The Party To Save Michael

Yesterday Clark and I decided that we needed to sit the boy down (Michael, that is) and try to knock some sense into him. Not literally, you understand. We haven't had to get physical with him, at least not yet.


First, we reminded him (again) of all the great stuff he was going to be missing out on (see Clark's post from Wednesday).


"It's no use, fellas" he said, shaking his head. "My mind is made up. I'm retiring from the butt-kicking game."


We played along. "So what are planning to do with your time?"
"Well, I'm not sure just yet. What I think I might do is to go on a spiritual journey of self-discovery. I shall journey to the Himalayas, find a lonely peak - a blunt one - and sit on it for a few years."

Yeah, right.

At this, I'm sorry to say, we had to stifle a giggle.
Clark said, "Well, OK, if your mind is made up. But at least we should throw you a leaving bash. Invite all our friends. Blow the roof off the place. Whaddya say?"


Might have been a trick of the light but I swear I saw a flicker of suspicion in Michael's eyes.
"Well, alright," said Michael with some reticence. "But don't go to too much trouble, guys."
"Come on, how long have we known each other?" I replied. "We will make it tasteful and chic. It'll be a night to remember."


The party is set for tonight. We have invited EVERYONE, including that caveman we once discovered frozen in a ravine in Sausalito (long story).

Now just calm down, Ug.

The Unbelievababes have been working on decorating the rooms.

Nice job, Gloria!

Marissa has set the tables.

I hit the kitchen with Ulf the Unbelievadog to whip up mass quantities of whipped potatoes.

We even convinced one of Michael's old girlfriends Greta Scacchi to put in an appearance.

We even hired a boat.

So, hopefully, we can change the man's mind. We'll let you know how we get on. Wish us luck.