"Okay, everybody, help yourselves. We've got slithering biomass with three kinds of dip, and there's a case of terminal warts in the fridge. There's plenty of everything except for the engineered fruit putty. Oh, and I want to introduce you all to the new Reverend Blithely Ignorant, he's just back from having the Change done, so if he shows any undue affection to your leg just smack him on the nose with an enema bag." The Reverend smiled at the crowd, raised his glass, and peed on the couch. "And remember the house rules: no scraping, no fear, and no refunds." I could tell it was going to be a good party.
After things were well underway, I surveyed my domain. Raoul was there, as always, entertaining the groundlings by disgorging dazed traffic cops onto a fibrous mat. I spied Sissy-boy Johnson, showing everybody a photograph and looking dejected. Sidney was carving my furniture into little dioramas, and acrid smoke billowed from Randall's amazing portable Portal To Hell.
I was kept busy refilling the buckets of stoat mash and hardly had any time to mingle, but everybody else was merrily exchanging precious bodily fluids and reciting rude stories about things they found on their bodies, and generally having a good time.
When it was all over, and the guests had fled in terror, I placed my thighs back in their cupboard and settled down into my Mighty Morphin' Easy Chair for a consummation devoutly to be wished.