Homecoming – that magical day that, just like Christmas, gives you an excuse to be drunk all day starting at 10 a.m. And if you’re like me, you spent this past homecoming weekend asleep in the bathroom periodically awakening to spew out bits of chalupa with extra baja sauce into the toilet.

And what happens when you’re all out of beer? Well, chances are you go to any one of the several parties that spring up during homecoming weekend and steal somebody else’s beer, because the only thing cooler than excessive drinking is free excessive drinking! (For the sake of not having students’ dads e-mailing me I would just like to clarify that the previous line was not intended to be taken seriously: everybody knows you should only get excessively drunk off of your own beer because stealing is wrong.)

Once the worst part of the night hits (the sobering up part), and you’re done flipping over the couch cushion to hide the vomit stain, you may notice that the party is crawling with people you hate. Unfortunately, it seems the party scene is a cesspool of jerks, uglies, and filthy, filthy hoochie-mamas, all of whom ruin the night for us noble partygoers who just want to drink ourselves into idiocy in peace.

First you have the “Who-the-heck-is-that-guy” guy, thats just like his name sounds has everyone asking “Who the heck is that guy!?” Every party has him. He’s that random guy that nobody seems to know. Why is he here and how did he find you? Furthermore, why is he drinking all your beer? Nobody ever confronts this guy about his seemingly spontaneous generation at the party; instead they just point and whisper. The good news is, when he finally does leave, everyone has a great time making fun of him. Granted the jokes usually don’t make sense, but they don’t have to, because you’re drunk.

Next is the “Wannabe DJ.” You know that moment in the party when everyone is dancing and having a good time until the music is abruptly interrupted by someone who decides it’s his job to skip certain songs? Well, that’s a result of this fellow. Why is it that at every party there’s some pseudo-music connoisseur who believes his musical tastes are the only tastes refined enough that have earned him the almighty power to select a song on the “Hott Partay” playlist on my iPod? Look, if you don’t like the song wait four minutes and it will be over. Nobody besides you wants to hear “Crank That” three times in a row, anyway. To prevent this guy from taking over any of my parties, I’ve started connecting a car battery to my stereo so anybody screwing with the music will be administered an electrical shock. Really, it’s the only way they’ll learn.

Then there’s the arrogant, underage drinker. While this guy may think he’s cool because he’s at the “big kids party” the fact is nobody wants him there. First off, he’s a liability and shouldn’t be there, and secondly someone has to take care of him after he has too much to drink in a fruitless attempt to prove that “irresponsibility is cool.” The fact is, underage drinking just isn’t cool – unless you tell good jokes when you’re drunk, in which case you’re probably the life of the party. Sadly, this fellow is too busy mouthing off to women and starting fights with guys to be anything but the demise of the party. What you need is a fresh batch of responsibility. Come back when you’re older (or have some good jokes).

And of course, no party would be complete without the “I-think-being-drunk-and-easy-makes-me-sexually-attractive” dancer girl. Yes I know, it’s hard to say her name, but trust me, it’s even harder to look at her. Wearing a top that reveals too much of what you don’t want to see, this girl grinds and shakes her gelatinous thighs around in a combination of dirty dance moves that would make Patrick Swayze uncomfortable. Just looking at her is enough to give you optical herpes. All the beer in the party wouldn’t make you sexy, so why not exchange that sleazy shirt for a touch of class? If not for yourself, then at least for the rest of us who have to suffer the aesthetic misfortune of coming into contact with you.

I’m sure you can think of many more people who can kill a good party, but if I take the time to write about anymore of them, I’ll end up choking on my own rage (and regurgitated chalupa bits). Parties wouldn’t even be worth going to if it weren’t for true friends, because true friends will share their alcohol with you if you ask politely. And in the end isn’t that all that matters?