411. City and state.
JOSHUA GREEN ALLEN. The Mile High Cit-ay, State of Sexual Healin’.
411. How may I help you?
JGA. What up tonight, foxy mama.
411. How may I direct your call.
JGA. Name’s Josh. Maybe you’ve heard of me. I call a lot. Some of the girls there call me “sir.”
411. Uh huh.
JGA. Just trying to find where the parties are at tonight. It’s like a wasteland out there, you feel me.
JGA. The wife’s at a “PTA meeting,” like she’s fooling anyone with that. And Junior is “studying at a friend’s,” ha ha—can you call girls “junior”? Whatever, point being the night is mine and I want to really just get out there and sink my teeth into this city like a dracula and suck its blood right out.
JGA. When I say “blood” here I mean like, you know, a party in someone’s backyard? Where there are maybe torches? And someone gets kicked in the nuts? Or whatever I’m not picky, just something with a slip ‘n’ slide and beer I’ve never heard of.
411. I have a listing for AAAA Party Supply, Inc. Just a moment.
JGA. Whoa ho ho no, madam, see, I’m the party supply. Here. In this scenario. I just need to know where the party is so I can supply it.
411. What are you, like fifty?
JGA. Fifty? Fifty years old? Uh, ha ha, um no, more like fifty jigawatts of party power right here in my party pants.
411. All right. I got something for you. But not if you’re the creepy old guy who’s going to make everyone uncomfortable.
JGA. Missy, you are way off. The thing to know about me is that I bring the comfort on a comfortable silver platter. Children of all ages snuggle right up to me.
411. We don’t need anyone showing up in a brand-new Good Charlotte t-shirt.
JGA. I don’t even know what that means.
411. OK, go to the 7-Eleven on Colfax and Ogden. You know the one I mean.
JGA. They have the Slurpees.
411. Right. Buy all the chips you can, OK? Ten or twenty bags. Family size. Take them up to the counter and say: “These are for the party.”
JGA. “These are for the party.”
411. They’ll probably act confused, but just buy the chips and hand them over. OK? That’s critical. They must accept the chips.
JGA. Grabbing a pen, hang on.
411. Once they accept the chips, say thank you and go out to your car and wait.
JGA. See the thing is, the wife’s got the car tonight. I was planning to roll large on el public transporto, amiga.
411. Just go out to the parking lot and wait. Someone will come by and drop a piece of paper. On that paper is the address of the party.
JGA. These are some really awesome hoops to jump through.
411. They just don’t want people coming who can’t bring the heat.
JGA. Fully respect that.
411. It might take a while for them to show up, but be patient. Swear to god it’ll be worth it. Do you like lesbians?
JGA. Uh I support their Constitutional right to be free and make out and not be hassled by the government and just rub their bodies together in freedom.
411. Well then put on those party pants of yours.
JGA. Already on and fitting snug in all the right places! Information, high-five.
411. Glad to be of—