So you have to go to a party

At some point, probably many, you'll be invited to or expected to attend a party. This could be a holiday party for your job or a birthday party for a friend or even something more heinous like a bachelor party or some type of bridal or baby shower. Don't let the word "shower" fool you, though; you'll feel dirtier after it's over than you did when it started.

The first thing you should do when you find out you have to go to a party is pray that you become devastatingly ill. But since God doesn't exist (and even if He does you're pretty sure, from experience, that He enjoys answering your prayers "No."), you can be certain that no divine help is on the way. You're not going to be sick. You're going to feel great. You're going to feel horribly, shamefully great, and you'll have no true excuse for not going. And since lying about this stuff, for some reason, is difficult/impossible for you, you better get ready for this awful party.

Why do you hate parties so much? What's so awful about free food and drinks? Well, if it was really just free food and drinks, it would be great. But that's just the lure. The party itself will undoubtedly have other people there. And you'll be expected to talk to them and pretend like you care about or are listening to things they say. Essentially, the entire night should be spent making other people around you unaware of your desire to die and/or kill them, and constantly dodging new and more horrible people that will certainly only make it harder to hide that desire. It's pretty much like being in Vietnam.

Obviously, the best thing to do at parties is drink. But you need to make sure that you drink enough so that not only do you not care about what anyone else is saying, but that you stop caring about what you say, as well. At some point, secrets that aren't yours to share should start flowing as freely from your mouth as the vomit from the girl you knew would end up vomiting when you first set eyes on her, either from alcohol or her regular schedule. If you run into your friend that invited you to the party, it would be ideal if you could confess a secret love for him or her. Couch it in things like "Look, you don't have to say anything back, but..." And then stare for an uncomfortably long time at this person's eyes, as though you're waiting for them to say something back. If you don't have a secret love to confess, then begin criticizing something dear to your friend, like their outfit, their house, or their awful friends. Then laugh it off like it was a joke when you both know it was probably the truest thing you've ever said.

If this party is a fraudulent success for you, you can be assured of several exciting things the next day: total embarrassment, a splitting headache, and the near-absolute assurance that you'll never be invited to another one. 

Your inferiority/superiority complex

Let's be honest: You are great. You are pretty much smarter, better-looking, more full of talent, and less full of unpleasant odors than the closest ten people around you combined. However, let's not forget that you are also the most pathetic, least capable of doing anything, dumbest, ugliest person alive. Also, you're a total failure. This may seem like a paradox, but it's not, because you're not really cool enough to be a paradox. This is just regular fraudulent living.

The great thing about thinking you're both better and worse than everyone is that you have no real justification for either. These are things you just know about yourself, the way you know god doesn't exist but that He hates you anyway. You should be pretty good at convincing lame people you don't like and whom you only know peripherally that you are pretty much perfect, and isn't it weird how you're not taken, because obviously you're a great catch for anyone? What they don't know is that you're sort of like if a decent artist took a giant hunk of poop and sculpted it pretty well and then painted it with nice paints that made it look like a really good piece of art, but actually once you poke it, you're just sticking your finger into poop.

Still, even knowing this about yourself, you should walk around assuming that the parents of everyone you see on the street must have been siblings.