Report On The Northern Stagecoach Club's Annual Holiday & New Years Party (Rejected by McSweeney's Internet Tendency)

(Two thoughts about this little piece: it could use a good amount of trimming, and it probably would have had a better chance if I submitted it earlier than after the new year [and cut about 200+ words])

Report On The Northern Stagecoach Club's Annual Holiday & New Years Party
by Sean-Patrick Burke

Mr. & Mrs. Galloway were the first to arrive at the clubhouse and immediately began preparing the main room for the festivities. After stringing lights, venting frustration at the absence of any additional assistance, and smoothing out tablecloths, they were joined by Mr. Fazzino, who apologized for Mrs. Fazzino's absence, as she was not feeling well, which was a lie, as she was feeling very well, lying underneath Mr. Peterson in Mr. and Mrs. Fazzino's bed, Mr. Peterson being their neighbor who had never even bothered to ask to join the Northern Stagecoach Club. Mrs. Galloway, having been aware of Mrs. Fazzino's infidelities, not just with Mr. Peterson, but also Messrs. Gersz and Cragle, proverbially and actually bit her tongue.

The early birds completed the majority of the preparations by the time fellow members Mr. and Mrs. Zipfel, Mr. and Mrs. Gschwind, and Mr. and Mrs. Hagan, along with Mr. Shongole, the homosexual, arrived, increasing the volume of the room if not the productivity. Mr. Shongole, an electrician, was given the task of putting whipping cream cans in ice baths, wiping out chowder bowls, and polishing candlestick holders, while Mr. Zipfel and Mr. Hagan attempted and yet failed to make the holiday lights around the room blink in a pleasant rhythm.

(Addendum: Mr. Hagan thought it ridiculous that the club used the term holiday instead of Christmas as, he estimated, the club had no blacks or Jews; however, he had only known Mr. and Mrs. Neubert since their membership began in August, and as their conversations had never ventured into the spiritual, and as Mr. Neubert had a big nose, and as Neubert struck Hagan as a Jewey sounding name, Mr. Hagan kept his frustration to himself, a constant refrain in his inner monologue that night.)

At just after seven o'clock, the party began, with the addition of Mr. Gustin (the Club President and a longtime widower), Ms. Wellington, Mr. and Mrs. Bell, Mr. and Mrs. Legere (and their son, who was not a member, but as he was of age Mr. Gustin, deemed his presence acceptable, even if the younger Legere had a thousand things he'd rather do that evening than fart around with his parents and their friends, even for free booze), Mr. and Mrs. Baxter-Jones, Mr. McLaughlin (whose wife was in Florida, and yet whose piercing eyes he still felt on his every move and thought), and Mr. and Mrs. Slattery.

Messrs. and Mesdames. Abbott, Ciervo, Cranford, Damboise, Hebert, LeDuc, Lenz, Mackiewicz, Maske, Mastroianni, Micucci, Murphy, Nadeau, O'Leary, O'Regan, Ososki, Peck, Pond, Ray, Raymond, Reed, Symmes, Thomas, Wilson, Yarochowicz, and Ziegler all had let their memberships expire throughout the year, as the recession caused them to rethink their priorities, the Club not making the cut.

The younger Legere discovered that a mixture of white wine, ice and ginger ale didn’t suck so bad, the ensuing drunk being better than the boilermakers his circle of friends abused themselves with most nights of most weeks. He also discovered that he just fucking loved strawberries, and that either Mr. Gschwind or Mr. Gustin (he couldn't remember afterwards) had been an attendee at the first Woodstock, which was, in Mr. Gschwind's or Mr. Gustin's mind, the only one.

Mr. and Mrs. Legere conversed with Mr. Gustin, the most memorable aspect of which being the subtle moves the Legeres took to remain upwind of Mr. Gustin's halitosis.

Mr. Hagan filled his stomach with food and wine, vomited like a Roman in the bathroom, rinsed his mouth out with water, tried to remember exactly if it was the Romans or Greeks that went all faggy like Shongole, attempted to Google the fact on his phone but couldn't quite get the hang of it, and spent the remainder of the night eating antacids, burping up wine gas, and concentrating on a spot on the wall in the distance so he wouldn't lose his balance.

Mr. Fazzino attempted several times to get his wife on the phone to check on how she was feeling, but it kept going to voice mail.

Mr. Galloway talked elections with Mr. Zipfel, baseball with Mr. Gschwind, and the television show Lost with Ms. Wellington, who had never been interested in the show but nonetheless listened, as she thought Mr. Galloway resembled a less inhibited Father Mulcahy.

Mr. Shongole sipped several club sodas with lime, rubbed the one-year medallion in his pocket, and repeatedly reminded himself over the course of the night that the jackasses in that room comprised a good third of his yearly business, thanks not only to their constant renovations, but more profitably their attempts to do the job themselves at first.

Mesdames. Bell, Baxter-Jones, and Slattery round about the wine table went, eating fingers of sliced carrots, crushing eyes of cherry tomatoes, wiping tartar sauce from their lips as they slowly destroyed their plastic cups, paper plates, and remaining good looks. When asked her opinion of the brinded brownies, Mrs. Bell declared them both firm and good.

Mr. McLaughlin inspected nearly every woman present from across the room and regretted not bringing his own beverages, as he had never been a wine guy.

At the turn of the new year, the couples (old and newly formed, including the younger Legere and either Mr. Gschwind or Mr. Gustin, the two being so close in name and appearance to the youth) kissed and celebrated with champagne, except for Mr. Shongole, who was sitting in his car in the parking lot of Woodsburn Package with the medallion burning in his pocket and a different burning in his throat.

Mr. and Mrs. Neubert had stayed at home, drinking merlot from coffee cups in their underwear, watching episodes of Cathouse from the DVR, and after nearly a half hour of foreplay and intercourse and the ball drop on ABC, left the television on The Weather Channel while Mr. Neubert read ten pages of The Monsters of Templeton and Mrs. Neubert finished writing out the addresses for their still-unsent Christmas cards.