Gonzo: Christmas Orgy

I found the host, Nick, sitting alone in the kitchen, drinking eggnog straight from the carton. His eyes were hollow. His Santa hat was on backward.

And that, dear reader, is the gospel of the Gonzo Christmas Party. You don’t need mistletoe. You need a liver of steel, a sense of humor made from broken ornaments, and the willingness to wake up on December 24th wearing a lampshade, next to a stranger named Carol, with no memory of why you have a tattoo of a candy cane on your ankle. gonzo christmas orgy

Then he passed out face-first into a plate of ham. I found the host, Nick, sitting alone in

By Dr. Gonzo (on assignment from the Ghost of Christmas Whatever) And that, dear reader, is the gospel of

The lifestyle of the Gonzo Christmas Party is not for the faint of heart or the sober of liver. You don’t "attend." You surrender . You walk in wearing your ugliest sweater—the one with the reindeer that looks like it’s having a stroke—and within an hour, that sweater is tied around your head like a turban because you’ve decided you’re now the emperor of a small, drunken island made of empty Champagne bottles and shattered snow globes.