Are you ready, Sadie? Aha.
Claire? Yeah!
Beth, and all you other Debutantes?
Alright, girls, let's go!

Yes, gals and guys, it's time for another spectacular Cotillion Ball! This week's hostesses are Sadie at Fistful of Fortnights, Claire of e-Claire, Beth of MY Vast Right Wing Conspiracy, and my humble self. For my contribution to the evening's festivities, I'm going to ask the band to, you know, shake it up a little. All this stodgy chamber music has started to give me a headache, yanno?

So they've traded their cellos for basses and their violins for electric guitars--and I even see that the nice gentleman manning the kettledrums has pulled off his powdered wig to reveal a well-laquered mohawk dyed a stunning shade of neon green. This will certainly pump things up a notch or two, don't you think...?

Let the festivities commence!

Oh it's been getting so hard
Livin' with the things you do to me, aha
Oh my dreams are getting so strange
I'd like to tell you everything I see

Prancing out onto the dance floor in her form-fitting pleather ball gown with plunging neckline comes Darleen, already having worked up a sweat ripping apart a so-called "fashion columnist" who seems to think that a politician's family dressing nicely is some sort of fashion faux-pas. Thank goodness that sexy black pleather washes easily, so the bloodstains shouldn't be a bother...

Oh, I see a man at the back
As a matter of fact his eyes are red as the sun
And a girl in the corner let no one ignore her
'Cause she thinks she's the passionate one

Claire comes swinging into step in taffetta that gives new meaning to the phrase "gunmetal grey"...no, wait...hmm, I didn't know taffetta COULD be armor-plated... Anyways, she's feeling great and spoiling for a fight--and lands a solid haymaker on the collective jaws of the London Bombers, British Muslim hypocrites, Tony Blair, and idiots who sympathize with the terrorists.

Oh, yeah, it was like lightning, everybody was frightening
And the music was soothing, and they all started grooving, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah

Thank goodness the crowd is cordoned off behind those handy-dandy velvet ropes, because I'd hate for someone to get anything splashed on them and have to deal with unsightly stains. Especially since Sadie is currently shoving someone's head into the punch bowl using her stainless-steel stiletto heels. Judging by the neurotic dog watching helplessly as his mistress is forcefully invited to sample the champagne sangria, the unfortunate victim must be Margaret Cho.

And the man at the back said
Everyone attack
And it turned into a ballroom blitz
And the girl in the corner said
Boy, I wanna warn ya
It'll turn into a ballroom blitz
Ballroom blitz, ballroom blitz, ballroom blitz

Florida Cracker surely must have been concerned about the excessive amount of blood and refreshing drink that has been spilled causing someone to slip and fall, because she's taken the time to don her skin-tight French Maid HAZMAT suit to mop up the worst of the puddles. And being the razor-sharp Conservative chick she is, she's using John Kerry's ultra-porous super-absorbent cranium to sop up the splattered sangria.

I'm reaching out for something
Touching nothing's all I ever do
Oh, I softly call you over
When you appear there's nothing left of you, aha

Having taken a break from dancing--because snakeskin and metal spikes are so hard to move in, don't you know!--Right Girl is relaxing in the sanctuary of the kitchen, discussing the finer points of Ohio culture with a friendly old butler who kindly offered to buff her six-inch chromed Mandarin-style fingernails for her.

Now the man in the back
Is ready to crack as he raises his hands to the sky
And the girl in the corner is everyone's mourner
She could kill you with a wink of her eye

While Right Girl gets her nails detailed, Ilyka is in the powder room patting her retro 80's hairdo, adjusting her chunky purple plastic bangles and jellies...and musing on the fact that everything considered "new" and "fashionable" is just a retelling of some older craze. She also rips into Baby Boomers who refused to give the next generation a chance at the big-time--and warns that the next generation is also threatening to become another version of the Baby Boomers.

Oh yeah
It was electric, so frightfully hectic
And the band started leaving, 'cause they all stopped breathing

Oh yeah, it was like lightning, everybody was frightening
And the music was soothing, and they all started grooving

It's it's a ballroom blitz, it's it's a ballroom blitz
It's it's a ballroom blitz, yeah, it's a ballroom blitz

Ballroom blitz!

And with a final flourish of screeching guitars and staccato drums, the band groans to an exhausted halt exacerbated by the fact that a stray splash of punch has shorted out several extension cords and set the poor pianist's Steinway Baby Grand ablaze. This will certainly work in the Cotillion's advantage as the sprinkler system will no doubt wash away the blood and beverage that soaked into the floor. As for the revelers themselves, they don't seem to have noticed the surprise precipitation beyond complaining that the drinks are watery. Truly the sign of another successful Cotillion!

cross-posted at Who Tends the Fires