Party Monster

As the song "The Monster Mash" began to play on my stereo again for what must have been the 187th time in a fucking row, I bolted for the punch bowl for another stiff belt of the fruity, spiked concoction that The Phantom of the Opera had brought to my little Halloween party. I was now long past caring that the Phantom lived in a cave in the sewer tunnels beneath the Metropolitan Opera House, and the strength of the punch had finally erased nearly all of my concerns about the sanitary conditions in which the intoxicating beverage had been made. Sewer or no sewer, I just wanted to get shit-faced by that point in the evening.

In gloriously-blurred hindsight it was quickly becoming apparent that my clever plan to throw a "Mad Monster Party" and invite actual monsters was not such a hot idea after all. This was incredibly obvious as I watched in horror as Frankenstein's Monster and his bride danced about clumsily in the living room, doing irreparable damage to my hardwood floors with their fucking gigantic platform boots. The floor had so many black scuff marks that it looked like I'd held a goddamn roller derby in my living room.

An hour earlier The Wolfman had taken an enormous shit in the cat's litter box, leaving behind traces of what appeared to be the remains of my apartment building's doorman as well as those of the cat. After Mr. Hyde had given the Creature From The Black Lagoon some of Dr. Jekyll's pharmaceutical-grade ecstasy, the slimy bastard refused to stop sticking his head in my toilet and flushing it while he screamed that he was caught in an "a-hole". I couldn't tell if he was really freaking out or if he was just tripping and thought it was funny. When I tried to pull him out of the bathroom, he scratched the shit out of my leg with his nasty green claw. Dracula had to vomit after having eight Bloody Mary's, and seeing as how the bathroom was occupied, proceeded to do so in my hallway. Being a little high and tipsy myself, I just got a couple of zombies to help me pick up The Mummy (who had passed out in the hallway) and set him on top of the vomit to make sure nobody slipped and broke their neck. His bandages were very absorbent and worked wonders in soaking up the mess, although he's not going to be too happy about our ingenuity when he regains consciousness. After the Dracula vomit inccident was resolved, I heard noises coming from my bedroom and walked in on Medusa going down on the Headless Horseman...which I guess, technically no longer qualifies him as "headless". Oh, and the fucking It's Alive baby spit up in my hall closet...Blacula is gonna throw a shit fit about his cape.

At least Michael Meyers is low-maintenance...all he does is stand around listening to the theme from "Halloween" on his ipod.

Apparently these "monsters" got the label not from their frightening looks and homicidal habits, but because of their horrible behavior. They're fucking monsters alright! I'm gonna have to just move out when this shit is over. And who the fuck invited Fred Krueger? I don't remember writing "child-murdering pedophiles welcome" on the evite. Happy fucking Halloween! This party sucks ass!