So, the party was to start on Friday and was to continue through till Sunday.  Little did our unsuspecting friends know what the weekend would hold in store.

Friday started out, as many party nights do, with guests arriving sporadically.  The birthday boy was not to arrive till midnight, so that is when the “official” party was to begin.  There was a toasting to DiJacamo, and then birthday cake à la Stuff.  Then, more homemade Hurricanes, and a brief but entertaining game of Mexican bullshit.  Of course a drunken call to G&H and a coast-to-coast camera session ensued.  The guests were many.  The drinks were many.  The drunks were many.  All in all much fun to be had, and we had it baby and then some.

Saturday the party was not to begin until 2:30 or 3:30 am as Mr. Snapperson had to work.  We went to meet him bearing the now legal beverages for him to consume.  By the time we were able to return to the wHOReS, unfortunately, Lisa was exhausted so she and Slinky went home.  That decision saved them from the insanity, which would soon descend upon the house of wHOReS.

This, my friends is where our surreal little tale begins.

Our persons entangled in this tale were, Stuff & Lady, Snap & Hot Fry, and Mensa & Leah.

Upon the return to the seeming comfort of the wHOReS the above-mentioned characters began imbibing homemade Hurricanes and Mad Hungarians like no tomorrow.  Within an hour everyone had worked up a nice buzz and were fairly mellow.  Most of the gang were in the den playing games, all except for Lady.  She had decided to go watch some SNL clips on the television in the living room.

Around 4:30 am there was a knock on the door, and Lady went to answer, thinking it was Pounders or Thirteen & Stirfry arriving to the party.  Almost opening the door, she said, “Hellllooo whhoo isss itt?”  The response a woman’s voice, “Ummm, ma’am, I’m your next door neighbor, I’m in trouble and I need to borrow your phone.”  Lady stopped at the door and called Stuff.  They opened the door, and there was a woman with a busted lip and blood on her shirt.  She said, “My friend and I got into a fight and I need to call someone to come get me.”  They handed her the cordless phone and the woman proceeded to call her friends to come get her.  Then, she called her husband on his cell phone, and Stuff overheard such phrases as, “Well you know I haven’t been happy for awhile”, “You didn’t know I was having an affair?” , “Well, he busted my lip and put a gun to my head.”, “No, I don’t want to call the police I just want to go to the hospital.”

It’s at this point that Lady went and told Mensa to put down his glass and “get on the clock”.  Mensa and Lady told Stuff to call 911 on his cell, because the last thing Snap needs to commemorate his 21st birthday is a shoot out between a jealous husband and an asshole who beats the woman he’s having an affair with.

The woman than asked if she could use the bathroom.  She rinsed her mouth out in the sink, and asked Lady, “How bad is it?” as she proceeded to bear her lip.  It’s bad, and Lady told her that she should go to the hospital because she will probably need stitches.  The woman then looked in the bathroom mirror, and said out loud to herself, “How do I get myself into these situations?”  Lady didn’t know, but she was thinking “I wish you’d take your situation out of my house.”

Now readers, bear in mind that there was still a den where drunken people were playing games.  Up until the point where the woman entered the house, these drunken people thought that Stuff and Lady were dealing with the police because there was too much noise.  It’s at this moment that they realized some serious shit is going down.

The woman finished cleaning up in the bathroom, and asked if she could sit on the porch to await her friends.  Lady informs her that the police had been called, and that they should arrive soon.  The woman said “Thank-you”, and went to wait for the police.  The police soon arrived.  It’s now about 5 am and Mensa and everyone else started drinking again.

You would think that the story would end here, but no my friends.  Read on.

Periodically someone would peek out of the blinds to see if the police were still there, or if everything had settled down.  Around 5:30 am Hot Fry wandered over to the blinds, peeked out and exclaimed, “What the fuck?  Umm, Stuff and Lady there are SWAT guys in your driveway.”  Of course everyone thought that she was pulling their leg.  Until they went to the blinds and sure enough there were like seven SWAT guys in full armor, with riot helmets, shields and assault rifles.

It’s at this point that the party got moved to the back guest bedroom, which is the room farthest from where the asshole lives.  That way, if there were any stray bullets perhaps they wouldn’t hit the steadfast parting people.

Keep in mind that Stuff was the only truly sober person in the bunch.  Mensa and Leah kept tripping over each other, Snap and Hot Fry were starting to get a bit amorous and Lady was wondering if this was the right neighborhood to buy a house.

There was much giggling and giddiness from the drunken throng, and much threatening of bodily harm from Sir Stuff if said throng would not calm down.  Finally, at 7:30 am the bullhorn could be heard, “Attention Graham: answer your phone.  We know you’ve had a bad night.  People out here are worried about you.”  This continued for about an hour.  Around 8:30 am the police broke a window, entered the house, and dragged the occupant out barefoot in his boxers and undershirt.

The peril averted, Sir Stuff called the drunken throng out to see.  The front blinds were then opened, and the throng waved and applauded as the seven SWAT guys walked toward their vehicle.  Then, seven more SWAT guys come out of the bushes and back yards surrounding the assholes house.

Stuff went outside as “the responsible adult” homeowner, and told the drunken throng to stay inside.  Five minutes after he’s out of the door, they were on the porch.  Mensa still had his drink in hand.  Looking to the right, two police cruisers and a police SUV could be seen.  Looking to the left, there were two vans (supposedly for the SWAT guys) and over fifteen police cruisers (that could be visually seen and counted — more were behind them) and an ambulance.

You just had to be there to understand the surreal wonder of it all.  To quote Mensa, "Snap, this is the best party EVER!"

The moral of the story:  This is what happens when you have a party and forget to toast DiJacamo.

This weekend marks the 21st birthday of our beloved youngster, Mr. Snap Snapperson.  He will no longer be a fugitive from alcohol justice, but a legal citizen of the State of Intoxication.

In honor of his elevation into manhood, marked by the dropping of his testicles (no, not tea-bagging) we are having a get-together at the wHOReS.  Everyone is invited, and asked to contribute a little something in the way of consumables.  I will be making a "white-on-white crime" cake.  We have some soft drinks, beer and snacks, but more would be good.

The gala is going to be held on Friday, January 15th. Snap unfortunately has actually got to work that evening, but will be arriving after midnight.  This is not to say that we can’t start without him, never having needed much of an excuse for that sort of thing, but DeJockamo will only put his seal of approval on this shindig upon the arrival of the guest of honor.  Consider yourself warned.

I hope to see everyone there.

I’ve noticed a disturbing trend recently, and it’s really starting to get on my nerves.  Seems that folks are so proud of their high IQ’s that they feel compelled to post the numbers as some sort of self-effectuating monument to their superiority.  That’s all it boils down to… superiority.

They might just as well whip out their cocks and lay them down on the table side-by-side, and get it over with.  The funny thing is, they are the only ones whipping out said cock, and in the absence of any other contestants are proclaiming themselves the winners.

It’s evidence of a special kind of arrogance.  In an "I’m bettr’n you and feel compelled to prove it.  See?  I have the paper and all" sorta’ way.  Arrogance has its time and place, and trust me, there are much better ways to go about it.  Proclamations of a high IQ, followed by an actual number as though your audience much cares, are the shallowest and least effective means.

The grandest flaw in waving your IQ card under people’s noses is the IQ test itself and what it represents.  First, the test is usually administered when we are young, most commonly just before entering high school.  It is a means to rapidly categorize children into groups and cattle-drive them into the schools and programs that will benefit them the most (for expanded info, read this short yet concise article HERE).  It is frequently used as a qualifier for private schools.  It does not take into consideration experience and knowledge over time, it’s merely a measure of how well you take tests.

Guess what?  You can jockey a #2 pencil like nobody’s business.  Congratulations, you’re a number on a page — part of a formula to find the right pigeonhole to stuff you into.

Some of the smartest folks throughout history were written off in their youth as being of average or below intelligence.  Do a little hunting around, you’ll find a few names you recognize.  Time and experience proved otherwise.

As Mensa has pointed out to me, there is another problem with whipping out that IQ number like a crucifix in front of a vampire.  He says that the folks you’re brandishing it against will fall into one of two categories: those of a lower IQ who will think you’re an asshole for being higher and pointing it out, and those of a higher IQ that think you’re a fool for calling attention to your obvious deficiency.  The only audience that will give you any credit are those with the exact same number.  Great — form a club.  Meet for drinks once a month and pat each other on the back.

An IQ test is no measure of common sense, personality or actual knowledge.  It is a poor test of the capacity to learn.  It is barely a measure of cognitive ability and base comprehension.  The greatest myth perpetrated in the last century is that the IQ test is the be-all, end-all measure of a human’s brain power — a yardstick by which to measure one’s worth.

Most commonly, it seems that those who cling to that magic number are compensating for a deficiency elsewhere.  A truly intelligent and secure individual has no need for it.  They know how smart they are and are also clever enough not to brag knowing that they will eventually be wrong about something, and therefore not come off as an ass.

Humility and judicious application of one’s opinion and the statement of facts are more a measure of intelligence than patting one’s own back and shooting off at the proverbial mouth.  More often than not, the IQ medal when worn around the neck comes with the mystical ability to make someone seem aloof and uncaring of the opinions of others, when in reality approval and awe are being sought like a candle in the darkness.

As an aside, some of you might find THIS article an interesting read.  I’ll leave you with a quote I swiped from it:

"I pensieri stretti & il viso sciolto. — Closed thoughts and an open face."
– Sir Henry Wootton to Milton in relation to his visit to Italy in the 1630’s