DON’T ANSWER THAT!


I was living in “Dormchester,” an apartment complex just off the SDSU campus that housed nothing but college kids. I was living with my roommates Satan and Chanda at the time when we decided that it was time to throw a party of epic proportions. It was our friend Michelle’s birthday coming up and this seemed like the perfect excuse for some debauchery.

“We should get a stripper,” I told my roommates.
“That would be awesome!” Satan replied.
“Have you seen those guys? They’re all greasy and gross,” Chanda piped in. Chanda was so not into the tan, thong-wearing kinda guys. But for Michelle, I was pretty sure Chanda would suck it up.
“Work with me for a second,” I said, trying to paint the perfect stripper picture. “We need to get a guy dressed as a cop and have him arrest Michelle,” I continued.
“For what?” Chanda asked.
This is where the brilliance of my plan astounded even me. Michelle and her cousin Andrea were virtually identical, but only in appearance. Michelle was as clean-cut as they come, whereas Andrea was the classic screw up who couldn’t wake up in the morning without getting into trouble. Somehow, Michelle had agreed to let Andrea use her birth certificate to get a fake ID at the California DMV. And the plot thickens…
“We have the cop tell Michelle that someone fitting her description had been pulled over for a DUI,” I started.
“Yes!” Satan piped in. “And that the girl fled the scene, leaving the cops holding onto a drivers’ license with Michelle’s name and address.” Satan totally saw my vision.
We put the finishing touches on the plan by deciding that the arrest warrant would come from Glendale, where Andrea lived. This was so good, it was pure evil.

Now all I had to do was procure the stripper. I was in virgin territory here. Who knew that you could find a stripper in the Yellow Pages? Let your fingers do the walking, indeed! I got a hold of a stripper delivery service, gave them our stripper specifications, and gave them the script for our police officer to follow. I wanted to make sure that the cop would cuff Michelle for being a bad girl. Cheesy, yes. But priceless. The three of us swore each other to secrecy, because if one word got out, the plan would be ruined. Plus, we wanted to have cute boys at our party, and we knew that no guys would come within a country mile of a male stripper. At least not the ones we wanted to invite. It was possibly the hardest secret to keep on the planet because we wanted to share our brilliance with the world, but the world was going to have to wait.

Saturday night finally rolled around and our party was HUGE. Each of us had told two friends, and then they told two friends, and then they told two friends, and so on, and so on, and so on…. It was a thing of beauty. We had already gone through keg #1 and were well into keg #2. There were people everywhere: In the bedrooms, bathrooms, the dining room, on the balcony, and a good 50% of them were strapping young men. Chanda, Satan and I were happy, tipsy campers and most importantly Michelle was having the time of her life.

Then there was an authoritative knock on the door. The party got eerily quiet as the officer entered the room. I was pinching myself to keep from laughing.
“Is Michelle (insert last name) here?” the officer asked, while shining his big, hard flashlight in all our eyes.
“She’s right over there, officer,” Chanda said innocently, pointing directly at Michelle, who stared back at Chanda with death in her eyes. The policeman swaggered over to Michelle and said, “Are you Michelle (insert last name here)?”
“Y-y-yes,” she stammered.
“You have a warrant out for your arrest for a DUI and evading arrest from the city of Glendale,” he continued.
“What? Oh no…wait. That’s not me, officer. That’s my cousin. She’s been using my license,” Michelle told him as her voice was cracking with fear.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. The fugitive left her license in our possession, and you meet the description that the officers filed. I’m going to need you to turn around,” he instructed her. Michelle turned around slowly, put her hands behind her back, and began sobbing silently as the stripper cuffed her wrists.

Wait… this is sad. This is horrible. I looked at Chanda and Satan and we were all questioning this decision. Had we gone too far? Just then a gorgeous girl sauntered into our living room, carrying a boom box that was belting out the opening notes to Right Said Fred’s “I’m Too Sexy.” Scratch that. This wasn’t sad. This wasn’t horrible. THIS. WAS. AWESOME! We grabbed a chair for Michelle as our very expensive, very realistic, very hot cop started to disrobe. In those 5 seconds, Michelle’s expression changed from heartbroken, to confused, to pissed. But then she caught a glimpse of the cop’s abs, and she just started giggling. The cute boys at the party weren’t nearly as amused. As soon as the cop’s shirt came off, 90% of our male guests bolted. Out the door, out of windows, a few even jumped off the balcony. Whatever. Totally worth it. Our female guests were happy, horny, and money started pouring out. Our little cop friend made bank!!! Even Michelle forgave us after he dry humped her leg a little. He was worth every single penny we spent.

Once the stripper left, all the guys who were hiding outside by the pool came back in. Needless to say we had to endure some verbal abuse for having a male stripper. But as we pointed out, the boys were now at a party that was packed full of horny girls, and they could thank us later. As we were loading our third keg into the trashcan we had filled with ice, there was a banging on the door. “STACY! UM, THERE ARE SOME COPS HERE AND THEY WANT TO TALK TO YOU!” My friend Aaron yelled across the room. Yeah, right. Did Satan actually think this would work twice in one night?

I handed my joint to the caramel-colored cutie sitting next to me, and got up to go meet my strippers. Satan joined me, and the look on her face let me know that this wasn’t a trick. Plus, there was no music. So we left Chanda safely behind as she was underage. We opened the door and there were two male police officers standing there. They weren’t smiling, but they did have some impressive ‘staches, so we could work with this. As a matter of fact, the one on the left looked like Tom Selleck’s Magnum P.I., and the one on the right looked like Burt Reynolds in Smokey and the Bandit. Not bad.
“Are you two ladies throwing this party?” Magnum asked us.
“Yes sir,” Satan answered. I now noticed Magnum was trying to get a peek inside the party. Thing about cops is, no warrant, no entry. So I shut the door a little on his vision.
“We’ve had some complaints about the noise so we’re going to have to ask you to keep it down,” The Bandit informed us. Oh thank God! And I thought he was going to bust us for the drugs!
“No problem officers. We’ll turn it down,” I assured them.
We didn’t.

An hour later, party in full swing, our phone rang. Thinking it must be one of our friends, I answered it. “Hello?”
“What the hell is going on down there?” I heard my dad’s voice on the other end of the line. He lives in Los Angeles. What the hell…?
“We’re just having some friends over,” I told him, totally confused.
“That’s not what I heard. I heard you are having a HUGE party and you need to stop it right now!” he told me.
“How did you hear about the party?” I asked him. Now I was just curious.
“Your landlord called me. I signed the lease too, remember.” Oh shit!
“Wait, my landlord called my dad and told on me?” I said very sarcastically.
“Stacy, do I have to drive down there?” he asked.
I thought about calling his bluff. It was 1:00 in the morning, and he was looking at a 3-hour drive. Even if he was serious, the party would be over by the time he got here. But I quickly thought better of it. If he did drive down, the timing meant that I would be crawling my drunk ass into bed just about the time he was pulling into San Diego, and he would be very cranky. That would not work out well at all. What the hell. I already lied to the cops…
“No, dad. We’re shutting it down,” I said, fingers crossed.
“Okay, just don’t get into any more trouble. I’m serious,” my dad said.

Keg #3 kicked, and as we were getting keg #4 locked and loaded, there was another knock on the door. At the very same time, my phone started ringing.
“DON’T ANSWER THAT!” I yelled to nobody in particular as I made my way to the door. I can only handle on thing at a time. So Satan and I stepped outside to find our favorite mustachioed brothers in blue. But this time Magnum and the Bandit looked downright grumpy.
“Is that a helicopter?” I asked while standing outside with the cops.
“Yes ma’am, it is a helicopter. Now you can shut down this party or we can check everyone to make sure you aren’t serving…”
RING! RING! I popped my head back in the door and yelled, “DON’T ANSWER THAT!”
“…alcohol to anyone who is not of legal drinking age,” The Bandit continued. Satan and I knew when we had been beat. The cops were angry, the phone was ringing, and we had helicopters. The party was officially over. We had had a good run. But the apartment was still packed. How were we supposed to clear everybody out of here? I had another brilliant idea.
“You know, if you two were to come in here and take your clothes off…”
“Stacy!” Satan clapped her hand over my mouth and shoved me back inside. Magnum looked shocked, but I think Bandit was smiling a little.

The next day was not a good day. The phone kept ringing and I kept avoiding it. Satan had to go to work and Chanda and I had to clean up. We walked out into our living room to survey the damage. As we stood there, a picture fell off the wall and a vase fell over and broke. We walked outside and found all the patio furniture in the pool, including the tables. Nice. Our kitchen had a good inch of water/beer in some places, but we still had most of keg #4 left over, so we had that going for us. Bonus! Chanda and I were hung over as hell but we got drunk on warm beer and managed to clean the whole house before Satan got home from work. Our landlord punished all the tenants by removing all patio furniture from the pool area. But this was San Diego, and nobody really noticed. Now people had more room to skateboard around the pool so it was a blessing in disguise. We never hired another stripper again but we continued to have lots of parties. In fact I’m having one right now.
“DON’T ANSWER THAT!”

Love it? Hate it? Let me know! Send questions, comments, brownie recipes or random brainfarts to: mrsdiagnosed@yahoo.com

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