I owe the world a damn favor.

Alright, I can't even be bothered to look up when the last time was that I wrote about my regular Friday night party. Truth be told, I missed a few. I been damn busy lately, and ain't always brought any game come the weekend. Not anymore. Not this week. It is Wednesday, and I am going to put ALL of my emotions and reasoning into this bash. I may explode an actual bomb — I don't know. But you can see the scale I'm thinkin' on.

First off, I'm gonna call the event ENORMOUS BY RAY SMUCKLES. That will be the name of the party. There will be no small beverages. Everyone will be handed an unlabelled magnum-size bottle of whatever they order at the bar, even if it's gin and tonic (the bottle will have a shoulder strap, made out of a modified guitar strap, like a bota bag). This should get everyone enormously honked up and making bold claims by 9pm.

The food will be enormous: I've got this special Japanese dude who is making "six-meter noodles," one long continuous udon in hot-ass broth. And instead of deep-fried shrimp, we gonna do deep-fried lobster tails, which curl up like shrimp, only crazy-large, and with an aioli dipping sauce. Did you say that you want Eggs Benedict? Well, ours is made with a poached ostrich egg, served on top of a ham steak the size of an LP, over a special English muffin flown in from Brazil. It's served with three pints of Hollandaise. I recommend it for groups of 20-30.

"Yeah, yeah, so your food and beverage is enormous, but what else? What else can you really do that is big?" Well, read on, sucka.

You know how most parties have an entertainment portion? And how it would be, like, "enormous" to have U2 or the Rolling Stones? Well, that's all fine and good, but it ain't enormous enough for me. No, I think a little larger. I had some of my guys at Pixar Beyond Demand (a renegade project group in-house at Pixar) figure out how we could have a massive 3D hologram of unlikely duets by famous singers who never met. We gonna have Jim Morrison coverin' "The Humpty Dance" with Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy. We gonna have Sting dressed as a human-size keyboard, and he hits the keys that run up and down his body, which play the notes of his own voice, and he performs Little Richard's "Tutti Frutti" in the classic hambone body-slappin' style. Some of his slappin' gets insanely fast. Oh, and for a closer we gonna have a hologram of George Michael gettin' arrested in a public bathroom, but not for what you'd expect. Let's just say it involves Marvin Gaye and some sweet, sweet sangin'. You'll just have to attend.

I'd write more but I am much into designing the outfit that I'm gonna wear. It ain't my regular Fila track suit, shower shoes, and precious metal accents. I got to go all-out this time. I may travel through the party, strapped to a gurney pushed by six hot-ass vixens, a Cristal IV plugged into my arm. Strapped down like I was crazy, you know, and I just might be, mainlinin' champagne through a very real and very dangerous direct-to-bloodstream IV.

I got to fly it like that, I got to flap it like that. For something to be truly ENORMOUS, something massive has to be on the line. In this instance, it's my own brain. I may hit you up with a review next week, but I may not, you know?