The party was packed, featuring every vice imaginable or not, with the sort of abundance at hand that would make a doe-eyed rookie cringe in terror.
The Detonator also receives credit for bringing along Suzy, a vivacious free spirit who laughs in the face of fear, a rad girl by all accounts.
According to legend, wearing the hat of The Detonator brings about some sort of mystically magical power, especially in those who possess limitless intangibles. That’s probably why he’s the Tom Hanks of the “Basher of the Year” competition.
Carolla, standing on the left, has been known to throw ridiculously orchestrated Bashes of insane magnitude, and this was no different.
Tremors are commonly felt days after. My new friend Spike vouched for that.
So did a buffoon named Anthony . . .
The list of characters was endless. To my most pleasant surprise, Gloria bafflingly surfaced sharking her way through novice opponents at the pool table for loose cash.
She adorably had her gentle cousin Jesse in town from Fort Lauderdale, Florida.
He progressively became friendlier and more open with each drink, reminiscing about the last big fish he caught, then claiming he’d never seen anything like this in his life.
Gloria’s skills on the pool table certainly rival that of Devon Ahmad, a battle for the ages I’d love to see, a tough one to wager on.
Her charisma during games can throw off the most competitive pool players, leaving their judgments up for second guessing and their confidence dwindled by trick shots from the end of Gloria’s cue.
I might have to make a showdown happen, if not for Posterity’s sake, strictly for the sake of humanity at large.
Meanwhile, inflatable balls in the pool became renegade weapons, often landing on heads or being the cause of distressing alcohol spillage.
Later, I stumbled upon my favorite DJ after Lance Cannon, Eric Mandini, who earned my respect in The Foundation Room for playing "Hoochie Mama."
Him and Lance are buddies, and I’d seen him before at Concorde and another time at a Labor Day soirée. It didn't stop there, acquaintances kept coming. Rex and his girl remebered me from another reckless occasion and greeted me with open arms.
He knows Eric as well, but at this Bash, the obvious focal point was DJ Scribble at the helm, above the pool pumping out jam after jam. At one point I received a shout out for the props I was dropping; there was no stopping him.
He’s a true master of turntablism, and doing damage on the block is definitely in his job description. I had a hard time standing still with the perfection of the mixes tickling my eardrums. Besides the unbelievable skills at work, the flow of the 12 kegs intricately enhanced the booming beats. We were all on cloud nine.
Meeting people is easy when the party-goers are comfortable in their own skin. I was a big fan of Red, whose sharp and tacitly pointed humor placed her up on the pedestal of greatness with the immediacy of an inflamed appendix removal. I think it was at this point I realized my drunken endeavors would be guided by pure instinct instead of contemplated rationalizations.
I forgot her name moments after the reveal, neglecting to attain proper information for future adventure possibilities. The same goes for these two lovely girls I was chatting up.
I randomly bumped into Terry from Chatsworth, a girl I hadn’t seen in nearly five years. At this point I’d reached my limit on random bump-ins. Does everyone know Carolla?
The Detonator was cold lampin, and he did a few beer bongs for the sake of Bashing.
The Detonator, for all intents and purposes, isn’t hindered by the appearance of alcohol distribution devices.
Later that night, around 2am, with the help of The Detonator, I was truly the Burrito King.
To sum up the affair, they were all Bashers.
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