February 24, 2012

Chronicle parties nearly always degenerate into depraved, drug-swilling freak shows that last into the wee hours. On the one hand, it’s goddamned shameful to see grown adults carrying on in such a reckless, irresponsible manner, but it’s also a lot of fun to watch. Besides, when you’re killing brain cells at such an alarming pace, you want to make memories that are monstrous enough to withstand the denudation of a dozen shots of Old Crow or a paper sack full of glue fumes. It would be easy to blame this behavior on the enormous stress Chron employees are under as standard-bearers for a dying industry, but the truth is we have easy access to media-whoring celebrities with bottomless wallets and a neurotic need for attention. That shit makes for some pretty insane throw-downs. Remember Matthew McConaughey’s drum circle? Last Saturday night was no exception as former Luv Doc proofer/current advernatrix Kristine Tofte celebrated her birthday at the Liberty, a popular night spot on East Sixth. The party was originally planned as a backyard blowout at Tofte’s private residence, “Toftation Island,” but was relocated to the Liberty after the weekend’s torrential rains turned it into exactly that. Rumors were buzzing around the bar that KISS-FM morning DJ and social butterfly Bobby Bones bankrolled the move to the Liberty on the condition that partygoers “get Boned” on his signature drink, the Milk Bone – a frothy mixture of whole milk and butterscotch schanpps. Bearded partiers (which ironically made up nearly half of the Liberty’s clientele Saturday) sported white “bonestaches” for most of the evening. Tofte, in true Chronicle form, augmented her Bone Buzz with a baker’s dozen of whiskey shots followed by a monster hit from a Marley-sized spliff shared by Black Pistol Fire drummer Eric Owen and fellow Canadian/black helicopter spotter Alex Jones – or at least his stoned doppleganger. Not surprisingly, Tofte blacked out around midnight. I must have been really baked on secondary smoke because I swear I saw Tour d’ Unamerica winner Lance “Lefty” Armstrong made a grand entrance in a gold-trimmed litter held aloft by a retinue of towering footmen that included Butthole Surfers fronter Gibby Haynes, Nobel juggler Turk Pipkin, country crooner Bruce Robison, KLBJ-FM DJ Dale Dudley, Texas swinger Ray Benson, and former rock god Robert Plant, who looked exhausted but also greatly relieved that he wasn’t trapped in Patty Griffin’s Hyde Park bungalow baking cookies. Mr. Plant livened up the party considerably when he produced a mason jar full of cocaine. Shortly before sunrise, the jar was finally emptied when Chron proofer/poet/author Sarah Smith and Sports Editor Mark Fagan snorted the last of its contents off Armstrong’s bare torso as he screamed, “I’m a one-percenter, bitches! One percent body fat!” Sure, it sounds kind of dickish now, but you really had to be there.