Tips for hosting a Successful Party
People nowadays have no class and often vomit right on your shoes whilst you tap dance.
In such decayed and wormbaiting times when nobody knows anything about decorum or some synonym for decorum, whatever that might be, it can be difficult to do even the simplest things with panache and this is why the people of the Earth have reached out to Illuminati Ganga with their upturned palms and tear-stained cheeks, crying out as one “Help us, for we are hopeless dorks”
Well, having gotten done with quite a successful party myself from the day before, and in the cleaning phase of things, I thought it would be nice to make a list for the guidance of the poor and misguided party hosts of the world.
But when making a list of tips it can sometimes be difficult to rank things in the correct order, people are always like “I would have put eat the rich before pour barbecue sauce on the scalps of the rich” as though you care about their opinion, even when obviously it doesn’t make any sense. Considering that we don’t want anyone to get their undergarments knotted up because our ranking is not in the order they would prefer we resolve to solve the problem of ordering things in such a way that nobody will even know what order they are in.
For some examples of this problem as it exists in real life please refer to our previous articles on trying to make a reasonable listing of the best acts in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, specifically
In light of that article and the need not have items in a sequential order that will make every jerk on the internet complain that kill the fascists should come before milk the mothers of the revolution or versa-vice we will instead rank these items of advice on how to run the perfect party by he Rock and Roll artists who best exemplified the advice.
Queen and The Rolling Stones (prior to Brian Jones’ Death)
Freddie Mercury might have seemed an egoistical git but that was the front, he was a very caring human being who would have insisted on this rule, even if it was very unlikely anybody would be showing up at a party he was running without sin.
The Rolling Stones before Brian Jones’ death were the consummate hosts who would have made sure everyone felt at home at one of their parties no matter what their personal sin-ranking was. After the death of Jones however, the toxic rivalry between Richards and Jagger to see who could out-asshole the other meant that you would probably have been ridiculed or knifed for not having the proper sin levels when showing up at the party.
The Beastie Boys, Wu-Tang Clan and Motorhead
The Beastie Boys were some nice kids who ended up with a bunch of stupid bros crashing their parties, amped up on roids and itching to fight. There but for the grace of not having a big dumb party song with the word fight in the title go all the rest of us.
At this unfortunate turn of events the Beasties brought in a bunch of retired boxing referees to attend the parties and make sure the fights were well organized and followed some rules. This is also the source of the Beasties later mastery of the fine points of 70’s masculine style. A boxing referee from the 70s was a man’s man, back when that phrase meant something different than it does today.
This is a more structured approach than that followed by Motorhead which consisted basically of Lemmy saying “Ey, no fucking knives” when a fight broke out. You should always remember the no fucking knives rule, unless neo-nazis crash your party in which case, yes fucking knives. But enough about the mess in the bathroom, I’m taking care of it. In fact I’ve got the most irritating bastard in the history of secret organizations en route right now to help with the cleanup.
Wu-Tang now, when they had a party, went all in. They would hold expansive parties in converted buildings, and inside the buildings would be a selection of rooms, tunnels between rooms, stairwells connecting floors and each room themed for combat of various sorts — the underwater Palace of Mirrors, the Aerial Realm of Unholy Danger, the household of Steel blossoms and 1000 fans — the fights that broke out in these parties were understandably epic. Also, unfortunately expensive, and in the end this is what broke up Wu-Tang, the cost of the interlocking combat mazes at the fabulous Wu-Tang parties.
You’d think somebody at one of these parties would bring a roll of black garbage bags and as things were winding down would walk room to room shoveling aluminum cans in for the extra cash, but no, as always it seems the job is left for me.
The billiards room is really hard hit, also there are a couple people who fell asleep on one of the billiard tables mid-coitus and somebody wrote “Wash me” on the ceiling-pointed ass of the top.
I don’t care what anybody says I’m not going to wash it.
The Clash and Boney M
That’s right, have a fun disco. You know who knew how to have a fun disco — Joe Strummer, here’s a quote from an interview of him and Robert Fripp in Musician
S: I got the new Ellen Foley record recently and I noticed that you and Mick wrote most of the tunes, and that you all (the Clash) back her up on the record. I played it for a few people and asked “now, who do you think this is?” Most people thought it was Abba…
S: That’s a compliment!
F: Abba are very, very good.
Strummer was not some idiot who would discount disco out of hand, good for him. But as you will notice in the illustration above in Disco Del Sol the best discos combine the energy releasing possibilities of slamdancing with the sexual discharge and performative display of the more classical gay and black dance music that disco was originally founded on.
Another thing is that great disco is not afraid to look ridiculous, which leads us of course to Boney M.
Boney M. did not just look ridiculous, they were ridiculous, which is something that you hope for a party. A party that is not ridiculous is really pointless, the worst parties I have ever been to in my life were all very serious and well thought out affairs. Who the hell wants that!?
so I get one of the wheelbarrows in from the internal courtyards of the square of buildings I put together into one interconnected giant fortress against the world outside, and a strong stiff broom. Fill the wheelbarrow up with old newspapers and destroyed pillows and sheets I was going to throw out anyway, and then push the naked people off the billiard table.
There is something about how the aftermath of a drunken orgy can make even objectively attractive people dreadfully ugly and diseased looking.
As their bodies thudded into the wheelbarrow they made little disappointed grunts and farting sounds, which was nice because it meant I didn’t actually have to check for signs of life.
DING-DONG, DING-DONG
That was the western middle tier side door bell, not something else one should have at the well-stocked party.
I’m guessing this means my bastard is here
Sparks, Thomas Dolby, U2
Obviously Sparks first pioneered the Chill Out room with Jane Wiedlin, who, after the demise of the Go-Gos desperately wanted to make her mark on some cultural development of some import, and boy did she pick a doozy.
We all want some cool places in the hottest parties, some place to get away from the rest of the pressure of the party, and be cooler now, and it’s obvious we’re cooler now, cooler now, cool, cool cool — oops, sorry about that.
Thomas Dolby in turn introduced the chill room tradition of big scenes from obscure European silent films playing non-stop on the screens of our chill out rooms while atmospheric and chill electronica smoothly rolls over the room.
But no invention is ever without its drawbacks, which is why we have to mention U2, or more specifically Bono.
Whenever U2 holds a party, there is a chill out room, and in that room monopolizing a couch and tediously going on about various incidents from their career is Bono. On and on. Over and over. It is rumored that this is due to a curse laid about the singer that he must always ruminate on boring things from his past until someone shouts “Give us a song, will ye”
Fortunately nobody has yet been so dim.
Remember how that one time Bono shouted “This is a song Charles Manson stole from the Beatles — We’re stealing it back!” Only to play a very poor cover of the song — One time he was chilling out in Atlanta and I had to listen to him go on for about 45 minutes about how they stole the Helter Skelter song back and McCartney sent him a thank you letter (which is probably true, niceness can make people do weird things) but I was man enough not to shout shut up and play us a song, because I had a great premonition that he would play the Helter Skelter cover again.
DING-DONG, DING-DONG
“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming — hold your horses!” I parked the wheelbarrow on the side by the door, and checked through the side eyehole (I don’t like a direct eyehole because of the chance of assassins shooting when you put your eye up to the hole)
Damn, it wasn’t my bastard. It was someone I was not expecting to see, maybe ever again. I opened the door.
“9?” I said, with a slightly audible question mark at the end, even though it was quite obviously him “You look like crap”
He nodded, looking nervously around “yeah” he mumbled “can I come in?”
Of course I would have liked to say no, but because I’m a good person and too easy of a mark I said yes.
A Brief Interlude Explaining things
I am going to state, in order not to have to explain a number of things that could be dangerous to talk about, that I last saw IG Agent 9 on Thanksgiving Night 2022.
We were having a party at Illuminati Ganga headquarters, I don’t actually like agents of the IG coming around here as most of them are dipshits, and while often nerdy and intelligent, not attractive and lousy in bed. In fact — wait a minute..
“How do you know where the hell I live”
“That’s a long story, involving Sarasota”
“Aw fuck, listen I gotta throw out these perverts” gesturing to the wheelbarrow “accompany me, skip the long story, and just tell me why you’re here”
Interlude Continued -
The movie we had decided to watch was the Holiday classic Bartholomew
I remember 9 showed up because somebody who worked on the movie went insane and he wouldn’t shut up about it, which I don’t even know what he was on about because pretty much everyone who worked on that movie went insane, died in violent mysterious ways, or joined the American Nazi party.
Anyway he ate a bunch of shrooms and potato chips, after which he started saying that the movie was evil and ran out and this is, ostensibly, the first I have seen him since.
There have been various theories as to where Agent 9 has been since then — some people thought he was reportedly holed up somewhere in Italy drawing an extremely big graph cataloguing evil in crayon on a villa wall — others thought he ran away to South America to search for the lost kingdom of the Ayhua, legendary and immortal enemy of the Illuminati, others figured he was dead. There was a really big betting pool.
IG Agent 9: So then I figured I would come here because you were the one who first got hold of the copy of Bartholomew, and I just want to some extra background on where it came from.
IG Agent 77: Right, sounds reasonable.
We had come out to the internal courtyard with the wheelbarrow, the russet haired occupant was starting to wake a bit and was sucking at the left nipple of the black haired, who was snoring. We took the freight elevator at the northeast corner of the compound, by the compost heaps, and went down to the long tunnels beneath. I had developed this method of disposing of the things that could not just be recycled a long time ago.
We went down the tunnel and then another elevator up, coming out of the small rundown ex Circle K that stood across from my fortress.
I dumped the bodies onto some ratty mattresses by side of the Circle K where the old ice machines stood (russet hair groaned and pushed his head in between the breasts of black hair) picked up some cardboard with the words “free pron magaisines” on it, crossed that out and wrote “Humans — please be Gentle” with a red magic marker I had in my overalls and put it up by them.
IG Agent 9: Are you just gonna leave them here?!
IG Agent 77: ah they’ll be ok, as long as the Morlocks don’t get them. So anyway as to provenance of Bartholomew it was put together by a skilled video restorationist working at an upstate facility owned by Illuminati Ganga, but he went sort of nuts so we can’t really talk to him about it. Some of the clips were gathered by our favorite asshole though, oh speak of the shithead and he appears!
Indeed, we were going back into the Circle K when across the road outside my domicile, right outside the main doors which are booby-trapped and you will die if you use them, right there was a flash of blue light and the crackling of released ozone, and there was Agent 99 with his “Chronocraft” which is a jerk’s fancy way of saying time machine evidently, even if what it is is really a bathtub equipped with a steering wheel and some steampunk equipment. It looked all shiny and new, even if it was just a bathtub, it didn’t seem to fit in.
Agent 99 stuck his head up above the bathtub, his hair was slightly singed, and his goggles were misted over.
“Hey Jerk, over here!”
He turned, saw us, and made an inappropriate gesture. He jumped out of the bathtub, quite spry for a guy you could reasonably say was thousands of years old, then he pushed the bathtub to us. I hadn’t noticed he’d put wheels on it until now. Had to admit it sure came in useful at times like this.
“hey kid, glad to see you’re still among the living. I was really worried about you” 99 said to 9 as he came up.
“Oh thanks, listen I wanted to ask you..”
“ugh, where am I” came the discombobulated voice of the russet haired body on the foul discarded mattress.
“Who the hell is that!?” exclaimed 99, pulling a 38 Beretta (which he had evidently concealed in the large 1930s style overcoat he was wearing)
“Fuck if I know, never seen it before. Come on, let’s get out of here before more of them show up” So the three of us quickly picked up the bathtub and carried it back in through the boarded up doors of the Circle K closing them behind us.
“Put that away, for fuck’s sake, you look like a mobster in an old black and white photo who’s just been colorized” 99 put the gun back under the coat and then shook it a couple times to show me it was gone, great this dipshit has a pocket dimension inside his jacket. Must be good for shoplifting.
We went back down through the tunnel. 9 was grilling 99 the whole way about how he got the copies of Bartholomew and if it would be possible to get to the particular parts of the Multiverse from which they were sourced. He was pretty noncommittal, my experience that guy never gives a straight answer. Got back to the part of the interconnected buildings in which the party had been held, to the central mess, and the bathroom with the dead neo-nazis in it.
IG Agent 99: “You called me here just to get rid of some dead bodies? What the fuck, you’re an accredited Agent of the Illuminati why don’t you just put your training to good use”
IG Agent 77: “Training manual says if you can get someone else to do it you should, and I think you’re going to want to do this one”
IG Agent 9: “Hey sorry to interrupt but is that shit on the tops of their heads or something else? It’s weird”
IG Agent 77: “Of course it’s shit, what’s weird about it?”
IG Agent 9: “Well I mean given the position that they’re laying in, shouldn’t it just slide off the tops of their heads on to the floor?”
IG Agent 77: “Sure, but some idiot super-glued the shit on to the tops of their head so that wouldn’t happen”
IG Agent 99: “Ok well there’s your answer, you don’t want to do the work of disposing of the bodies, just get the idiot who super-glued their shit to the top of the skinheads heads to do it for you! What kind of idiot does that anyway — leaves incriminating shit at a crime scene?!?”
IG Agent 77: “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, but you have that portable genetic testing computer you’re always bragging about, give that a go and then you’ll at least be at a point where I can start to explain things”
So 99 scraped off a bit of the dried shit into a tube with the edge of a pair of scissors he found in the bathroom, put some reagent in, connected it via USB-C to a black electronic brick with a 7" LCD Display of passable quality barely attached. It took a couple of minutes before he started swearing.
Agent 99: Goddamn it, Goddamn time travel, it’s always the same, you think you’re getting on top of things but then someone comes and screws you over, and it’s always yourself screwing you over!
Agent 77: I see the penny has dropped.
Agent 99: Ok, and you said you’d explain so do it!
Agent 77: I lied. All you have to know is you’re the one who super-glued shit to these poor bastards’ heads, which means you’re the one who’s going to have to answer a lot of unanswerable questions to the cops if YOU don’t get rid of the bodies. So get rid of them!
Agent 99: I guess I can always throw them in the endless void.
Agent 9: Wait — you glued shit to their heads? Why would you do that?
Agent 99: I don’t know! It wasn’t me it was future me or maybe even past me from some slightly alternate dimension that has not as yet been swallowed up and has its energy reabsorbed in the major time stream by the forces of temporal entropy.
Agent 77: Blah blah blah, the endless void is waiting buddy.
Given the cramped conditions of the bathtub 99 and 9 got in first, 9 because he said he would help dispose of the bodies but it was obviously a pathetic attempt to try to figure out the source of that stupid movie. Oh to be young and an idiot on a quest!
Then I threw the skinheads on top (cleaning off the shit first, and flushing it, told you I was a nice guy). 99 stuck his arm up and turned a couple of dials and the bathtub began to vibrate and emitting light. Just before it flashed out of existence I threw the three big bags of garbage I’d put together earlier on top. Another problem sorted!
David Bowie, Grandmaster Flash
The most important thing in running a successful party is time management. There’s a natural ebb and flow of parties including when they are over. Don’t let a part overstay its welcome. Both of these guys could shut shit down with incredible skill. Bowie of course was probably the guy who sang most about time and it showed in his party management, when it was lights out all the perverts got shoveled out the door while he sat down with a nice cup of tea and a book about higher order mathematics and graphical tiling.
Flash typically circumambulated through the party as the record was looping, assessing each element to find those that had outstayed their welcome and getting rid of them as needed. Whittling down the party to its baseline, and then when there was just a couple left he turned on the lights and said “Get the hell outta here”
This article was written by IG Agent 77, make sure that all your parties make allowances for different levels of partying ability, is able to be ridiculous as needed, and when the party’s over it’s really over!
