I was Party Crasher for over two years and I never once got invited to a lesbian party. This week, I amend that egregious omission.
Out front, standing by a fire, there is a band of army boys. They've made a point of taking weekend trips to the Heartbreak Hotel—or, as they refer to it, the Lesbian House—for the past month and a half. "These chicks really know how to party," one says, awed. Someone else suggests that one of the hostesses is "the dopest Hawaiian in the motherfucking world." Nearby, someone is doing a birthday keg stand. After that, it's balls to the wall: One after another, the ladies are lifting their friends to the sky.
I hope you'll read the whole thing.
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