music, hanging bosoms and slightly ashy butt fissures. At his point, my face lit up. This is why they forgot to put an extra O on Monday. I was lit. I was walking up the stairs faster than you could say, “Donald Trump sounds more like Donald Tramp.” It actually does sound the same, doesn’t it? I was in the zone. My name was being called from every direction. I knew this was the party I would meet my next blog article.
I realized my name was being called from every direction because I was on the wrong floor, knocking on a random family’s door. I went back to the right floor and yes, the party was partying. Not in a good way. We didn’t know the host but knew a co-host who wasn’t really a co-host because he knew another co-host that was a co-host at another party. We got to the door and the bouncer, who I presume was the host, asked for our drink before we made our way into the party. I was at the front and pushed his hand aside and walked in. To my surprise, the ashy butt and hanging bosom, were ploys to attract us. We had been duped.
I backed out so fast I forgot ashy butt’s waist was wrapped out my arm. I’m too sleek for myself. Now there was a problem. We didn’t want to share our drink because there were no females as promised except for the chained dog that didn’t even bark when I said she wasn’t a bad bitch. Dog just lost valuable points there for chickening out. Ashy butt was with us now because she saw we still had fresh bottles and looked equally fresh, draped in cheap clothes.
The host started cussing us out and we just stood there, bottles now open, staring at ashy butt and looking for a way out. Out of nowhere, Max steps in and calls out the host. Max is our co-host. The guy that knew the guy that heard about the party from the invited guy. It was all calm at the beginning and we knew he had it all under control until he let out a yelp. Not those loud ones, the kind a puppy makes when you startle it. Brief yet definitive.
We knew it was about to go down. Before we could roll our sleeves and dish out capital punishment, Max started crying. He wasn’t folded up or being roughed up. No, Max was crying roughing up the host. In all this confusion, ashy butt had escaped and we couldn’t trace her. Things were getting even weirder by the minute. Lazarus disappearing from his tomb was straight up David Blaine but this was undocumented. The host started weeping and he and Max were comforting each other.
I’m still confused as to why any of them cried but I had seen enough and decided to pull the plug. The hookah pot they were using belonged to a friend and I decided to confiscate it. Ok, this was after we ran out of charcoal and even tried chopping wood from someone’s fence. I rushed down the stairs and signaled my friends to follow suit. We were bringing an end to this party. We dashed into the darkness with the hookah in tow.
Why we carried the hookah is still beyond either of us. We finally got to the crying bandit’s house and pulled out some charcoal. One of our friend’s girlfriend was there and ashy butt as well. Come to think of it, ashy butt was probably the most loyal stranger I’d met. She ditched her own birthday party for us. I’m sure it wasn’t because we were cool because we weren’t.
We set up the hookah and started smoking one of the most vile carbon products I have ever inhaled in my life. I could feel all the exhaust mufflers cheering me on. But why did ashy butt follow us anyway? I had no money and neither did my friends. I did smell good though. I had one of those free Bvlgari colognes and ladies love a man who knows the value of free things.
Anyway, we smoked to our feel and ashy butt had no option but to spend the night. The surprising thing is that she looked extra shiny in the morning bar the butt fissure. My condoms were still fresh, ready to protect me through another rough week. I gathered everyone to the living room and made a declaration that I would never attend a party someone I went to school with had organized.
I kept my word. For four days I did not answer to any call for a party. On Friday morning, I got a call from another friend. There was a party. In such situations I always referred to the bible and asked myself, what would Jesus do? I forgave my friends and as soon as my class was over, I bathed in cologne (still Bvlgari) and headed out for a party. This time it was definitely going to be different.