My life is stupid and I want to party with a Ghost

Oh look, lost media! Ain't that fun? How'd you find this? Doesn't matter - I hid it here for you to enjoy.

Here's the Proto-Bitch.

\- Part 1 -

World's gone stupid, ain't it?

Got a pedophile cabal ruling the world. Just an open secret. An open secret not unlike the secret that my job, a big box retailer that rhymes with PaulBlart, uses slave labor and suppliers who also use slave labor to function. Gotta keep those prices low, right? “Slave money, Live better”, or whatever bullshit slogan they're currently usin’. And I gotta fuckin' work there. Stupid shit.

Point is, I hate my job. Night shift is rough, but I do back to back doubles as often as I can. In part to keep my mortgage paid, sure. But I kinda just want to stay out of the house as much as possible, too.

It's pretty lonely at home nowadays. Makes me sad bein’ there, ever since Deb left and took the kids. She swore up and down the place is haunted. Bullshit, I say.

“Earl, there's that voice again.” she would say, shaking me awake in the dead of night. Sometimes, if I listened hard enough, I would almost believe her.

The nights out in the sticks are thick and dark. Moon likes to cast long, creeping shadows that touch your cheek and the forest critters love to whimper and chatter and make you wonder if you heard… somethin’ else.

But I know Deb. She has problems, you know? Makes stuff up sometimes. The night she left, she really tried to scare me. Brushed the hair away from my ear and whispered to me.

“let's party,” Deb whispered. She always swore to God she didn't, but I heard her. She even pretended to be asleep that night. It was almost convincin'.

I don't believe in any of that dumb shit, though. But she and the kids sure did, and that night was their last straw. That was a year ago tonight. And you know what? I ain't seent nor heard not a thing weird since she left. Ain't that funny?

To tell you the truth, I don't believe in too much of anything anymore. I just clock in for work, work ‘till it hurts, do a double if I can, and go home at the ass crack of dawn. Boss won't let me do a triple, or come in on my days off. Asshole. I bet he lined this up so I'd have to be home for the long holiday weekend. Right here on the day my family left.

I got a hole in my chest and I'm looking to fill it with whiskey. It's the only way I can be in this damn house right now.

Suns up, bottoms up.

\- Part 2 -

\*Beeeeeeeep\*

\*Beeeeeeeep\*

\*Beeeee-

I pick up and slam my phone… somewhere. Forgot to turn off the alarm. My head pounds and stomach swirls as I stumble through the pitch-black obstacle course every house becomes at night. I hurl a handle of ‘henny into the toilet as thunder rolls in the distance.

I “feed me” flush the toilet, jerking my head back toward the bedroom. Could have sworn I heard something. I stare into the abyss beyond the bathroom door. Be lyin' if I said I didn't feel something' staring back.

That's that forest night for you. A tree branch catches a stray moonbeam and your mind is off to the races.

Thunder rumbles slowly as I fill my cupped hands with cool tap water. I think about splashing my face, like a skin-care product commercial, but I do not. I just take a long drink.

Somewhere in the trees just outside the bathroom window, a pack of wolves holler and howl. I ain't gonna lie. I almost spit out my water. Caught me off guard is all.

I could go do somethin’, since I'm awake. Go play that new Backyard Baseball game, maybe. Go outside and wait to get hit by lightning in this comin' storm. I think I'll just go back to bed.

No work, no drive, no problem.

I stumble back to bed, pull up the sheets and watch rain start to patter against the window. I pick a water drop and watch it roll down the glass.

Lightning crashes just outside “Feed me” with a wall rattling boom. The whole room is lit in purple and blue hues for just one second too long. I thought I saw somethin’, over there in the corner. I scan the darkness, trying to prove I didn't see anything.

\*BOOOOOOOOOMmmmmrumble\*

Another quick flash illuminates the thing sure to kill me. Long, jagged arms with knives for fingers loom over me. Jet-black, floor length hair dangles from a crooked skeletal head.

My heart, a string of expletives, and another heave of vomit all fight for the right to fly out my mouth. The only thing that flies is myself, out of my bed, as I scramble to find the lightswitch \*somewhere\* on the wall. I feel cold, putrid breath on the back of my neck and I flick on the lights to find,

Nothing.

Just an empty room.

Of course.

Another low rumble of thunder rattles my bones as I take a long, shaking breath. I look all around the room for the thing I thought I saw.

Must be the drink. I got off the stuff years ago. Deb told me it was her or the alcohol. Can't handle it like I used to, I guess.

I'm just drunk and scared in my shitty, lonely lil’ doublewide.

“Shit. Can't handle bein’ in this damn house anymore,” I say to nobody.

I grab the nearly finished bottle off my bedside table, take another long swig and set it back down. The bottle hits the table with a sloshy thunk.

I go back to sleep with the lights on, just in case.

\- Part 3 -

I blink my bloodshot eyes hard. Sunlight streams in from the window and assaults my eyes. Can't see shit. I stumble over and pull the blinds closed.

“What time is it?” I wonder aloud. If I could find my phone I could answer that myself. I look over the room like an idiot. Only place it could be is near the bed. Must have fallen between the bed and nighttable.

I fumble some fingers in that dark crevice like a highschooler on prom night. In my struggle, I bumped the table. My whiskey falls to the soft, carpeted floor with a dull thud and I groan. I'm too hungover to clean up a spill.

After a long moment, I pull my phone free. It's a little worse for wear with a new designer crack along the screen. Shouldn't have been so rough on it, but, it shouldn't have been so damn loud. I turn to the fallen bottle and stop dead.

I would have bet my left nut that I still had a cups worth in that damn bottle.

It's bone dry.

There's no way I drank all of it, and no way I'da drank it in my sleep.

Hell, maybe I did. I'll just have to grab another bottle at the store down the road.

I grab my keys, pocket my wallet, and step out the front door. Right into a bloody, gory puddle.

“What the fuck?” I grumble, as my boots crunch down on some tiny bones. My stomach lurches with each of my squelching steps.

Coyote must've dragged something to the doorstep and killed it. Goddamn. Poor little thing. I think it was the neighbors missin' cat. Took ‘till the sun was burning my neck to wash the poor feller off the steps. I was more than glad to be done with my grim task and cruisin' down the dirt road.

\*dingaling\* Says the bell by the door of my favorite store. It's dusty and old, like Jimmy himself. Place is so old it doesn't even have fluorescent lights. Just lazily spinning, barely functional lighted ceiling fans that give the place a warm, dim glow.

“Hey Earl.”

“Hey, Jimmy.”

Jimmy does what he always does whenever I'm in here. He tries to talk my ear off while I get my essentials. A stack of hungryman dinners, Salisbury Steak. Mm. Some toiletries. A couple handles. A twelve pack. I set it all on the counter and catch his side-eye.

“Thought you was done with the drink, bud?” Jimmy asks while the register beeps.

I grunt an apparently unsatisfying response and slide a fifty across the counter.

“You uh, doin’ ok bud?” Jimmy asks. I gather my things. “I-, I only ask because I know it's the anniversar-"

“I'm alright, Jimmy.” I grumble and dingaling back out the store before he can prod any more.

\[ Metallica - Don't Tread on Me \] glows red on the dash of my pickup. I drum along on the steering wheel as I ride the backroads back home.

Metallica keeps playing without me as I jerk the wheel, trying to avoid a white blur streaking across the road. It went from treeline to treeline in just a second. The ride gets bumpy as I struggle for control to get back on the road.

“Shit fuck far,” I yell, my eyes jumping between mirrors looking for that… thing. The fuck was that? A deer? Glad I didn't hit that sumbitch, at least.

I turn the music down for the rest of the ride home. Gotta see better. Don't need no wreck, I just got this puppy paid off.

I pull up my dirt road and shut my truck off. My ears catch something just as I try to gather my crap from the passenger seat.

Just under the sounds of the forest, the birds chirping and the squirrels a-rustlin’, Metallica is still playing. I check the trucks ignition. Keys are in my pocket. I look around, confused, trying to pinpoint the source of the tunes.

I turn my head slowly as I realize the music isn't coming from somewhere out here. The music is coming from inside the house. A blur passes by the living room window.

“What the hell?” I put my drinks down and grab the prybar I keep in the truckbed. Red and rusty and ready for business.

With every step toward my front door, my heart threatens to seize up. All that damn cholesterol is mixin’ with my fear and sending me into a sweaty panic. Damn Salisbury Steaks. Every step toward my front door, the music gets that much louder.

\*SLAM\* my front door blasts open and nearly breaks off the hinges. Metallica screams along with… something else. Something throaty and gurgly, like this thing is drowning in its own blood while it screeches. It bowls me right over and takes off into the forest, taking Metallica with it.

I pick myself up, clutching my prybar for dear life while my eyes dart between the trees. Orange afternoon light streams through the branches all around my property. Every awkward shadow sends my heart pounding anew.

A bird chirps gently. The trees rustle their leaves together and a gust of wind carries all the sound away.

I gather my shit, get inside, and lock every door I can with a quickness. I down a steak and a fifth with even more quickness.

\- Part 4 -

I'm awoken by the rattling clang of falling, empty Coors cans.

The shitty tube tv in front of me casts blue over the otherwise dark room. It's cold as fuck in here. Jeeeeezus.

I practically fall out of my lay-z-boy as I realized I wasn't the one who knocked over the cans. I haven't even drank any Coors yet.

“Fuck,” I grunt as I feel around for my prybar. I bet it's that fuckin' screamin' weirdo from earlier. Back again and drankin' my shit!

Another can crumples onto the linoleum floor in the kitchen. I sneak over that way with my prybar held high. I'm gonna tear this asshole a new one.

There! In the corner, behind the kitchen table! Hiding in the dark, drinkin' my shit! I can just barely see their shape in the dark.

I flick on the kitchen light with a guttural scream. I'm already bringing old rusty down as I get a good look at…

Her?

This woman, hiding in my kitchen surrounded by empty Coors cans, screams as we see each other.

I jerk my wrist painfully and bring the prybar down on my kitchen table with a crack.

“Wh-what the hell are you doin’ in my house?!”

The woman stands, with an odd smoothness, from her sitting position.

Long, jet-black hair drapes down her body. She's wearing a pristine white robe, or dress, or somethin’ that reaches her feet. She lifts an arm and I half expect to see knives for fingers. I back away and hold my prybar high again.

She takes her normal hand, with her normal fingers, and brushes the hair from her face. She's stunnin’. Like, an eleven outta ten. Her skin is as white and flawless as her dress.

“Feed me,” she says. Her voice is wrong and raspy. Like a lost whisper on a dark and stormy night. She points a lithe, pale finger toward the empty cans on the floor.

“Feed you? What?”

She points again to the empty Coors cans.

I blink my tired, kinda drunk eyes. “Wha-”

She's gone.

I whip around, checking every corner and every shadow and every angle. It's like she was never here. Ain't no way she made it out past me or out the kitchen window. But where the fuck did she go?

“Well, damn,” I say. She didn't have to take off like that. I wouldn't ever turn away someone who was hungry, even if they're a little weird. And I certainly wouldn't turn away such a pretty lady.

“Double damn,” I say, realizing she drank all my Coors.

I chuckle and wipe my cold, sweaty forehead. "My kinda lady.”

\- Part 5 -

The rest of the long weekend was an uneventful, bitter blur. I made several more trips to see Jimmy. He'd ask what all the booze was for.

“For my friend,” I'd only half lie.

I ended up drinkin' most of the stuff by myself. That lady never turned back up. I placed whiskey and Coors all over the house. Even splurged on some Banquet. Not even a sip.

Guess I scared her off pretty good. Damn.

“Earl. Look alive. Got a fully loaded truck backin' in right now.”

“Yeah, Steven. I know,” I slurred just a little. He squints his eyes and tries to suss out if I'm drunk or hungover. He grumbles and fucks off.

Steven's the manager here. Real gruff hardass who loves two things. Micromanaging, and talkin' about his new Corvette. Never talks about his children, of course. He's the type to always be at work. Fuckin’ prick. Wish I had a Corvette.

I toss boxes until I'm sober and my shift is over. I don't even want to do a double today. I want to get home and see if that girl came back around. I crank my truck and just about shit myself as a red Corvette roars up beside me, windows down.

“Show up fucked up again and you're fired, Earl,” Steven says before he peels out the parkin' lot.

Fuckin’ prick. I've given a decade to this hell hole. Only took this damn job to pay for diapers. Kept it because of the house. I wanted to be an engineer or somethin', you know. And this motherfucker threatens me over a little slipup?

\[ Skid Row - Slave to the Grind \] glows blue from the dash display and bangs on my eardrums all the way home. I pull up my driveway and shut ‘er off.

Skid Row pours from my glowing house. Red light shines more brightly than the morning sun ever could, from every window of my trailer.

My heart pounds as I watch Satan's rave happening in my house. The red glow pulses to the beating of the drums.

I shake my head and paw at my pocket for my keys. Ain't no way I should go in there. I should get in my truck and get the hell outta dodge. Leave this shithole to the demons or crackheads or whatever partying in there.

But… there's sick tunes, booze, and a light show in there.

“Well shit, let's party,” I say. The light show goes ballistic.

I open the front door… to nothing. Just my normal, Coors covered house. No light show. No demons. No nothin’. I breathe a sigh of relieved disappointment.

I pop my boots off and pop a squat in my lay-z-boy. I reach for the TV remote and,

Then I hear it.

Rustlin'. Coors cans crumplin'. Coming from the bathroom down the hall. I creep over there and gently push the door open.

Empty, crushed Coors cans cover the bathroom floor. There's someone behind the shower curtain. I can see their outline. Still as a corpse, facing right at me. Corpses typically have legs, though. The outline stops at the waistline.

I want to run away. Every fiber of my being and every survival instinct is telling me to get the fuck out of here.

But her giggle is so very comforting. She giggles as she slides a hand from behind the curtain. Her fingers beckon me over. If I could resist, I would. I step closer.

Her shadowy outline on the shower curtain grows and begins to tower over me. The shadow extends impossibly up onto the ceiling. She giggles as I whimper and pull my muscles back away as hard as I can, to no avail. Her long, slender, porcelain arm reaches around and grabs the curtain. Her nails are sharp and painted black. In the blink of an eye, the entire curtain is pulled to.

She's gone. There isn't a gargantuan monster, a freaky ghost, or a hottie behind the curtain. Just an empty shower. A cold breeze rushes past me and pushes my hair away from my ear.

“Feed me more. Let's party,” she whispers.

\- Part 6 -

I emptied my bank account. Maxed out my credit cards. That girl wants to party, so I need alcohol. Lots of it. Jimmy didn't want to take my cards, so I got my booze from work. They didn't give a damn and that's fine by me.

Maybe I'm a dumbass. I coulda ran away at this point. My body listens to me, my legs work even when I catch the girl in the shadows or out of the corner of my eye. I thought about leaving, but where would I go?

More importantly, why would I go?

My life sucks. My life has gone stupid, right along with the rest of the world.

I work and work for nothing. I ain't even providing for a family anymore. Not until the child support payments start auto deducting from my bank next month, anyway.

My boss sucks.

My job sucks.

Ain't got no friends.

Ain't got no money.

Deb done took the kids.

Now she's threatenin’ to take the truck, too.

That bitc… that mother of my children's been callin' me all week. I've blown her off. What more can she take?

All I got left is my house. My stupid fuckin’ house that ran off my wife and kids. My stupid \*haunted\* house.

Fuck it, you know what I mean?

I wanna party with the hot ghost in my stupid fuckin’ haunted house.

I got it all. Hunnits of handles of ‘henny, whiskey, rum, bourbon, vodka. Mountains of cans of Coors, Bud, Stella. You name it, I got it all for that giga-hottie. I've left hundreds of gallons of top-tier booze out for this broad, all over my house. You'd think I was the one with the problem.

I ain't seent her in a minute, not like that one night, but I know she's here. She's been drinkin' more and more of the good stuff. I think the expensive shit makes her more… powerful? I caught a good glimpse of her last night. Full body apparition. FULL. BODY. She's got curves for days now, and she's more solid than ever.

And I think I know how to get her back. She seems to like to rock out to loud tunes. She peeks around the corner when I have MTV on, but the TV doesn't seem loud enough for her or somethin'.

She wants to party, right? Wants that music loud? Well hell, she's gonna get some loud got'damn tunes.

So I swiped a big-ass speaker set from work. Whole thing barely fit in my truck bed. If Steven finds out, I'm boned. I can't pay for it. But the bastard owes me this much, at least. I won't have to deal with him tonight. I called out. He's been blowin’ up my phone, but I don't care.

Took me a long while to get this shit rigged up right. I got bass-boosted, high end speakers everywhere. Nailed on the trees outside, facing the house. Screwed into the siding of the house, facing out to the trees. Got ‘em strung up all over the inside. Got a subwoofer on the toilet, got a tower speaker by the bed. Got it all hooked up to the main speaker here by my lay-z-boy, bluetoothed to my phone.

It's dark as an abyss out there. The moon and stars are tucked behind some dark, silent clouds. It's like the forest itself done went and died. There's not even an owl hoot-hootin’ out there.

I turn the volume knob to eleven.

Let's fuckin’ party.

\[ Rob Zombie - Living Dead Girl \] flashes blue on the tiny LCD screen of my massive living room speaker.

Rob shakes the motherfuckin' trees. Splits the goddamn logs. The guitar sunders the earth itself. The bass and drums knock me down and cause every livin' critter in a mile radius to skitter away from my private concert. Kinda wish I had some earplugs.

Everything turns bright red. So bright it's hard to see. A crack forms in my livin' room floor, spilling more red up from the carpet.

A flash of hellish heat is snuffed out and replaced with a frigid chill. I shiver and my heart pounds as \*she\* rises up from the crack in the floor. She just keeps goin'. A solid 8 feet tall, with that crazy long jet-black hair to match.

"Hell. Yeah. Brother."

Her porcelain skin takes on a red tint from… whatever is causing everything else to be red.

Rob announces the arrival of the Livin’ Dead Hottie. Clad in ripped leather and sharp, black makeup.

Her eyes are dark, black voids. It should be terrifying, but I fall right into them. She giggles, just a little wrong. A little distorted. But I am too lost in those beautiful, terrifying black voids to care.

“Let's party,” she commands.

I fling my mullet and we headbang all night long.

\- Part 7 -

I awake the next night to my blaring, ringing phone. Slept past my work alarm. Stupid fuckin' Steven ruined my good sleep.

I couldn't keep up with ol' ghost girl, or whatever she is. At some point I remember us dancin' and rockin' out, and then everything went black. I don't remember drinkin' anything, but all the booze is gone. Every last drop. She's a thirsty one. The last thing I remember is her demanding to be fed.

My head is killin' me. So's the rest of me.

I swipe my phone and accidentally accept Steven's call.

“You dumb motherfucker! You're late and you know we're short staffed! Listen here, you drunk piece of shit. You better be thankful you even HAVE this job! I got a list of applicants a mile long! Get your ass in here pronto or you're fucking don-"

I end the call without a word. He can just get one of those other willing employees, since he has so many lined up. I'm tired of workin' at that shithole.

I hope he's slingin' them boxes and earning that damn Corvette.

Deb texted. Said she's bringin’ the divorce papers at the ass-crack of dawn. Called me some rather rude names, too.

It don't matter. None of this matters. I just wanna fuckin' party, man.

The \*only\* thing that matters is partyin' with that hot ghost. And, of course, gettin’ more booze. So I can party. With the hot ghost.

I gotta go see Jimmy. I'll beg him to put it all on a tab. I'm sure he will.

I down a hungryman Salisbury Steak and some Coors and head off to see my buddy about some drinks.

\*dingaling\*

“Holy shit Earl, you look like you been to hell and back.”

“What's it to yuh?” I grunt. Jimmy frowns. “Sorry. Long week,” I say.

I ransack the liquor shelves, grabbing as much from the top shelf as possible.

“Deb's in town. She came in here askin' about you earlier. She asked if you were drinkin' agai-"

“I don't give a damn about that woman,” I slam the bottles onto the counter. Shoulda slammed ‘em harder, woulda turned that deep pain into rage instead of wet eyes.

“I cain't sell you that, Earl. You're killin’ yourself.”

I look Jimmy up and down. He does the same. An ancient ceiling fan above him rattles as it spins.

“If you don't, someone else will," I say.

“Put it down and get out-" Jimmy starts to say, reaching for the bottles. He screams and recoils at something.

“Wh-What happened to your arm, fella?!” Jimmy shouts.

I look down and blink a couple'a times. Guess I must be a bit more buzzed than I thought, cause I sure should be feelin' that.

My right arm is mincemeat. Bloody, torn, and sinewy. Looks like it's been run through a wood chipper. I see my exposed muscles contracting as I struggle to pull the bottles back from Jimmy.

Jimmy reaches for his old corded phone and I make a break for it, bottles secured. I toss ‘em in my truck and peel outta the parking lot. I see Jimmy in the rearview, runnin' to catch me. I hit the gas and fly down a backroad.

\- Part 8 -

I know Jimmy called the cops. Had to have. I stole a thousand dollars worth of drink from ‘em. I know the cops are lookin' for me. That's why I used every trick in the book. Drove through some back yards. Through the trees. Went down every back road I could, just so they couldn't find me.

Ol' Jimmy don't know where I live. Neither do the cops. So I figured I just had to make it home without a cop spottin' me. I've spent most of the night carefully pickin' my way back home.

I don't even bother turnin’ off the truck. The sun's just about to rise. I wanna see that goth baddie just one more time. I have to. Feels like I can't wait even one more second.

I just wanna party, just wanna drink. Ain't nothin' else matters anymore. It don't even matter that the forest itself is whispering to me, begging me to party. Begging me to call forth that ghost and drink my pain away with her.

I grab my bottles and start stashin’ them things anywhere I think a hot ghost might want to look. Beside the front door, on the kitchen table, between my legs on my lay-z-boy. You know, anywhere.

I sit back, pop open a cold one, and hit play.

“Let's fuckin’ party,” I say aloud.

The LCD screen lights up red.

\[ Dio - Gypsy \]

Huh. I didn't pick that song.

Dio tears my soul in two, the guitar shredding the living room to pieces. The speaker system immediately shatters all the glass in the trailer. The world rocks and my stomach rolls.

*SHE WAS STRAIGHT FROM HELL*

*BUT YOU NEVER COULD TELL*

*CAUSE YOU WERE BLINDED BY HER LIGHT*

Everything turns red real fuckin' quick, too. Too quick. Takes me by surprise. I go to get up… but I can't. I can't move!

The girl, the ghost, the demon. That beautiful bitch shoots straight up from hell. Express delivery. I struggle and squirm. She giggles. It was cute before, calmin’ even. Now it's terrifying. Her giggling turns to a gurgling cackle. She opens her mouth and Dio seeps out from somewhere inside her. Like she's... mimicking the music, or some shit.

One of her arms extends way across the living room. I hear her bones snap and bend and pull apart. She grabs a bottle of Jim Beam and smashes it on the floor. She shoves broken glass into her mouth and bites down. Crunching over and over. She stares me down and swallows the glass. Dio becomes garbled and distorted.

She begins to loom over me as blood pours from her mouth. Shadows pour from the voids of her eyes. Her arms elongate and her black nailed fingers turn serrated and sharp. Her long, black hair wriggles and cascades on itself, growing impossibly fast and coating the living room floor. The girl herself begins to morph from a goth baddie into a lanky, misshapen monster made of long shadows and porcelain skin.

I scream and beg and struggle and fail to do anything other than sit here and watch her increasingly lanky body coil around me like a giant, evil, pale snake. Her hair moves on its own and begins wrapping itself around my neck. She stares me down with those awful, black voids.

*SO I'M RIDIN'*

*I'M STILL RIDIN'*

*YES I'M RIDIN' ON THE GYPSY*

*ON THE GYPSY QUEEN*

*SHE'S MEAN*

She giggles. Gurgles. What-the-fuck ever.

“I don't want to party anymore,” I cry as her hair squeezes the words out of my throat.

“Feed me,” she whispers in my ear.

\- Part de Finale -

\*dingaling\*

“Howdy,” says Jimmy.

A woman with long, jet-black hair says nothing to Jimmy as she makes her way into the store. Jimmy watches her with a weary eye. Ain't every day he sees a new face. Let alone such a pretty one. He wants to strike up a conversation, schmooze a little.

“Y'hear about the murder suicide down the way?” Jimmy says as he reads from the paper splayed out on his counter. “Front page news.”

He almost regrets his words. Seems disrespectful. Also seems kinda pointless, now that he thinks about it. It's been the talk of the town for a week now.

No response. The woman grabs something from the big cooler in the back.

Jimmy swallows hard. “Poor Earl. Poor Deb. And them kids, man. Shit. I still just cain't believe he did that. It's always the ones you least expect. I knew he was strugglin’. I tried to keep the booze away from him-”

The tall, leather-clad woman seems to glide over to the counter, a twelve pack in each pale, slender hand. She grins a little too wide at Jimmy and finally acknowledges him, to his delight.

“Let's party.”