Party hosting isn't something one can just dive into headlong and willy-nilly.
Photos by Vito Fun
Party hosting isn't something one can just dive into headlong and willy-nilly. You don't throw a baby into the deep end of an Olympic pool with five-pound weights tied to its tiny legs (unless you want it to die), do you? As a partymeister, you have to be ready for any eventuality, such as running out of mixers or the token tranny slut not giving 100 percent on her blowjobs. You also need to have a clear schedule, divided into hourly increments, and you need to run that shit like a fucking drill sergeant. Don't believe me? Just try having a party without some rules. You'll have a bacchanalian free-for-all on your hands, and nobody wants that.
I am a party commando. I know the whys, hows and whozits of every genus of shindig, soirée and throwdown. You are a pathetic novice, so I'll start you off easy. Here's an idiot-proof recipe for party perfection. This is my formula for a Drug Pig, Shitty Coke, F-List House Party. I also have guides for an Unforgettable Babes – None Lower Than an 8 – Cookout and All of Your Best Friends on the Beach in Aruba in Late Spring, but there's no way you're ready for those yet.
First, you'll need an occasion. Don't be afraid – it can be anything. For the group of partygoers we'll be looking at today, the occasion was "Tuesday night". Location is equally important. For the sort of party taught here, the ideal apartment will have at least two asshole roommates who will come out from their bedrooms to harsh you out every ten minutes. They have "exams tomorrow" and don't like when drunk girls puke in their rooms. You will also need a miniscule living room (badly ventilated) and a kitchen with a working electric stove (more on that later).
Now to the guest list. Parties, just like life, thrive on variety. Write that down. I want you to think of your guests as little chess guys that you have to manoeuvre into what I call a "result encounter", which is a drink, any drug, a sex act, a fight, or barfing. Additionally, you'll need to think of your guests algebraically. Can Guest A suck Guest B's penis? And can Guest B, in turn, disgust Guest C so badly that she vomits? Can Guest D snort coke off Guest B's balls? The answers to these questions should all be a resounding YES.
Here are some of the types you'll need to invite.
TRANSSEXUAL: Pre-op is good, but post–breast implants, pre–gender reassignment is PERFECTION. All transsexuals are slutty, so don't worry about that. This guest is a very high priority and should be catered to accordingly. Put her first in the queue for cocaine and drinks. Tell her how pretty she is. Touch her a lot.
GUY WHO WILL FUCK TRANSSEXUAL: He is your #2 guy, your party wingman. If the tranny doesn't feel loved, she will leave. Then you're fucked. If you don't have a tranny chaser in your six-degrees network, I have one word for you: craigslist.com. We posted there for this party ("Guy wanted to fuck tranny in ass") and had 20 respondents within an hour. I picked this particular man because he has the biggest ring through his cockhead that I have ever seen.
WANTON DRUNK SLUT: This is a surprisingly tough one to find. Once you get a reliable drunk slut in your life, someone who will shed her clothes and let a room full of people write on her with indelible markers at the drop of a hat, hold onto her like a dinghy in the perfect storm. She is a true party staple and will prove again and again the fact that nudity at a party is as contagious as the bird flu. Just as the night begins, give her (and only her) a handful of shrooms.
WACKY LONELY GUY: He sucked in seventh grade when he listened to They Might Be Giants and wore bright yellow sweatpants, but now he is grown-up and gagging for attention. This means that he will commit any repulsive act if you pat him on the head and tell him people like him.
CLASSIC ALCOHOLIC: The lynchpin. Without someone to pound "mixed" drinks that are 95 percent gin, talk ear-searing personal shit about everyone, rip off their shirt (in a nonsexual manner), and spray barf everywhere, your gathering is not legally allowed to be defined as a "party". She also serves as a human party clock.
THE CONCIERGE: This should be your best friend, but you must hold the power in the relationship. He will be required to function as butler, mediator, clean-up crew and go-to guy for the duration of your event.
…And that, my sober friends, is the A-Team. Fill out the rest of the party with people whom you have seen so wasted they were unable to walk at least five times. And nobody too attractive – stick between 4s and 6s. They are usually fun enough to do whatever after a few drinks.
The event needs to start a bit quietly. A whimper, not a bang. Gather everyone in the main reception area (your living room). Pour the first drinks for your guests, as people tend to be shy with the booze when getting started. A good guideline for a plastic-cup drink is four fingers of booze combined with enough mixers to mask the taste. After the initial drink, guests may be invited to serve themselves. They will already be little liquor-pigs by that point, and can be relied on to mix strong.
Don't be afraid to deploy your concierge to help loosen things up, either. Make him rub some feet, light cigarettes and make introductions.
As the second hour of your party begins, some things need to be brought out and offered in turn to all your guests: heroin, Xanax, speed, meth, tranny tits and, most importantly, cocaine. The accepted rotation is counterclockwise, but it is also de rigueur to allow the person closest to the tranny to have first access to her tits.
As for the coke, follow the standard social ladder, from the top down. Your priority is the tranny. Get her high first. Then comes the guy who is going to fuck her (though you have to moderate his intake if he's going to get it up). It's good to put a witty fag third in the coke line. Loosen his tongue up so the bon mots start to flow.
Until 1975, it was generally thought gauche to allow sexual escapades to begin earlier than Hour Four. In these headier times, however, you won't have much luck getting your guests to wait past the three-hour mark. Therefore, expect some overlap between this and the previous phase. Although the tranny and her knight in shining armour are furiously necking while she jerks him off, the lower caste of guests still haven't received their rations of cocaine.
The best and most gracious way to solve this snafu is to have the remainder of the coke snorted off the tranny-chaser's balls. Many drunk sluts will feign horror when first offered cocaine au jus, but all will relent when they realise it is the custom of your house.
By now, your party should have enough kinetic energy to be travelling smoothly without much interference. Sit back and enjoy the fruits of good hosting. Is the alcoholic taking her clothes off?
Excellent. She should be throwing up into a bucket within 10 to 20 minutes of initial nudity.
If so, you have done a better job than most experts did their first time around. Appoint the concierge to pat her head and keep her hair out of the puke.
It's a good idea to present an unexpected victual to the revellers around this time. You are approaching the peak of the party, and the right incentive can push things irretrievably over the cliff into utter orgiastic abandon. We recommend hotknifing some opium in the kitchen.
Your concierge should have arranged for the tar and should also be adept at smoking techniques. Obey the same preferential rotation as employed earlier with the cocaine.
You'll need to get back off the bench and take the reigns again now, as the peak of the party is upon you. This is the wacky guy's time to shine. I suggest writing all over him and strapping a raw chicken to his waist so that his penis dangles inside it (see top image).
It is also the hour to fully avail yourself of the drunk slut. A good icebreaker is to enlist the more normal girls at the gathering to suck one of her tits each.
By now, she should be so high on mushrooms that her enthusiasm will lead half the party into a dog pile on your roommate's bed. Instruct the concierge to keep undesirable partygoers (ie wacky guy) away from the orgy room.
Not to be Sir Thomas Bringdown III, but every social function has a shelf life. Leave it on the boil for too long and it will start to stink. There is a surefire method to know when it is time to draw a curtain on the night.
When the alcoholic barfs all over your roommate's little loveseat and her own arm, continue the party only at your own peril. Seriously, you can set your clock by the alcoholic's stomach. When the contents of it go, everyone else should too.
Give the remaining coke to the concierge (he'll need it to stay up all night cleaning up puddles of alcoholic puke and tranny-chaser semen).
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