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So the other big thing this weekend was that party.   You know – the ditzy chick from school who let drop the parentals were away for a few days, which (as everyone knows) is unintentional code for: “The party is at my place…”?

Her name’s Carly.   She was a less than gracious hostess when about seventy of us crashed her quiet night-in with the girls, watching Twilight for the billionth time and eating really gross junk food.   Dunno why…   She’s usually a bit of a princess: Mommy and Daddy have high-class, high-paying, non-descript jobs which seem to constantly involve luncheons, charity dinners, and weekends away.   They have a modern architectural horror of a house, with kidney-shaped pool, a glass and chrome main staircase, and a fully-stocked bar.   She flips her hair, has ethical objections to ever wearing the same outfit twice, and thinks no-one knows that she’s prone to getting blood noses when she’s stressed.

After watching too many reality shows and having already indulged myself the night before, I wasn’t really feeling up for hitting the hard stuff.   Besides, I’ve told you about the various unpleasant side-effects my lot tend to suffer from when drinking things that aren’t in our usual diet: I just couldn’t be fucked dealing with that for the sake of fleeting social kudoes this weekend.   So I was designated driver, and when we heard the crowds had started arriving at Carly’s place, we loaded up Kane’s shitty old car (the proud product of his equally shitty “food technician” job in the mall food court) with a few other buddies, and I drove us over.

We were kind of fashionably late – someone had already puked in the pool, broken a side window, spilt beer on the designer sofa, and replaced Twilight with something more violent and action-packed where the sex was rather more fucking palpable.   Or palpably fucking, if you prefer…   I’m presuming it wasn’t the same somone in all cases (the place was pretty bloody crowded), but I reckon Mitchell the fish boy probably had a hand in at least two of those events.   He was so wasted by the time we arrived that even with the music creating sound pollution, and wall-to-wall party fiends doing their thing, he was already passed out across a geometrically and asethetically-pleasing armchair, looking slightly green and guppy-like with his mouth open.

Carly’s friends had raided her wardrobe and exchanged night-in attire for night-out attire, and were squealing and writhing to the music on the granite kitchen counter-top.   The dining room had stoners sitting on the expensive-looking table, the jocks were drinking their beer out of cut-glass goblets, the queue to the bathroom was a fucking traffic jam, and the poolside was awash with groping couples in the half-dark.   I tell you, it was hilarious – what a bunch of wankers.   So to speak…

Kane and I wandered about a bit, being cool, aloof and acerbically amused at the chaos, until we opened a door off a hall in search of some fresh air.

It wasn’t a back door: it was the laundry, and sitting on a pile of unwashed towels in her hastily-chosen party dress was Carly, with a bloodied tissue pressed to her nose and her eyes full of horror at being discovered.  

Kane had downed a couple of beers and plenty of Doritoes by this time, and so was clearly feeling less of a tool than usual.   He looked about, picked up the discarded box, and offered her a fresh tissue.

They were dancing together after she got herself cleaned up enough.   Kane – ‘dancing’, for fuck’s sake.   You should have seen it.   Priceless.   YouTube missed a home-movie gem when I found my iphone had run out of power.   Okay, so Carly is still gonna be grounded when her parents get home in half an hour because, yeah – the house is pretty trashed.   But what with that little surprise encounter over a tissue box, the Twilight princess finally decided not to give a shit about the potential party aftermath.

So Kane got some romantic action (it’s been a fucking while), Jonathon was sated enough from the night before not to let the sight of all that blood get to him, and the high school added another legendary lame-ass party to the annuls.




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