Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Alibaster Abthernabther. I am a best selling author, yacht racer, hot air balloon enthusiast, pet psychic, and area culture vulture.
I simply must be on the guest list for your upcoming party at Ghostbar featuring the unparalleled sultan of the ones and twos, the honorable DJ Skribble. Your magazine’s MySpace page declares an open invitation as such: “Hey party people!” That is I. I am a party person.
Naturally, I should also be part of the “V.I.P. reception and Model Mingle,” seeing as I am both a V.I.P. and a world famous fashion model who enjoys mingling. Also, I carry a veritable mountain of cocaine on my person at all times.
However, I am a bit unclear as to the event’s dress code. Please do not misconstrue my confusion; I am quite sure I have a suitable outfit regardless of your attire requirements. Or as I like to say, “attirements.” I have distressed denim jeans that I bought for 120 times wholesale; hand stitched by Malaysian orphans and then illegally appropriated to become part of a rapper’s soon-to-be-bankrupt clothing line. I could then compliment this with a $185 graphic tee with some inexplicable fleur de lis pattern that looks as though it has been molested by Jackson Pollack. Or I could go a tad more formal and sport a striped silk shirt with the top four buttons undone to playfully expose my freshly waxed chest. Better yet, I could wear a $400 graphic print button-up silk shirt over a $75 American Apparel undershirt. I could then accessorize with a feathered fedora or a newsboy cap worn in reverse. Or I could forgo headwear entirely and simply lacquer my hair in $60 hair product. I have this fantastic new protein enriched mouse that conditions while it lowers my sperm count. Once I have all of this figured out, the shoes will naturally fall into place. All options are open, really. My wardrobe is versatile almost to a fault.
What is most important is that I am there and I am seen and I am allowed to promulgate inane banter with all the grease ball douche farmers and locust-faced harpies who so frequent affairs of this ilk. Did I mention I always have lots and lots of cocaine on me?
One last thing, I assume that your valet will accommodate hot air balloons. If not, please let me know so I can make alternate parking arrangements.