It was certainly a nice party. Looking around, I noticed that the party - which was going on around me - was certainly nice. A group of children, laughing and smiling and other happy thinging, were beating a pinata with a butter-knife. To my left, another group of children were doing the same to a clown. Yup, it was certainly a nice party. Nice would be the word.
Taking another mouthful of wine - not so nice, pretty cheap - I approached the host.
"Hey... Hey Timmy! This is... this is a nice party. For certain!"
Timmy looked at me, wide-eyed in terror. Several of his friends began to back off in fear.
"Yea, certainly a nice party you've got here. Pity... pity you didn't invite me! You... you BASTARD!"
Joining his friends, Timmy began to back off, seeking cover behind his recently appeared parents.
"Who?" Mr Timmy's father asked, "Who are you?"
"Paul." I replied, "And your bastard of a son didn't invite me to his bastard party."
"Sir, my son is seven." Mr Father replied, "He clearly doesn't know you. Can you stop swearing?"
"No... And this wine? AWFUL!" I continued.
"You... You brought that with you. Please, take what you want and leave." Replied Mrs Timmy's mother fearfully.
She had the right idea. Bundling up the clown in a rather nice Persian rug, I headed home.