Face it: we all want our events to be their best, but we don’t always know how. The Art of Hosting is the guide to hosting you have been craving. It’s warm, candid, and full of practical advice for making your dinner party, barbecue, mixer, or wedding the best it can be. We hope you enjoy it!
You asked all these people to come to your house, so fucking introduce them to each other, you fucking asshole. Why the fuck else did you invite a bunch of people who don’t know each other into your home? You have work to do. Walk around and introduce them. Put them together. Don’t sit on your fucking couch talking to your old girlfriend. Fuck you. Introduce people. You see the couple from work sitting in the kitchen, talking to no one? They left their infant with their senile aunt, they rode the subway for an hour to get to your house, and now they’re standing alone talking to each other. That means you failed. That means you are a criminal. Get the fuck off your ass and make sure they have someone to talk to. Entertain them in some way, you fucking jerkoff. If your guests are talking to the fucking people they came with, then you are not fucking hosting. You invited your cousins, you invited people from work, people from college and your fucking neighbors. You did this. You. It was your idea. This is your house. Now you have to do something about it. Put people together. Do something. Make up a game or something, you giant fucking prick.
You think a party is people standing in your fucking kitchen drinking from cups? That is a fucking joke and you are a fucking clown. That is not a party. That is nothing. You are nothing. You think everyone will go home talking rhapsodically about how great it was to come to your house and stand in your kitchen? What a gas! We stood in the kitchen for three hours holding cups, then went home. What the fuck is wrong with you? Do something. Think of something. Play a game. It doesn’t matter if the game is stupid. People will play it. Play fucking limbo. Limbo is fucking sexy and all you need is a broom. Charades. People fucking dig charades, you fucking pussy. Don’t roll your eyes. You think your fucking idea, which is nothing, is better? You think nothing is better than something? Do you? You think all these people want to come the fuck over and fucking do nothing? Think about it. Come over and stand in my kitchen. Put that on an invitation. See who comes. Don’t argue. You think standing in your kitchen is better than a game? Sitting on your couch alone, picking at the fucking guacamole is fucking better than charades? Fuck you. Play a game, motherfucker.
Think of something. Anything. Get a fucking magician. Get a fucking singing telegram. Doesn’t matter. It can be weird. It should be weird. What will people remember — the party where not one fucking interesting thing happened, or the one where the guy showed up in a gorilla suit and sang “The Internationale”? Have a breakdancing contest, you piece of fucking shit. Have someone dress up as a Jawa and hand out condoms. Anything. Just think for a second. Come up with a fucking idea. Make people do it. Play strip poker. People want to be talked into something like that. If your guests are old, then turn the lights down and play strip poker. Everyone wants that. Get a bellydancer. Doesn’t matter if she’s any good. Even better if she isn’t. People took the trouble to come to your fucking house. Entertain them. Don’t say people want to come over and just talk while you play Frank Ocean music. They don’t. No one wants that. Fuck you. Do some entertainment, douchebag.