That's the last time I administer an at-home bro-zilian.

Max had spent a lot of this week handwavily watching sports and R-rated movies and ordering room service, like any teenager who found himself in a hotel room all to himself would do. But this morning he'd come across a TV show about some kids who lived in a hotel and used their suite to throw parties, and suddenly Max had a great idea.

Because Max could throw a hell of a party, okay. His Bar Mitzvah eight months ago had been kick-ass. There had been party motivators and a cake in the shape of a football. And a vodka slide, but Max hadn't been allowed to touch it. Still. Parties couldn't get much better than that.

So that was why, after some haphazard flyering around town today and other spectacularly unsubtle advertising techniques, he was now hosting a party of his own. There was beer (you could buy beer in this town!) and there were snacks and Max even had a badass-looking blazer that was ginormous on him, but he didn't care. Party time!

This was so going to end in a noise complaint.

[[open to all, omfg!]]