Fantasy Dinner Parties, Crowd Control & Answers to Elly’s Burning Questions

My dinner party wouldn't look like this.

Todays nugget should probably be approached with some caution because as with many other subjects my half-truths and little to no real knowledge can be slightly irritating.

It should be said that I’ve only ever thrown one real dinner party and it was a group affair where I spent most of the time drunk, standing in front of a perpetually rotating frozen margarita machine (which was my contribution) and neglecting my hostess duties.

A few hours later as I grew restless and came very close to passing out I decided it was better that I just give up and let the whole mess run it’s course without me.

In the past few days I had two friends of mine mention fantasy dining situations with the rich & famous so I started dreaming up various case scenarios for my pretend celebrity soirees and the zany hijinks that would ensue when the glitterati & I got together over finger foods and cocktails.

The door would swing open and there would be Stewart Copeland circa 1984 with his mop of disheveled hair, his matching shorts and tube socks. Hey! He brought a bottle of wine and his snare drum. Later I will complain that he spent a majority of the party on my low-lying coffee table pretending it was a drum riser and banging on my new Calphalon cookware with his drumsticks. We’d be understanding though,  because after all it’s Stewart.

Because we are treading in the realm of the completely fabricated & delusional by importing the younger version of SC I’d take the opportunity to invite the legendary but currently dead Marlon Brando cause you know he’d fly his private jet  straight from an all night party on his Tahitian island and land it in the middle of your street before falling down the stairs and into the road. Of course he’d be drunk and barely functional but still charming and he’d roll all over the newly set table  crushing the carefully prepared appetizers and spilling everyone’s drink.

Then he’d hack an orange into quarter slices and shove them playfully into his mouth before chasing us through our tomato garden and collapsing into a lifeless heap. Bravo Marlon! Bravo! Wait, Marlon?

Much to the shock of my friends and contemporaries I’d also invite the worlds newest über celebrity Robert Pattinson. Not because his bone structure instantly blinds mere mortals but because he can teach us all something about post traumatic stress disorder, emergency measures and crowd control. FEMA could learn a thing or two from this guy.

I once found myself vulnerable and helpless in an angry group of thousands that whipped itself into a manic state and actually BROKE A BONE in my arm  so it was with morbid curiosity and real genuine horror that I watched   television footage of this freshly famous young kid being continually swallowed up by voracious screaming groups of wildly excited fans.

Now granted my mob experience didn’t involve being surrounded by besotted fourteen year old girls trying to kill me with their love but mine DID have full-grown hairy men sporting body tattoos and thrashing  about in a rain-soaked rock concert  frenzy attempting to shred anything and everything in their path. Including me.

The guy would  be great for tips on how to answer the same insipid questions day after day as the years dragged on without getting angry or looking pained, which would be great for all the married couples there.  He’d win over the rest of the dinner guests with his rakish good looks and quiet English warmth but then there would be the inevitable drunken cougar who’d read Twilight one too many times who would have to be removed by the two bodyguards loitering nearby.

 So as you can see, my party didn’t have 50 Cent or Neil Patrick Harris Like Elly and Shawn but since this was a hopeless pursuit of an imaginary gathering I don’t see any problems here.

The  threat of the slow collapse of this post under its own weight is growing more imminent so I shall get right to the questions asked of me by my beloved Uke playing Elly.

1. How many tennis balls can you fit in your mouth?

I actually put this to the test and I can say with absolute certainty that I can fit exactly 1/2 of the tennis ball into my maw before it locks up and starts cramping.

2. Do you have a recurring doodle you always scribble in meetings?

Why yes I do. Drew it on everything and it changed suddenly from male to female without any warning one day while discussing something of great importance in a “meeting”. I’ll try to find one of the scrappy bits of paper if I still have it.

3. If you could have any pet what would it be and what would you name it?

I’d like a turtle and his name would be Hooper. Like  the Richard Dreyfus character from Jaws.

4. Do these shoes make my feel look ginormous?

It depends on who is asking this question. If it is a woman I muster my most sincere face and say absolutely not. If it is a man I tell him he has abnormally large feet AND hands because you know what they say about the size of a man’s feet.

5. Can you put your foot on your own head?

Easy peasy. I will go one step further here and tell you that I used to be able to hook both of my legs behind my head contortionist style. I would have made a great exotic dancer.

6. What’s your favorite acronym?

What does it say about me that I went directly to google and found the acronym name generator? Worse? I couldn’t think of a name or phrase to plug into it so it could generate a cool acronym for me. It says ” never again will you struggle coming up with a catchy acronym or  title for your project!” Not only did I struggle, but I failed.

7. If you could be a character from a John Hughes film who would you be?

Samantha Baker from 16 Candles.

8. If you were a food item would you rather be packaged in shrink-wrap or tin can?

Tin can. Because sardines OBVIOUSLY.

I've got a endless supply of oranges and lots of spare time.



Filed under celebrities hate idiots, dinner parties with pretend people, elly asks the questions, FEMA, Henry Rollins made those guys break my arm, I should stop inviting Robert Pattinson to fake dinners, I'm all over the map, marlon brando i wish you were alive, rock concerts and wild crowds, Stewart Copeland owes me new pots, why you don't whip a drunk crowd into a frenzy

23 responses to “Fantasy Dinner Parties, Crowd Control & Answers to Elly’s Burning Questions

  1. I’m going to need photo documentation of the tennis ball. And some citrus. And my own tomato garden. STAT.

    • dufmanno

      The dog has been slobbering all over the tennis ball so I may have to purchase another yellow pristine version from Modells. I just bought a new crate of clementines so I can give you my best Brando as Don Corleone in the tomato garden later today.

  2. Fitty’s crew can handle crowd control for your swanky party so things don’t get out of control when the jet lands in the middle of the street. They might be able to catch Marlon on his way down the stairs, but that is a tough call, sometimes you just have to let him go. He rolls his own way, or, well, ya’ know, did roll.
    SC in his knee socks……ahhhh, yes.

    • dufmanno

      No fool would dare attempt to stop rolling Marlon once he had attained some velocity. That’s like facing down God on rollerskates.

  3. PS the 1984 Sting I keep locked in my underwear drawer wants you to tell 1984 Stewie to “fuck right off.”

  4. I would love to come along as Dead Marlon’s date that way we could confuse everyone as we introduced our selves, Marla and Marlon it rolls off the tongue so easily, kind of the way he rolls all over the appetizers.

    • dufmanno

      Why do I suspect that this pairing would make for it’s own spectacular post? Can’t shake the image of you two hand in hand climbing your ice giant and mixing drinks.
      I miss the ice giant by the way.

  5. Agatha82

    I want to know how Elly got so lucky to keep the 1984 version of Sting in her underwear drawer 🙂
    Good choice on Copeland, great drummer boy.

    • dufmanno

      God, he’s been there forever. I mean it’s STING after all, and you know how he loses track of time when he’s surrounded by womens panties.
      The 1984 version is surly and unpredictable but he’s WAY more fun.

    • I have this great line that works every time: Hey, does this rag smell like chloroform to you?

  6. Irene

    I’m pissed because Stewart asked me to wait in the car while he visited with you.

    Sometimes that guy’s a jerk.

    • dufmanno

      I’m in shock! Never listen to 1984 Stewart, he’s still wrapped up in the rock star bubble and brooding over the last dust up with Sting.
      Hope it was a luxury sedan with snacks and drinks.

  7. Okay, but what would you serve them? I mean, other than orange slices.

  8. Whether it was half or a whole one, the important thing to remember is that you still had balls in you mouth.

  9. why darling, this party sounds delicious! i’m coming and i’m bringing my long cigarette holder and black velvet gloves. it’s almost certain robert pattinson will be trying to put his finger in all my smoke rings. yes, in my smoke rings. did you think i was going to suggest something else?

    • Dufmanno

      I think Liz Phair said it best when she sang – your eyelashes sparkle like gilded glass, and your lips are sweet and slippery like a cherubs bare wet ass.
      I’m not sure if that better describes you or Pattinson but I like it.
      He’s a Brit so odds are you two could blow smoke shapes at each other OR you could share nicorette.

  10. Pingback: Cool Shit 7 — « Fierce, Freethinking Fatties

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