Hosted a Ho Ho Ho XXXmas Party on Saturday.
Felt it was my time, haven't hosted a Christmas Party, or a porno one at least, for a long long while.
It was sensational. Was good to see not everyone has gone on holiday, for one. The girl's came as Santa's Little Slappers; and the boys as Santa's Little Manwhores.
One dude's Santa hat had an erection all evening.
Ant and The Gilb came through from the Poenda – and Gilb suitably dressed like Hugh Hefner in a paisley dressing gown. He belted out the Bee Gee's Stayin' Alive with such aplomb, I thought I was going to wee in my pants.
Mr 747 wore green polyshorts and the Hawaiian shirt special – and was even more special when he pulled the ring out of Celine Dion's Immortality. Holy Jesus. The man then did a little dance during the instrumental part and a few one armed push ups. Hates a microphone, and put on quite a show. That's my boy.
Then Moogs, Big T and Dick dressed up like the Three Wise Dirty Old Men in pink terry cloth robes from AC Kermans. That was effort, bless.
Just as it was my turn to lyrically screech, two amazing things happened. (O Holy Night – the Southpark/Mariah Carey version):
1)We were privvy to a live porn show by two very buxom and sexy guests who had the whole room a-gaping, and not listening to my song. Oblivious to me, eyes closed and belting out my song, the two did their thing on the floor in front of me. (One was wearing a pleather suit, that just covered her poen. Amazing. I want one.) Pity I missed it though: I really thought all the cheers were about my song, and Mr 747 gently broke it to me that it really really wasn't about my song at all...
2)The Parktown Prawn that terrorised me and Martha Stewart a month ago decided to suddenly come out of hiding and crawl across the karaoke floor. There was a lot of screeching and dispersing. The one Brit that attended the party was the person to actually pick it up and take it outside with his bare hands. The Pom. Everyone else abandoned mic, and ran away screaming. Even the boys.
Third Roommate dressed up as Santa's Little Ladyboy. I was well impressed. He stuffed socks into a bra and had a nice pair of noombies on him, wore dangly earrings and lipstick. He was well pretty.
Besides the lesbo-fantasy entertainment, we also had a mate pull through who has an exceptional voice. Not just karaoke-exceptional, but “sing another song, you're a nightingale!” exceptional.
We sang until 2:00am. The neighbours must be loving me so much right now.
Basically, it was well steamy. And a bit minging the next day – you know house a-shambles – but it was nice to see people I haven't seen in a while too.
Ho ho ho.
PS: Perhaps post-party detox or somefink, but last night I woke up to the most mindfuckingly painful migraine and it hasn't stopped, even this morning. It's this localised pain enveloping my skull. And if I move my head too quickly, it will explode. Ouch.