Everyone wants to ride on my party boat. You do, and I know you do, even if you’ve never seen it. There is not a single unsexy element. If you find one, you’re looking at a Coast Guard vessel or a Greenpeace ship or something else that’s got no business in my ocean. Any boat that isn’t my party boat should be sunk, but I’d feel sorry for the poor torpedo that would have to do it. We have so much fun on my party boat.

Even at a great distance, you can hear the laughter of beautiful people who’ve always known they are beautiful people and are perfectly happy to let the world reward them for it. The fact that we’re only half-naked on deck is a kind of evil. Is that the pop of a champagne bottle? Are you kidding? We pop nonstop on my party boat. I have deejays fore and aft—one for ’90s hits, one for reggae shit—because my party boat is large enough for two. I also deejay sometimes.

We have the highest-quality marijuana from trusted suppliers in the most isolated jungles. It’s not just weed. It’s the culmination of weed.

As you draw closer to my party boat, you’ll notice its name on the hull: The Horsin’ Around. It says a lot about what we do and acts as a reminder of what we should do if we ever forget. But we don’t forget. Everyone knows what it means to be on board my party boat. It’s as if God himself put a tequila shot in each of our hands and said, “I want you to know: Your fun is my sole priority.”

But I haven’t answered the crucial question, have I? How do you ride my party boat? I’ll get to that. There’s just one thing I forgot to mention.

I forgot to mention that everything I’ve just said would’ve been true seven months ago before my party boat hit a sudden squall that flooded the engines and shorted out all our electrical equipment. Before we were stranded 50 miles offshore with two nights’ worth of provisions, before the models started gulping down seawater, and before a certain professional football franchise owner deliriously decided to swim for it, and we felt nothing but relief that there’d be one less corpse to throw overboard ourselves.

That was the last emotion we had on my party boat.

I’m technically alive, yes, but what I’ve done to other human beings on my party boat to keep my guts going has made me far less human myself. There are other survivors, I think. I can’t discern the living from the dead anymore on my party boat. If you find us below deck gnawing on satay skewers that haven’t had food on them in half a year, rescue us only if you think it’s worth it.

Anyway, that doesn’t really change how you get to ride on my party boat. It’s actually pretty basic: You just have to be super-hot or a serious A-lister. If you’re not—even if you’re close enough to hear us wailing—you can just turn right around and book yourself a Carnival Cruise.