Oh, it was such a gay party, and by that definition I don’t mean gay gay, just a good time. A typical Hollywood do, the festive bash was at a posh residence. Stars from both screens were mingling right next to the Diet Cokes, the boozy cocktails and the pigs in blankets. And in the middle of it all, nonfamous babes ‘n’ hons were oh so casually just la-dee-dah-ing it up, pretending like mad they weren’t desperate to be the human blanket around Dewbie Stammer’s very own little piggy.
Oh, that Dewb, such the charmer. Never a classically handsome dude, D has nevertheless—like many not exactly stunning guys, Owen Wilson, for ince—always managed to keep the gals fretting by his side. Alas, to no avail. No one woman has ever seemed quite fretlicous enough to warrant being by Dewbie’s side for very long, quel crap.
But that certainly didn’t keep the femmes from following Mr. S round the above party, as (pathetically) discreet as they thought they were being. So very ironically, it turned out to be a guy who made the following discovery:
A fellow guest got bored. After all, it was late, and a lot of the major players, not to mention the soiree’s staff, had gone home. Said guy went to the coat check room, which had been abandoned, and he headed back into the furthest interior space inside the long closet. He heard moans. And he heard slurps. And he realized Missy Coat Check might just still be around after all, getting a very nice tip from a fellow departing reveler.
But when the dude got to the back of the check area, looking up from his crouched position and staring back was a superflushed Dewbie Stammer, having just finished servicing a guy lying down on the floor. No wonder Dewbie never seems to meet the right girl!
(He’s always looking for the right trick in a box.)
And it ain't
Luke Wilson, Jim Carrey, Jeremy Piven
