Partay!

Warning: not suitable for all audiences: explicit references to sex, drugs, and even rock and roll!

A. Blinken..... We had our party Sunday afternoon, in a sun-drenched area in front of the garage, it was like summer! We had a fire in the pit and an open grill for people to cook their own grits, and we had burgers and chili and cornbread and salad. We didn’t spend as much on this shindig as we did in past years, but the party was just as good. We had our stereo set up in the garage, and since all the neighbors were at the party, we cranked it up nice and loud. People brought their own CDs and we let them take turns doing DJ. Most people brought beer to add to the cooler and there were boxes of wine. There was a glass pipe and lighter behind the garage, and there were usually at least a couple of guys back there through most of it, and at one point there were so many guys back there my Honey came back and made us join the group. Best of all, Andy Dass came! I had my recorder, and when he showed up I said, "Andy, stick this in your shirt pocket, I want to record what you say and use it on my website." He scowled with comic exaggeration and said "you aren’t going to try to go into competition with me for writing jobs, are you kid?" I was embarrassed, "no, of course not, Andy." He laughed "I’m just kidding, A.B., you couldn’t make it as a writer, that’s pretty clear. Here, give me your little thing, I’ll put it right in my shirt pocket. Here." I turned it on and dropped it into the pocket of a mostly blue, silk Hawaiian shirt painted with Japanese writing and stylized figures engaged in acrobatic sex.

Andy: (loud knocking and distortion) There, testing, testing, is it working? I don’t have to do anything else, right? I just drink and bullshit girls and go about my normal business? O.K. Remind me to give it back, I might get used to having it.

(What follows is a heavily edited transcript. The recorder has amazing abilities to adjust for loudness, but not as amazing as Andy’s ability to TALK REAL LOUD so statements from other people are often difficult to hear, and I’ve left out unnecessary or inaudible portions, and indicated where there are drops in the dialogue).

Andy: Real nice little party here. Any girls coming?

A.B.: Sure.

Andy: Single moms are fine. What’s on the grill? Oh, I brought a steak, I left it in my Benz. I have some booger shooger out there, too, want to come out for a little sneezy?

A.B.: No, thanks, Andy.

Andy: No? What about that girl over there, think she might like a little toots?

A.B.: (unintelligible)

Andy: What? How old, 16? Holy crap, I don’t want to go through that again. You’re going to invite me to your party in 2010, aren’t you? Will she be there? Maybe introduce me just in case.

A.B.: (unintelligible)

Andy: Oh, pregnant? No harm done either way, then. What about that gal there? Oh, your Honey, sorry I didn’t recognize her. She’s real cute from the back. Will there be more women later? O.K., I’m going to get my steak.

(Party sounds, country western music)

Andy: Hi, yeah, the party’s back there. Oh, Dinklegruber beer, very nice. I brought Garnet Tar, a thick red-black micro brew from Oregon. They only make a thousand bottles a year, and I bought a quarter of them. Makes your piss dark red, scared the crap out of me the first time it happened. This your daughter? Just kidding, honey, I knew you were his wife. Yeah, I’m getting my steak, Kobe beef. Yeah, see you inside.

(Car door, rummaging, snorting, rummaging)

Andy: Hey, hi, didn’t see you there, Carl. How are you doing, I haven’t seen you around for awhile.

Carl: I been gone for three months in rehab down below. Court ordered.

Andy: Court ordered rehab? Ouch, I hate that. The key is to go into rehab before the trial, then it’s voluntary. What were you in for?

Carl: I got my third DUI and some other stuff.

Andy: Well, drinking and driving don’t mix, pal, you’re a hazard on the highway, it’s good they busted you. There are better drugs if you’re going to be on the road. Here, I brought some coke, want a tootser?

Carl: (unintelligible)

Andy: No, you were in for alcohol, this is a completely different thing, here, give it a try. There, that’ll take the edge off. That’s a rolled up hundred-dollar bill. Know who’s on the front? Tell me who’s on it and I’ll give it to you.

Carl: Bbbbb, (sniff) Mmmm. Grant.

Andy: Grant? No, that’s the fifty. It’s Ben Franklin. Sorry. Let’s go in, I want to sear this steak. Look, I brought music, A.B. said to. Buckethead, ever hear of him? Solid wall of thrash guitar. I figure to put in on about dark, when things like this tend to slow down, you know, everyone’s bottoming out on their booze high and bloated with beef. This will get them moving again. Hey, see you later, and let’s keep that little snort between us, I don’t want all the freaks hoovering my blow.

(Louder party sounds, divorce song)

Andy: Hi, there room on the grill for this? Thanks, honey. Your husband here? Oh. He’s a lumberjack? Listen, when this starts to char, turn it over, will you? Thanks. Here, have a beer. It makes your water turn dark red, wild plum skins or something, don’t let it freak you out, you didn’t rupture a kidney. Thanks.

Andy: Hey, Ted.

Todd: Todd.

Andy: Todd, sorry, how you doing? Great weather isn’t it? Like spring in the Alps. Yeah, there’s no where I’d rather live. Not many eligible women here, though.

Todd: My sister-in-law lost her husband about a year ago. She’s ready to start dating again.

Andy: Who? Your sister in law? I know her. No, that isn’t what I meant when I said "eligible." Women our age are great when you want to talk about old movies or Mickey Mouse club memories or whatever, but when you take a gal to bed, even an old guy likes to think something might come of it.

Todd: You want kids at your age?

Andy: Kids, me? No, I’m not a good role model. I have a daughter and grand kids living in Dallas, but they don’t reply to my letters. They cash the checks, though. I get a report from a private investigator twice a year; they’re doing fine without me.

Todd: I can understand that.

Andy: Pardon me, Ted. Hey, Ed! Jesus, great tip you gave me about that spa! My God, it was like having my own private trout pond! There were girls everywhere! Nobody wore anything but mud, I wish I’d had a fire hose. I did have a fire pole most of the time. It was great! Switzerland is like the best for clean street drugs. People say Amsterdam, but I say, no. Too public there, everybody goes there so you have rip-offs. Only the best of everything makes it up the mountain to Switzerland. Swiss women just lay there, though, have you noticed? That’s why you have to go to a spa, bag some lonely British grad student loaded on gin. Yeah, I love to meet and greet in Switzerland. My agent who’s also been my best friend for twenty years or so makes sure I’m on the guest list every year. I know what you hear about agents, but he’s been a saint to me. He’s made money on me, I don’t care, he’s worth every penny. Besides, if it weren’t for him I wouldn’t know what a really professional prostitute is. People make prostitution sound so tacky, you know what I mean? Charging for bad sex, yes, that should be illegal, but a really professional fuck is more than just sex, it’s more alike a deep body massage, or time with a psychologist. Fucking people for money isn’t a bad thing anymore than being a pro football player is. Both the hooker and the quarterback let people pound their bodies for money, both are good at what they do, both have a limited professional life and are subject to injuries, and I think both should be able to market their talents as they like. What about housewives, now that’s tacky. Doing the same guy over and over for board and room, essentially that’s what it is. A really good pro is worth every penny, and at least you know for sure she’s going to do other guys while you’re gone.

Ed: You ever been married, Andy?

Andy: What? Yeah, four times.

Ed: Four!

Andy: Well, I thought "third time’s a charm" and then I thought "let’s give the third time another chance" but after four I decided it was time to stop. I wouldn’t get married again. Well, maybe, when I’m eighty years old, I’ll marry some real sweet little gal and tell her if she can send me out with a smile the whole pile of money will be hers. It has to be a stroke or heart attack, nothing slow, and it has to be so great I think death is an orgasmic as well as cosmic experience.

Ed: Jesus, how can you keep up the pace like that?

Andy: I work out every day. I do five hundred sit-ups. That’s your big fuck exercise. I have a big screen in my home gym, I put CDs of beautiful women posing nude or girls in halters and short shorts on the street in, and if I feel like five hundred sit ups is too many, I think "do I want to disappoint her, or her younger sister, by fucking like an old man?" It works every time, I’ll do my five hundred sit ups even if I’m hung over and have the flu. Then, there are the boner pills. Ever use them?

Ed: No, I still couldn’t do it. I (unintelligible).

Andy: Wow, bummer. My prostate? It’s fine, I keep it limbered up. I’d rather piss twenty times a day than let them take my prostate.

Ed: I had to have mine taken out. Cancer, they thought.

Andy: Really? Sorry to hear that. No kidding? Can you still wangdoodle?

Ed: No, Nancy and I don’t care much for that anymore.

Andy: No, you wouldn’t do that with a fine woman like Nancy. Did you take her with you when you went to the spa? You might find more than just the waters there have restorative powers.

Ed: Yeah, we went there for her hip. Didn’t help, she had to have surgery anyway.

Andy: Sorry to hear that. Can she still rumba?

Ed: As I said, we don’t (unintelligible)

Andy: No, I really meant the dance. Who’s that woman over there, Ed?

Ed: She’s new, I think she’s a lawyer working for the title company or something. How do you get a pretty young woman like that to give you the time of day?

Andy: Believe it or not, I tell them I’m a Hollywood screenwriter! I’ll never know why that works, Hollywood screenwriters are all hacks, that’s why people hire me. I punch up scripts, sometimes I’ll write a specialty piece. If I had to live on what a screenwriter makes I’d have to go back to buying domestic wine. Still, women love it. It helps to drive a Benz and wear expensive clothes. Know what this shirt costs? A thousand dollars. It’s hand painted on pure silk by a Japanese master in Hawaii. Then, of course, drugs. Nice, clean drugs, that’s what girls like.

Ed: I wouldn’t know anything about any of that.

Andy: Oh, you’d be amazed how easy it all becomes. I don’t do cocaine at home, only at parties. Most drugs are that way, I only drink anything harder than beer at parties. At home, I’m pretty much a tea-totaler, I just drink beer and smoke pot, eat hash sometimes. Maybe some mescaline, I love buttons. All natural stuff, no pharmaceuticals, you have to live clean if you want to stay young. Hey! Randy! Excuse me, Ed.

Andy: Randy, how you doing?

Randy: I’m this close to joining the military. I can’t find work.

Andy: No, don’t do it. Go to Pablo San Lucas and give blow jobs to American queers on vacation, you’d be better off.

Randy: You ever give a tourist a blowjob?

Andy: I haven’t had to. It has to be better than getting killed in an illegal war.

Randy: What do you mean, illegal? We were attacked first.

Andy: Yeah, by completely different guys! The war we’re fighting has nothing to do with that. It’s like beating the dog when your girlfriend farts because you don’t like the dog and your girlfriend would call the cops. Don’t be a stooge.

Randy: Are you calling our troops stooges?

Andy: Yeah, I am. Well, not stooges, let’s say they just ran out of luck. Most of them joined the guard to make a little money, get an education, but their luck ran out, a maniac got elected president and decided to poke at a hornet’s nest. These guys just ran out of luck, but even so, they should refuse to go, this war is completely illegal, which I could forgive, but it’s also stupid, which I can’t.

Randy: I guess I look at it different. My cousin is in the guard in Afghanistan.

Andy: That’s unfortunate, but that doesn’t mean I have to agree with the war. Tell them to come the hell home.

Randy: They can’t, they signed up. I think they’re heroes for fighting to keep us free from terror attack.

Andy: Oh, please! They’re witless accomplices of a corrupt American King. They aren’t heroes, I’m sorry. Tell them to admit to being queer. It’s a lot better to be a queer than to be a murderer, believe me. I’ve known plenty of both.

Randy: No, man, they’d rather be killed by a roadside bomb than have people think they were queer.

Andy: Well, that’s just stupid.

Randy: You want people saying you’re queer?

Andy: What the hell do I care what people say? Anyway, I’ve gargled a dick or two, it didn’t kill me. You never did? Never, not when you were a kid, you never jerked your best friend off?

Randy: No, man. I’m going to go get a beer, Andy, see you later.

Andy: Have one of these. They make you piss deep red.

Randy: No, thanks, I like pissing yellow. See you.

Andy: Listen, don’t enlist yet, I’ll ask around to see if I can find you some work. I’ll call you in a few days.

Randy: Thanks, Andy.

Andy: Hey, Wanda, you pregnant again? Harry must keep you with your legs in the air; try bending at the knees instead of showing your moneymaker when you get the cabbage out of the crisper.

Wanda: No, I’m not pregnant, you, asshole.

Andy: Oh, jeez, sorry. It gets harder to keep the weight off when you get older, don’t worry about it.

(Party sounds, music, Andy humming along to some new age tune)

Andy: Mike, how’s it hanging? Do any hunting this year?

Mike: I got a buck out of Cunt Canyon, real high up. You?

Andy: No, I just didn’t get my tag in time. Thought about taking a doe from the orchard.

Mike: Getting kind of late, now, they’re low on fat and kind of gamey. Wait a little while and I’ll sell you a kid, we’re almost ready to slaughter the goats. They’re better than venison anyway.

Andy: Yeah, but I like the hunt, you know.

Mike: I’ll bring one over and let him go on the peak, you can hunt him down. At a hundred bucks, it’ll still be cheaper than deer hunting.

Andy: No shit. What would I use, like a .22?

Mike: If you want to pot shot it. A better hunt would be to let him get up in the ridge behind your house, then try to take him at a hundred yards or so. They’re pretty wild, I think they’ll head out if they get a chance. I’ll let three or four go, and charge you for whatever you bag. I’d say use a .223 or at most a .243. I have a falling block .223 that will put five rounds in a half inch at a hundred yards. I’ll let you use it. You don’t want to ruin any meat, go for a head shot, or maybe a quartering rib shot, which if done right will only ruin the heart and the brisket, which on a kid isn’t much anyway.

Andy: It’s a deal. Tell you what, let me bring a couple of guys up from LA. We’ll take them hunting, they’ll think they’re in fucking Africa after Cape buffalo. You tell them to watch out for the horns, even after they’re dead; tell them the horns will rip the guts right out of a mountain lion. Jesus, this is great, those dopes will eat it up. I can’t wait to see those piss-ants trying to use guns. I’m glad I ran into you, Mike. Here, have a beer. They make you piss red. Sounds cooler than it really is.

(People talking, music in the background, occasionally Andy saying "hi, how are you?" or "How ya doin".)

Andy: Hi, honey, how are you tonight? Want a beer?

Muchtooyoung: Sure.

Andy: Hey, you’re not old enough to drink are you?

Muchtooyoung: Legally?

Andy: No, I meant do you spill when you tip the bottle back. If I gave you this beer, would you do something irresponsible?

Muchtooyoung: I might.

Andy: With me?

Muchtooyoung: How many beers are in that bag?

Andy: Why, you got sisters?

Muchtooyoung: You’re a pervert.

Andy: You make that sound like a bad thing. It just means I miss being 18. Do you miss being 18?

Muchtooyoung: I will when I’m as old as you.

Andy: I can’t give you a beer. It’s just as well, it has some fruit crap in it that makes you pee ox blood. Very unnerving. I can’t believe I paid ten bucks a bottle for this crap. Tastes like beets.

Muchtooyoung: Ewwwwww!

Andy: Yeah. (Party sounds, people bullshitting, occasional "tiiiing" of horseshoes.)

Andy: Hey, Dick!

Peter: It’s Peter.

Andy: Common mistake. How are you doing? How’s that new bride? Got her worn into the saddle yet?

Peter: After our wedding she prefers I not talk to you.

Andy: What? Why?

Peter: For one thing, your gift.

Andy: What? That’s a piece of 16^th century Japanese ceramic art. It’s supposed to bring the husband luck, and if he strikes out, the wife, pleasure. God knows how many G-spots that thing has tickled, it’s rubbed deep with female history.

Peter: Under other circumstances, maybe, but opening it at the reception put her on the spot. Then, there’s your toast. You know, her parents are Baptists.

Andy: Hey! I know this great joke, I heard it a hundred years ago, I forget where. Why don’t Baptists make love standing up?

Peter: What?

Andy: Because they don’t want people to think they’re dancing! Get it? Rodney Dangerfield, I think. That guy kills me. I’d love to meet him, but we move in different circles.

Peter: Then you tried to talk her aunt into the upstairs bathroom.

Andy: She’s obviously a very lonely person since her old man left her. I thought I might remind her what it’s like to have a man. How old is she, forty? She should know if she wants a little can-can in the can. It’s a small house, and there were people everywhere else. I’d have preferred a bedroom, if that’s what pissed her off. If she didn’t want to go upstairs she should have said something when I cupped her ass.

Peter: Why didn’t you at least take her out to a hotel room?

Andy: I wasn’t ready to move to that level of commitment with her.

Peter: Talk to you later, Andy. Please try to avoid Patricia, I don’t want a scene.

Andy: No, no scene, I just want to apologize, where is she. Has she used the thing, maybe if she used it she might not be so pissed. It won’t break, that’s what it was made for, tell her to go ahead and bear down on it.

Peter: Excuse me, and, no, she isn’t here, we’re leaving, we have to get home.

Andy: Newlyweds! Pace yourselves, forever is a long time to bang just one person! Wait! Take a couple of these beers, as a peace offering. They’re made in a microbrew in Oregon. All organic. Please, enjoy. There you go. See you later.

(Party sounds, rap music, conversations come and go from earshot.)

Andy: (after a minute) Hi, what’s your name?

Renee: (unintelligible)

Andy: Renee? That’s very pretty. Are you French?

Renee: No. I’m American.

Andy: I think it means, "beauty" or something in French, doesn’t it? It must.

Renee: (unintelligible)

Andy: What do you do?

Renee: I work in a supermarket in the valley. My little girl and I live with my mother.

Andy: What’s your little girl’s name?

Renee: Brittany.

Andy: Brittany? Like the spaniel, the little red dog. How nice. I think it means "beautiful" in Brittanish.

Renee: What?

Andy: Would you like a beer? Have one of these, they’re very thick, a little sweet, a little bitter with a floral aftertaste. It’s ten bucks a bottle. Not everybody likes it.

Renee: Thanks.

Andy: It makes you pee ruby red. Don’t freak out when that happens. To be honest, it gives me diarrhea, also dark red. Jesus, looks like somebody blew an anal artery in the crapper, I try to flush without looking at it. We should see if my steak is ready. Would you like some of my steak? It’s Kobe beef. Look, it is ready, thank you for watching it for me, you did a wonderful job. Did I give you a beer? Renee, I have another plate in my car, would you like to come? Well share this steak. So, you’re a checker?

Renee: (unintelligible)

Andy: Well, I’m sure you’ll make checker before long. I’ll bet your market doesn’t sell Kobe beef. I occasionally have some shipped overnight with dry ice. Keeps it fresh. Here’s my car, the long black one.

Renee: A Mercedes Benz?

Andy: (Sigh) I know, it looks flashy, but really, I didn’t buy it to impress people, but because it really, truly is a fine motor car. I wanted something reliable, something safe. Here, get behind the wheel. Doesn’t it feel safe?

Renee: It’s really nice. The seats are nice.

Andy: They’re leather, of course. Here’s the key, adjust the seat, the buttons are down there. Oh, Barry White, sorry, I was listening to him on the way over. You like his music?

Renee: He has a very sexy voice.

Andy: He does, doesn’t he? (Voice very deep) "oh, baby, you move me." Very sexy. I left the plate in the back seat, would you hit the button for me? Thanks.

Renee: It’s a big back seat.

Andy: Oh, and very comfortable. Here, sit on it, I’ll bet it’s more comfortable than your dad’s easy chair. Leave the key, let’s just let Barry sing, shall we? Here, slide right on over. Oh, look, a bottle of Le Jute! Pity we don’t have glasses, it’s a lovely wine, heady and strong. Do you suppose we could, let’s see... ah, I’ll bet we can drink right from the bottle. Have you ever done that, Renee, drink with a friend right from the bottle? Oh, I want to shut this thing off, it’s my friend’s cell phone. GOOD BYE, AARON, ANDY OVER AND OUT!

Renee: Oh, is your shirt silk?