If you’re throwing a party
Don’t invite me
They’re all the same
Always the quiet people who become obnoxiously gregarious
The guy who spills every drink on me
No matter where I stand in the house
My pants and shoes smell like an ad for the host’s bar
The girl who vomits an array of white wine, rumaki,
Wheat thins and clam dip all over the beige carpet
The lechers in the Jacuzzi waiting for unsuspecting nymphs
The politicos going head to head over the dining room table
The group taking bong hits in a remote corner of the back yard
Coughing like fugitives from the emphysema ward
The physical fitness freaks in a violent volleyball match
The gourmands who hover around the food like flies at a picnic
The kid whose lips never touched booze
Works his way to a grand hangover
The people who have no business dancing
Flailing spasmodically around the living room
The bedrooms as busy as a whorehouse on payday
The gossip leaves a grotesque film on the walls
I sedate myself at parties to survive
People drive me nuts
I stand around and watch
The time I like best at a party
Is leaving
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