Awwwww shit. Looks like we got a party up in here! We got three bartenders to keep ya cups full, and I’m finna be spinning records till shit get so crazy that we turn the dance floor into a makeshift Slip N’ Slide. Ayybody car keys have been securely hung on the pegboard in the coat room, so ain’t no excuses gonna be accepted for people who ain’t sufficiently fucked up tonight. This how we partii down here, in an abandoned grain silo miles from anywhere with the only means of egress locked from the outside and a creepy old professor with a tweed jacket lurking in the back, hopin’ this thang hurry up and devolve into an orgy.
We got elements from nearly every continent up in this bitch: Antarctic ice block shots featuring DJ Jazzy Jeff’s signature Estonian vodka, exclusive cardboard flown in from Taiwan for all my breakdancers out there, and a hash brick so big we had to smuggle it from Mexico inside a hollowed-out copy of Infinite Jest instead of the little-ass hotel Bible we usually use, all guarded by unsmiling Congolese child soldiers with M-16s and sunglasses. Also, a kangaroo is here.
On toppa allat, my man in charge of security been covertly circulating a fake password and incorrect driving directions to all the bustas, narcs, and poindexters, so you can rest easy knowing that this place is gonna be filled with only the most beautiful party people once we start lining all the ventilation ducts with model airplane glue.
Now a word to my fellas: I need ya’ll to take special care ya’ll ladies tonight. Tell em over and over how nice they look, cause we don’t want no one feelin’ all self-conscious at midnight, when our very special guest Aleister Crowley arrive wearing a black robe to recite the incantation that gonna turn all ya’ll into my Little Orphan Annie-eyed puppets for the afterlife.
flarn flarn filth 