On December 31st, Tracie Egan aka SlutMachine, a Jezebel writer and very well put-together woman (see photograph), hosted a party at her house. She even held a contest to be her date. We didn't go but apparently we missed some serious partying because today we got a very angry email/blog post. from her in which the phrase "passed out" "puked" and "Paypal" appear numerous times. Apparently her house is a mess. There's glitter on the floor, wine on the walls and a tampon on the couch. She needs help ($$$) cleaning up. As far as post-bacchanal pleas for renumeration go, this is tops and surely will be used as a template for other disgruntled party-throwers who happened to puke and pass out before someone spilled wine on their signed Dolly Parton poster. Now Egan is out $450, there's a hole in her wall and her "ass is really fucked up." Full tirade/plea/amazing artifact of our generation after the jump.

So actually this is also on her blog with pictures but it is somehow more satisfying, at least to me, to read it without the pictures and to create them in your mind.

Before I get started, just know that the cleaning service I called gave me an estimate of $450. Since most of the damage happened after I passed out, I'm not footing this entire bill. In all the years that I've had parties, I've never so much as even asked for someone to stay and help me clean up, let alone chip in for any of the booze or anything. But today, I'm livid. The people who fucked up my shit know who you are. You have to give me something. I don't care if you're poor. If you can't afford to be an asshole, than you shouldn't act like one.

You can make a deposit into the "I Can Be Tracie's Friend Again" fund via my PayPal account by clicking the following link. You do not need to have a Paypal account in order to do this.

[She includes a PayPal link here]

I've hosted lots of parties in my day, but nothing—nothing—has ever even neared the level of destruction (and blatant disrespect) that happened at my place after I puked and passed out last night. Seriously, this beats out the time that I had a party when my parents went away when I was 17 and Amanda Spence fell down the steps and broke the spokes of the wooden banister, as well as her cheek bone. I understand you guys are party animals, but frankly, I think that some of you are just plain animals. Like wine spilled all over the walls? Are you kidding me?

And it got on my signed Dolly Parton poster, which as some of you know, is one of my most prized possessions in the world.

I heard that Callie fell down the stairs, so I'm assuming that she did this. I also heard that someone poured champagne from the second floor into the Callie's mouth on the first floor. You know, that really fucking pisses me off. There's a fucking television and speakers right there that it could've gotten on, you shit slices. And I know that if that stuff got destroyed, your asses would not compensate me in any way beyond a "Sorry dude." I would never do that in someone's house, whether it's a dump, squat, dorm room or mansion. I wanted people to have a good time. I went out of my way for people to have a good time, and it pisses me off that it was my friends, not strangers, who were doing this shit. I expected a huge mess when I woke up this morning, and expected to do heavy duty cleaning, but this is unreal. I'm fucking pissed.

And who's the asshole who poured beer all over himself? Was that you, Brian? It smells like mildew in here now.

I don't know what the hell was going on in the bathroom downstairs (I do however know about a blow job that went on in the bathroom upstairs...not performed by me), but the shower curtain rod was pulled out of the wall and the rings are broken.

The kitchen suffered damages as well.

There's a hole in the wall, too. It's blurry, but it's there.

I take responsibility for the floors, since the glitter was my idea. It was really pretty when those things popped off.

Oh, and you can't really tell from this picture, but that's an o.b. tampon on my couch. For you boys that don't know, those are the kind you have to finger yourself to use. I don't use them because I don't wash my hands after I use the bathroom.

Anyway, Happy New Year to you all! Even to the assholes who wrecked my place and to the assholes who were the last to leave and left the fucking front door wide open for the entire place to be burgled. I woke up at like 5 am because someone kept calling my phone repeatedly because he thought he left his gloves here. Apparently it was urgent for him to get them, but I'm glad he called, because otherwise, I would've slept through the night with the roof door and the apartment door open.

Also, my ass has the biggest bruise on it and I can't really walk. And this happened to my arm:

I am unable to move. Seriously, my ass is really fucked up. I can't bend over, which is why I called a cleaning service to come here, because it is not humanly possible for me to do this alone. I didn't even include the roof pictures, because there was a pile of chunky puke up there, and as a hangover present, I decided to not include that.