The Social Event Of Two Years

“Montgomery!” I barked into the desktop intercom after reluctantly tearing myself away from the literally endless supply of Internet porn on my computer. When I failed to receive a prompt response from my layabout butler, I barked it again. “Montgomery!

“Wot wot!” came the muffled response. “‘Allo, guv’nor! What can I do you for?”

“About time, Montgomery. What’s the status on tonight’s party preparations?”

“It’s all going barrels and crate, m’lord.”

“Barrels and crate?”

“Quite. You know, British rhyming slang. By which I mean it’s going great.”

“I should hope so. Everyone in East Egg will be here tonight, and everything has to be note perfect. The last thing I need is a shoddy write-up in tomorrow’s society pages.”

“Quite true, guv’nor.”

“Fine. Let’s go through the checklist.”

“Ready when you are, sir.”

“Booze?”

“A fleet of trucks arrived from the distillery this morning.”

“Excellent. Other assorted party favors?”

“Not here yet, but your associate Skynyrd Dave confirmed that he’d have the OxyContin, cocaine, poppers, and various opiates here by no later than 1 p.m.”

“And the fermented goat’s blood?”

“Wot?”

“The fermented goat’s blood! Christ, do I have to do everything myself?”

“Er… sorry, guv’nor. I thought that one was a joke, wot wot.”

“When have you ever known me to joke about drugs, Montgomery?”

Silence on the other end. I could feel my blood pressure rising.

“Hrm. Never?”

“Exactly! Shit. Well, no sense crying over spilt milk — or fermented goat’s blood. Let’s move on.”

“Quite right.”

“Fighting cocks?”

“They arrived from Mexico via plane yesterday afternoon.”

“Really? Where have you stashed them?”

“In the auxiliary garage, wot wot.”

“Hmm, guess I’ll mosey on over and inspect them once we’re finished here.”

“Smashing, guv’nor.”

“OK, where were we — a yes. Call girls?”

“I just got off the phone with the proprietor of Pete’s Poontang Emporium, and he’s sending 50 of his, erm, loveliest ladies over by bus. They’re scheduled to arrive by 5.”

“Call him back and tell him those floozies better be here by 3, or heads will roll!”

“Quite right, guv’nor.”

“Jesus, this is exhausting. What do I pay you for anyhow, Montgomery? Seems I’m doing most of the heavy lifting here.”

“Heavy is the head that wears the crown, guv’nor.”

“And heavy is the ass that has my foot lodged up it! You’d do well to keep that in mind, you slack-jawed British sycophant.”

“Indeed I shall, sir.”

“Very well, at least we’re nearing the end of this arduous task. Let’s see here — ah yes. Thirteen giraffes wearing bow ties?”

“On the way as we speak.”

“Has the pool been converted to a giant jello shot?”

“Done and done.”

“Sex toys?”

“Two gross are on hand. Will that be enough?”

“Hopefully. If not, prepare yourself and the maids for the possibility of being pressed into service. No pun intended.”

“Jolly good, sir.”

“And last but not least, my tuxedo?”

“Hrm. We do have a spot of trouble there, sir.”

“How so?”

“The maids were unable to remove the biscuits-and-grit stains that the trousers acquired after your last social outing.”

“Biscuit-and-grit?”

“Sorry guv’nor, Brit rhyming slang. By which I meant ‘shit.'”

“Ahh. Well, that’s fine. I was only going to wear a Speedo with the jacket anyhow.”

“Very good, sir.”

“Alright Montgomery, I’ll let you get back to it. And bear in mind that I’m busy with some important work in here, so don’t enter without knocking first. The maids should feel free to come and go as they please though, particularly that new girl — you know, the frightened lass from Mexico. In fact, ask her to come check on me in about 20 minutes.”

“Top notch, guv’nor. Cheerio, pip pip wot wot!”

Our business concluded, I immediately dropped trou and returned to what I consider my life’s work: viewing and cataloging every bit of porn on the Internet. As to tonight’s party… well, I’d invite you, but frankly I despise the 99 percent. And you have 99 percent written all over you. Perhaps you’ll be able to enjoy the festivities through word of mouth if any of your female relatives arrive on the party bus later, though. One can only hope. Keep dreaming big, America!

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Categories: Culture, Dating, Drugs, Food, Leisure, Servants

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