Don't mind the Jack Daniels, I'm drinking spelling mistakes

Anything worse than waiting for the party to start? I'm sitting in my house with two-hundred cans of cheap beer, pig masks, lab coats, creme puffs, strap-on snouts, rubber gas masks and enough finger cots for everybody (we run a clean show here). All those fuckers are still in the sculpture yard finishing off the second keg. I've got blacklights in the basements surrounded by two-thousand neon colored post-its and a laptop hooked-up to my 400 watt Ampeg head.

Any minute now. . .