A New Year's Eve Party In Hell



 

(Ed. note: The following was published in real time on the social media site Gab.com, as it happened. 

Raul is still missing...)

 

6:00 P.M.
I'm drinking Maker's Mark and water. Well, not so much water; more like dew had landed gently on the glass.

Situation: From "Iffy" to "ridiculous". Some people came early, like my sister and her husband. My sister is “helping” my wife…which is good for my wife as she can always use the help…but this doesn’t bode well for the night.

Plan of Action: More drink, followed by extreme weirdness.

Mood: Pessimistically optimistic.

 

7:00P.M.
Situation: Damp. The river that runs through town is in danger of overflowing its banks because of three days of heavy rain. This is no lie.

Plan of action: Checked on the neighbors, everyone OK.

MORE DRINK.

Mood: Watery.

 

8:00 P.M.
Situation: Rains have stopped. I am in my chair, nursing my drink, playing loud music for the guests.

Strange feeling; sudden paranoia...is there a plot afoot? Perhaps a move to overthrow me?

Mood: Enigmatic with a hint of sarcasm,

Plan of Action: There is only one recourse now.

The Bastards have had it...it’s AC/DC, Bitches!

 

Situation: Not even 9:30 EST here and already there is breakage, one girl throwing up on the porch and an attempt to dethrone me from my position as omnipotent and omnipresent MASTER OF THE JAMS.

Mood: Grim. This is going to be a long fecking night if I can't beat these savages into submission.

Plan of Action: Time for Sly Stone.  "I Want To Take You Higher".

They’ll never know what hit them.

 

11:57 EST:

Situation: Dire. The Hottentots have invaded and are drinking everything in sight! I just bought a new bottle of Windex and now it's gone.

There has been puking, breaking glass, a girl slap-fight, and some minor nudity.

Thank God my office has a double lock on it. These people have gone feral.

Plan of action: All the armaments are locked away. All I have at my disposal now is a fire extinguisher. I might have to soak the bastards down...

Mood: Death by Metal

 

 

SSSSSHHHHHIIIIIITTTTTTTT!

Situation: Panic Mode! Code Red! Release The Dogs!

A video of my colonoscopy as SOMEHOW been uploaded onto Pornhub.

I blame my brother, who FINALLY showed up!

It may be time to start in on the bleach.

If this party is any indication of how 2019 is going to go, we are all going to be harvesting rocks for the Chinese.

Plan of Action: Looking up the quickest way to get out of the country. Barely hanging onto sanity. Everything took a turn for the worst as soon as my brother got here.

THE BASTARD!

It's all his fault. I think he gave me something...I should have NEVER let him make my drinks.

If I wake up tomorrow in a different state with a tattoo on my ass, I’m going to carve my Gab handle into his forehead with a corkscrew...

FFS! I think the walls are breathing. Where are the police when you need them?

Mood: Are you KIDDING???

 

 

12:47 EST

Situation: The video of my colonoscopy has been taken OFF Pornhub (and thanks SO MUCH to the Gabfam who asked for the link...)

Wife is PISSED! I got overthrown from my position as supreme party music god and as soon as I heard the first notes of some pop/ dance bullshit I got out my old fog machines and filled the house up with dense, wet fog (I am SHOCKED the fog juice was still good)...

I am locked in my office with by brother, smoking a bowl of some funky, awful smelling Vietnamese Monkey Paw stuff...I feel like tying him to a tree in the backyard and telling the cops he is a eco-humper that has lost his mind, but the weed is pretty good. I might survive this. I feel strong; happy. I might be able to take charge of this disaster.

Plan of action: Smoke another bowl, then exit the office, with my brother and I executing a pincer move to wrest control of the music, and from this position, start issuing demands.

Also, take stock of the supplies. The night is NOT over.

 

 

1:30 EST

Situation: Passed out bodies on the floor; no doubt ROOKIES! I am restraining myself from drawing on my brother-in-law’s snoring face with a marker. I have not yet taken a damage report, but a casual look around the ROO (Rooms Of Operation) reveal no permanent structural damage, though there might be burn holes in a few things and some broken glassware.

And several million brain cells.

I'm going to use the power of music to wind this disaster down because my brother has suggested a road trip, and if I am going to make a bad, drunken decision, I might as well make it CATASTROPHIC!

Attack Plan: Play introspective music; long jams; stuff that you have to sit down to get into. If things don't settle down: Allman Brothers "Mountain Jam". If THAT doesn't calm down these heathens, I will have to shut it down with John Coltrane. These people have no taste anyway.

Then, Let my wife and sister clean up while my brother and I sneak away. And before the ladies in the Gabmosphere say anything: all this was HER IDEA!

This may be my last dispatch for a while...

 

 

Update: For those of you thinking that my brother and I are too drunk to do a road trip tonight: you are RIGHT!

We are.

Fortunately, it seems we have a designated driver. Some guy that my brother met at the gas station down the road buying sandwiches.

Mac? Mike? Marty?

Looks strong, sturdy. Good German stock. A blonde, blue-eyed Aryan who appears to be stone cold sober, though he does smell of onions...

We'll call him Raul. That seems right.

I Have no idea where we are going...South, I think...

I'm feelin it. This is a GREAT idea!

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