By Alan Prendergast
By Michael Roberts
By Michael Roberts
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By Patricia Calhoun
By William Breathes
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By Melanie Asmar
I'm having a housewarming party at my new pad this weekend. If you don't know about it already, that's because you're not invited. The house isn't all that big and can't accommodate the barbarous hordes I'd like, but I imagine we'll reach at least thirty or forty peeps, maybe peak at fifty. Those numbers may not be high, but spirits definitely will be. As the old saying that I just made up goes, "High spirits are fueled by high spirits," which means people will be happy because I will provide them with gluttonous amounts of booze.
Assisting me in party preparation will be Monty, longtime What's So Funny correspondent, first-time What's So Funny Room-Renter. We've purchased the tiki torches and made the mixes on the iPods; now all we need is a theme. Believe you me, Monty and I have been kicking around a few ideas. The first was "The Monty and Adam Last Night on Earth Party," which had us essentially entering into a suicide pact, to be carried out at the end of the festivities. Since this theme would have excused any and all of our egregious behavior -- on our last night on earth, people would look the other way if we decided to wear crotchless denim shorts or throw cockfights in the cellar -- it seemed like a good concept, but then Monty and I realized we didn't really want to kill ourselves. The next idea we came up with was to give a different party theme to every single person we invited -- tell one guy that it was a pimps-and-hos party, the next girl that it was doctors-and-nurses, tell still another person to come with forties duct-taped to their hands, tell that friend from work that it was cocktail attire. This would not only be hilarious, but it would create a fun party game as everyone tried to guess what theme everyone else had been told. But we ditched that idea when we came up with an even better theme for our shindig:
We were sitting there, watching the Broncos put up nine anemic points of Jason Elam-led offense, when a Dealin' Doug commercial came on and Monty said this: "You know what we should do for our party? We should get Dealin' Doug. You should go into work this week and write your column as an open invitation to Dealin' Doug to come to our party, hang out, have a few beers. We would forever be known as the guys who had Dealin' Doug at their party."
And so this is my attempt to make it so.
But first, let me confess something to you, Doug. There was a time when I would never have considered such a proposal. Because I considered you too cheesy. I mean, the Superman commercial, the shock of peacock hair, plus one time a friend told me he saw you at a Broncos/Patriots game at Foxboro and you were wearing one of those awful leather jackets with all four Denver sports teams' logos on it. But I've come around for one reason and one reason only: your steadfast commitment to the Rockies.
Oh, I've seen you at those Rockies games, Doug. You've got fantastic high-profile seats down there behind the plate, and you being you, you're kind of hard to miss. Again, peacock shock. But your Rockies-watching is not for show; you're not there to be seen, you're there because you love the team. It's obvious in the way you watch the game. And face it, Doug: In this city, it's not hard for any real Rockies fans to recognize one another.
So come on down to my party this weekend, Doug, and we'll talk about the Rox for a bit. We'll chat about Francis, Holliday and Atkins, but we'll also talk about what went wrong this season, the holes in the lineup. And hey, if at some point you feel like donning a Superman cape and sitting behind a table that I will have stocked with a stack of glossies and a black Sharpie, I don't think anyone will hate you for signing a few autographs. And if in the middle of the party you feel the urge to, say, drunkenly stand on that table and gesture wildly and scream hysterically, "Nobody beats a Dealin' Doug deal -- nobody!" I'm pretty sure everyone would absolutely fucking love it.
You know, Doug, when you think about it, the success of my party at this point pretty much relies on you. So I'm asking you earnestly and honestly to please attend and make it the event of the season. Otherwise, Doug, the party is going to blow. And Monty and I are going to have to kill ourselves.