The other night I went to this party. It was a fancy party, but the bad fancy kind. There’s the good fancy kind where everything is a little nicer than you expect. Then there’s the bad kind of fancy where you can tell whoever is doing the party decided how to make it fancy from movies. So there’s a band there playing instruments and stuff, but no one likes the music. And it’s a badge of honor if you like to eat the worst kind of cheese.
I didn’t eat anything before I left. I know, it’s a risk. When you go to a party, you should always eat first. Because I can always put away an extra sandwich if I have to, but I can’t make it too long with no food. It’s very embarrassing at the fancy party to order a sandwich delivery. On the phone you tell the guy how you figured maybe he could take the topper off the car and wear his coat because it’s a fancy deal And in the special instructions on the receipt you can see they printed “Take topper off car. BE COOL.” Close enough.
But this time I didn’t eat first. Which was a mistake.
I get there. I let this guy park my car and then watch from inside when he comes back to the front of the place, still wiping his pants because he’s pretty sure there’s dirt on the seats of my car.
And I get inside and figure I’ll dive on whatever food is there.
Turns out, the only food is sushi on a naked lady.
You’ve maybe seen this before. Probably in a weird movie from the early 2000’s where someone like John Travolta is trying to prove he’s a bad guy, so they have a drugs party in some fancy apartment where there’s a lady laid out on a table and she’s got sushi all over her. And you’re supposed to eat the sushi off the lady.
This is not what I was hoping for, food-wise.
I like sushi. It’s fun, and it tastes pretty good. Plus, it makes you the good kind of full. Wendy’s makes you full, but the kind of full where it feels like your body is really churning through everything and the diarrhea factory is going into overdrive. You’re full, but you can’t be sure it’s not just the extra space taken up by the diarrhea, which always ends up as being more volume than the food was. Sushi full is just full of food that’s not being turned into anything.
There’s no other food at the whole party. My dress shirt is too tight around my neck, and I let out the top button and consider the options. Everyone made fun of me last time. With the sandwich. I could sneak around into the kitchen and find something. But that’s risky. Everyone can tell when you’re the only guy eating Cheez-Its in the whole place. It works great later in the night, when everyone’s loaded and you can pretend like you don’t even know where they came from, that someone named Terry handed you the box.
So I say, Fuck it. It looks like there’s a lot of sushi on the naked lady, so maybe I could take some from the parts that aren’t her privates. Are her privates, are they just naked with sushi on top? I don’t really want to look.
I walk over and get a small plate. I say to the lady, “Um, hi. I’m Pete. Listen, I don’t know how this all works. But I’m really hungry, so I’m going to have a couple pieces of sushi, if that’s okay.”
She doesn’t say anything. I get a pair of chopsticks from the plates table.
Just in case you weren’t sure whether Cheez-Its guy is classy, I am bad at chopsticks. Real bad. I have better luck skewering foods with chopsticks than picking them up using two poles as a unit. It’s dumb. Two poles are useless. No one ever tries to get a cereal box down from a high shelf using two poles. If you lost your hands and the doctors replaced them with two wooden sticks, you’d be pissed.
I mangle a couple pieces on her stomach. The first one I go for, it’s too mashed to even sort of eat. I can’t just leave it on her stomach, but now I’m scraping the chopstick along her skin to pick up the mess. Then I’m putting another one on the plate and a piece of rice drops right on her eyelid. The bottom one. She doesn’t blink, just stays there. I go to pick it up, then stop. Then just use my fingers and grab it. I don’t know.
She’s sweating. And where the one piece was, when I was scraping up seaweed, some makeup rubbed off. She’s got a tattoo underneath. It’s a cow udder. Not a cow, just the udder. I think that’s what it is. It might be some eyeless cartoon octopus. I don’t know.
The sushi, it’s all salty. She’s sweating right into the food.
I make another trip. I say I’m really sorry and take five pieces. Now’s she’s wearing mostly a sushi bikini.
Nobody was ready to dive in at first, but now it’s a frenzy. Three guys eating all at once. They aren’t even using the plates. They’re eating it straight off her, over her. They take the California rolls off her nipples. The rolls of roe off her hips. The rainbow roll right off her vagina, which is shaved. Maybe for this, maybe not. I don’t think there’s such a thing as a vagina hairnet, so maybe it’s a sanitary thing? But how sanitary is this going to get, really?
I’m still hungry. I hope she’ll take a break, maybe smoke or something, and then come back covered in sushi. Or that someone will come and bring more out and maybe I could intercept. Instead of that, the sushi lady sits up and puts on a robe that was stuffed under the table. She walks out of the room.
I vow to never again go to a party without eating Wendy’s first. That way I can be hungry and do my diarrhea factory at someone else’s house. Win-win.