We had a party last night. The only people who showed up were Bermuda and Steve, the naked two-headed blue monster, and we didn't even invite them.
We just sat around and drank punch. Regular non-boozed up punch. And there were some chips, but we lost the salsa, so no one ate the chips.
At one point Mr. Happy Puppet Head started yelling about how there wasn't any alchohol, and he started knocking things over and got cumin all over Bermuda and Steve. Steve started sneezing and had this awful allergic reaction, but Bermuda insisted that it wasn't anything to worry about. So we sat through intensely awkward conversation as Bermuda went on and on about politics while Steve sneezed and sneezed, eventually started vommiting all over himself, then passed out, woke up to vommit some more, then passed out again.
"Are you sure we shouldn't call an ambulance or something?" I asked.
"No, don't worry about it." said Bermuda as he brushed some vommit off of his side of the chest onto Steve's. "He does this all the time. It's like, what spice isn't he fatally alergic to? I hate it when he does this."
"Is he dead?" asked Mr. Happy Puppet Head.
"No... it's sort of a coma thing, I think."
"But his eyes are open." Mr. Happy Puppet Head leans in all close to inpect the slack blue monster face and blank, staring eyes.
"Yeah, that's fine. He should come out of it by tommorow or so. Or whatever. Don't worry about it." And he launched into more of his endless rhetoric about the evils of the US Postal Service and his conspiracy theories about the public education system.
Eventually I fell asleep and Bermuda and Steve were gone when I woke up in the morning. During the night Mr. Happy Puppet Head drank all the mouthwash, and in a drunken spearmint frenzy, had wallpapered one wall of his bedroom in Sears underwear catalogues. He did a really good job of it, too.
So, yeah, our party was a success.