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Alright, alright, everybody shut the fuck up. Mrs. Peabody was in an accident on the way here, they think she might be dead, yadda yadda yadda, I'm taking over the class for today.
My name is Jim, I'm the janitor, but that doesn't mean I can't teach a seminar on running a birthday party for your child. If you're going to hold that against me, I suggest you get the fuck out. I *hate* judgemental assholes, okay?
Anyways, birthday parties, kids fucking love 'em... when they're done right. Do 'em wrong and that's a 365 day curse of whininess on your ass.
Step one: entertainment. Get some fucking clowns, good clowns, dammit. Not some drunk, fat, acting school dropouts who have sloppily applied grease paint in the car ride on the way over. You can't do make-up in a tiny car with 15 people in it. I know this for a fact, I used to go to a lot of Rocky Horror Picture Show screenings in my college days.
Also, no kid wants to pin the tail on the goddamned donkey. Please be more original. This is a celebration of another year in your precious little brat's life. If you wanted to expose the kids to some derivative, rehashed bullshit, just sit them in front of the next episode of Joey.
Step two: Cake. After the brats have wolfed down whatever crap your child begged you for, you're going to have to serve them cake. It's a fucking tradition. And for your sake, and the sake of the children, no ice cream cake. Unless you like cleaning up the lactose intolerant kid's vomit. Again, what you want is originality. Write that down, actually. "Originality". That's all you really need to write down, you throw away your motherfucking pens and pencils.
An example: Dirt cake. You mush some chocolate cake into a bucket with gummi worms and serve it with a shovel.
Ma'am, did you just write that down? What the fuck did I tell you? That's an example, you dumb bitch. It's no longer fucking original. Erase it. Ok, now I'll take your pencil. Thank you.
Let's just move on to step three: treat bags. You want a good treat bag, scratch that, you want the best damn treat bag there is. That means candy, good candy. Like an entire chocolate bar, a bunch of hot lips and green thumbs, and a box of nerds. Then you want some pencils and pens or something, to encourage the learning and whatnot, and some toys. Good toys, but you don't have to go overboard. Make sure the bag is fucking huge and bulky. The kids will feel like they've left with the upper hand.
Finally, if you get any kids who complain about headaches or that they're sick, don't give them tylenol 4's. Their dumb cunt of a mom will flip and act like you're turning their kid into a fucking junky. Even if you stole the pills from the hypocrite's own goddamn purse.
Last of all, have some fucking fun with it, now go home.
-------------------- "I have no valid complaint against hustlers. No rational bitch. But the act of selling is repulsive to me. I harbor a secret urge to whack a salesman in the face, crack his teeth and put red bumps around his eyes." -Hunter S Thompson
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