Oh my lord. The Masturbatory Euphemism Fête was a smashing success, I tell ya. Smashing.

(Well, I got smashed, anyway.)

The whole “Dress as your favourite masturbatory euphemism” premise was pretty lame — any weak pretense for a party, right? — and slightly challenging because, c’mon, how do you dress as “Taking a self-guided tour on the tuna boat?” But I must give snaps to the goodly people of New Orleans for playing along, and getting creative.

I was, of course, “Playin’ my meat flute,” as pictured to the left.

My “meat flute” was the recipient of a lot of abuse — poor innocent kielbasa wrapped in celophane with holes dug out for the “notes.” Seemed everyone wanted a piece of my “meat flute.” And many people got it, for as the evening went on, it was grabbed and waggled and fondled and squeezed. It broke in some places, giving me a chronic case of “whiskey flute.” Later, it was downright Bobbitized — pieces falling out of the bottom. I had to take it off halfway through the event. Just as well — it was startin’ to smell kinda rank.

The setup was like this: in the red-lighted foyer was a small table set up with pens and "Hello" stickers. Upon entry, our guests were requested to elucidate upon their costumes by scribbling on one of these stickers. They would then be quickly ushered into the kitchen for a drinky-winky, and then left to their own devices.

Photo time!

• Patti (biting my “meat flute”), dressed as a mechanic with a wrench. She was “Servicing the Engine.”
  
  
• Brian was “Preparing for Take-Off.”
  
  
• Ted & Marcy were “Strokin’ the Bearded Clam” and “Stirrin’ Up Trouble” with a wooden spoon.
  
  
• Melusine was “Rubbing the Magic Lamp” and/or “Lettin’ the Genie Outta the Bottle.” (Shameless product placement for Cheez-Its on this one.)
  
  
• And here we have a “Jack Off” and Kristi “Pettin’ Her Pussy.”
  
  
• Matt was also greasemonkeyed-out as he was “Changin’ the Oil.”
  
  
• Joey/Stacia’s sticker simply said “Ask Me,” at which point he would whip up his skirt and wind up his little mechanical dildo-dolly attached to his P.A. and simply say, “There!” Bravo, dear.
  
  
• Skwirl had a pea dangling from her crotch as she was “Doin’ the Sweet Pea.”

And on and on…

I misplaced my camera at some point during the night and couldn’t get pictures of the other 50 or so people who wandered through during the twelve-hours the fête went on.

The Porn Loo™ proved to be almost utterly useless as a toilet, but fascinating as a hang-out room. People were constantly piled into it, looking for hidden bunnies, reading gay porn, or the “Understanding Cremation” pamphlet that I put on the back of the toilet. (Picture.)

My bedroom turned out to be the drug-taking and make-out room for some reason. Which is fine with me. I always enjoy seeing ten gorgeous people piled on my bed.

Oh, the cops only busted us once, early on, then never came back.

Ummm, what else…

Micha’s Xmas Mad Libs in the parlour around dawn…

Bizarre fridge poetry…

I can’t count how many people I kissed…

Yikes, and some other activites that cause me to blush in the harsh light of “morning.” (read: 1pm)

Ah, and then waking up to the post-apocolyptic kitchen scene depicted below. Oddly, I am not hungover, not having gone too far overboard last night. (Very oddly.) So I think I will be able to whip this house into shape before Melusine gets home from work.

Maybe…

Visit the Marquis’ Crush o’ the Week. I miss you, baby.

“DJ, SAVE my life!” Wanna feel like a Marquis? Download the music he’s listening to. But do it quickly. This mp3 will be erased at the next diary entry because we’re stealing bandwidth, here. (If you missed one in the past, email me — we’ll work something out.) TODAY: Squeaky, giggly miss Rose Murphy, “Pennies From Heaven” (2 MB).