My friends Emily and Melinda started a club called Cake. Cake's mission statement reveals that it's "committed to examining and demystifying the politics of female sexuality," and "is an active forum for sexual exploration, education and discovery and is a safe, informative, and enjoyable context for women's sexual expression."
Those of us in the know that all that rhetoric is a thinly-veiled guise to disuade less-sophisticated men from attending the hands-down biggest make-out parties in New York City.
See also:
Cake Party: Part One
Cake Party: Part Two
Do me a favor: take your cursor, move it over the pic up above, click the right-hand mouse button and view the photos' "Properties." Do you see what it says? Yeah, it says "001.jpg," which means that it's the first picture of the evening. We're at the party for less than two minutes and a girl walks up to David, points at her friend and says, "Hi, my friend thinks you're cute. Will you make out with her while I take your picture."
After you're done laughing at my candy necklace (Hey, fuck you buddy - chicks were biting off pieces...what would you have done?) make sure to check out David in the background getting accosted by yet another random girl.
Forget about that "kissing co-workers" or nonsense, Emma just plain said fuck it and got up on the dancing cube in nothing but her undies. Fuck Yeah. (Also, it should be noted at this point that she's up there dancing with the infamous "tie off your weiner, professional stripper guy" from when Grant and I stripped).
Just when I thought things couldn't get any better, Ami busted out an Orgasmo Head Massager and went to work on my scalp. Look at my face...I'll tell you what, bliss sure ain't purty.
