Grim Reaper’s 2016 Party Gets Outta Control

Looks like someone can’t get enough celebrating this year, and it’s the Grim Reaper. If you were in the 2016 bash of the season, you were at the Grim Reaper’s house. Here’s notes from his diary telling you what went down as his party got outta control!

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10:00 – First guest? The Eagles’ Glenn Frey. He tells me I have a lovely place. I say thank you.

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10:12 – Abe Vigoda and I talk about what it was like being in “The Godfather.” Who knew it was so dramatic on and off screen?

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10:15 – Star Wars fanboys knock on door dressed as Girl Scouts. NICE TRY, FELLAS. Ain’ no one busting in on my groove!

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10:30 – DJ Leonard Cohen starts spinning dub step “Hallelujah” covers.

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10:45 – Someone starts playing Truth or Dare with Dave Mirra, and I’m like, “Look, dude hosted ‘Real World / Road Rules Challenge.’ You should dare him to go talk to that long horn steer about cars.”

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11:00 – Got a late delivery of Carbonite Han Solo. I’ll sign for it.

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11:03 – GET OUTTA HERE, STAR WARS FAN BOYS. I regret forgetting when Amazon Fresh will get here.

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11:05 – Maurice White gets the bonfire going – he said it was his earth plus wind equals fire. I shrug. “As long as there’s s’mores.”

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11:10 – Noticed Harper Lee went missing. Probably necking with Scalia.

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11:35 – It’s Gary Shandling’s show as he starts doing stand up for everyone. We all applaud.

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11:45 – Harper Lee found. She was putting a ball of twine in a tree. Weirdo.

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11:55 – Muhammad Ali walks into a bar. And that’s the punchline.

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12:05 – Accidentally bust in on Prince and Doris Roberts making out. “Sorry, I’ll knock next time,” I mumble, all the while thinking, “Get it while it’s good, Doris.”

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12:10 – Hear knock on door. See Death Star through peephole. Make Erik Bauersfeld get it. 12:11 – He FLIPS OUT.

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12:20 – Arnold Palmer makes Antonin Yelchin a white russian.

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12:15 – Garry Marshall sees Alan Thicke and Florence Henderson chillin and keeps telling me he’s got a sitcom just waiting. Curtis Hanson and Edward Albee arm wrestle to see who will write it. I don’t know who to pull for, other than America.

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12:30 – I go poolside. Looks like Fidel Castro has been trying to get into the party by raft.

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12:45 – George Michael, Gene Wilder, Zsa Zsa Gabor, Patty Duke, Chyna, Janet Reno, Carrie Fisher, and Debbie Reynolds all start a conga line. Papa Wemba is elated. Alan Rickman is not.

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1:15 – I drunk dial Miss Cleo and stuff cheetos in my mouth while telling John Glenn he’s my best friend.

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1:20 – YESSSSS LES WAAS GOT US ALL ICE CREAM.

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1:30 – Whoops. Just got text. Forgot to pick up Rev. Tim LaHaye. “My bad,” I text back. “Didn’t mean to have you ‘Left Behind.’” I opt for the winky face emoji. Classy, Death, classy.

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2:35 – I wake up. Oops. I look to my right. It’s Elie Weisel passed out on the couch across the room from me. The house is empty. He whispers “Night.” I whisper “Night.” Job well done.

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