Chapter 7, Party Time

"Welcome to my humble dwelling y'all. Most of you who are here tonight are my friends; some of you are just strippers. You are all welcome, particularly you strippers. Now I want y'all to know that I don't give a fuck about anythang you do tonight, just go to the bathroom in the bathroom and don't kill nobody. Now there ain't no more rules for tonight except one: enjoy this motha fuckin party," said Snoop. Once all the guests were here he'd made that speech whilst standing on top of the bar, and was greeted by much applause and cheering when he'd finished.

"Let's get this shit on!" Snoop yelled, and the stereo kicked into life, playing out a heavy rap tune. Snoop immediately made his may over to me and put his arm around my shoulder.
"Now Diz, I want y'all to enjoy this party. There some nice lookin' strippers over there, yeah?" I nodded, checking some of them out. "If you want, take one of them – well more than one if you want – into one of the rooms at the back for a little… private time." He grinned and I laughed. Clapping my back one more time, he walked off to find some of his guests leaving me alone.

I felt out of place, not because it was a party; but because of all the famous people here. LA was the city for the famous, and Snoop seemed to know them all. Walking through the throngs of people I saw Nicholas Cage dancing with one of the strippers, Tom Cruise standing next to the window engaged in a conversation with John Travolta (probably about Scientology) and on the dance floor Brad Pitt was having a dance-off with Samuel L. Jackson – Sam was winning.

"Yo man," said a big black guy making his way towards me. I assumed he was talking to somebody else so I ignored him, but he looked straight at me.
"Man are you cribbin here wi Snoop?" he asked me. I nodded slowly. He grinned.
"Relax man, I'm Dr Dre." I almost gasped: Dr Dre, the King of rap, knew who I was. Holy shit.
"Hey there, I'm Fang" I said shaking his outstretched hand, "I've listened to some of your stuff. It's pretty good, I like it," I said lamely.
"Thanks man. Yeah Snoop told me about you earlier, about your… situation…" He said smiling. My heart stopped for a few moments: had Snoop already told people about my wings. That could be seriously bad.

"You know man," continued Dre, leaning in and speaking quietly "The cop in Phoenix." I breathed an internal sigh of relief.
"Yeah. Not great man." I admitted.
"Nah don't worry man. I fucking hate cops: always a bunch of mother fucking racists. But don't worry, they won't find you here." To hear such words from Dr Dre was very reassuring.
"Thanks man…. Hey don't you have a new album coming out?" I asked. Dre nodded.
"Yeah man, Detox. It's gonna be good man: I got Snoop on it lots. It's more of a concept album though," he explained, "But anyway. I'ma let you enjoy this party…" We thanked eachother and walked our separate ways. I headed over to the bar.

Leaning over the bar, I asked the barman Carlos for a beer.
"Oh come on, have a man's drink ya pussy!" Yelled a balding older dude in a suit who was also leaning on the bar, clutching a bottle of Jack Daniels.
"John Malkovich?" I asked, although I knew it was him already.
"That's right man. Bartender, he's not having any beer; he's having a man's drink," slurred John. Carlos shrugged.
"Get him the strongest spirit you have buddy," yelled John. Then he grabbed my shoulders and looked at me gleefully.
"We're going to have a tournament."
"Tournament?" said a spindly black haired man, albeit receding, turning towards me and John Malkovich.
"Kevin Spacey?" I asked incredulously.
"Hi there," said Kevin, "I heard 'tournament'. I presume that it's a drinking tournament?"
"Sure thing man, come join us" slurred John Malkovich. Carlos slammed a bottle of Popov vodka onto the counter. John Malkovich thanked him and pulled us over to a small glass table.

"You guys ready?" he asked, producing several dozen shot glasses from absolutely nowhere. Kevin and I nodded. John emptied the bottle, pouring us nine glasses each.
"Now you drink them as quickly as possible, one after the other, understood?" Kevin and I looked at each other nervously and then nodded.
"Alright… 3…. 4….. 2…..3…. 2…. 1…. GO!" John yelled the signal and we threw the vodka down our throats. I almost gagged instantly: the vodka was seriously intense, almost like lighting a flamethrower down my throat. But I kept going, as did John and Kevin.

"OH FUCK!" yelled John, holding up his hand to stop. I paused, my fourth glass an inch from my lips. John stood up swaying slightly.
"Are you ok?" asked Kevin Spacey? In answer to this, John turned around and projectile vomited over a stripper. The vomit was a sickly brown colour, and covered the stripper from head to toe. Then he ran off to the bathroom, with the stripper running after him shouting death threats.

"Shall we continue?" asked Kevin smoothly. I nodded. Intently looking into each other's eyes, not blinking once, we finished our remaining six glasses of vodka, and finished off John's as well. When finished, we placed the glasses calmly down on the table. Kevin looked at me curiously.

"You seem fine," he stated.
"So do you" I replied. He nodded curtly, before extending his hand across the table.
"I think a draw is fitting," he said. I nodded in agreement, shaking his hand stiffly. He spun away from the table and went back to the bar. As I stood up a lump walked into me.

"Whooa shit," said the woman who had just stumbled into me. I thought it was a stripper and was going to ask her for a blowjob, but then I saw who it really was. It was Megan Fox… again.

This chapter featured: Nicholas Cage, John Travolta, Tom Cruise, Brad Pitt, Samuel L. Jackson, Dr Dre, John Malkovich and Kevin Spacey. There's gonna be two more chapters on this party: anyone else you want to see there?