The night of the rehab Halloween party is upon us.  You squint as you stuff your man junk into some CVS brand pantyhose and let your flamboyant West Hollywood bunk mate do your hair and makeup.  Adjust your bleach blonde wig.  You look in the mirror and realize that you want to fuck yourself.  This will have to wait until lights out.  Outside, underneath the trees of this woodland retreat, your Alcoholic Fairy Godmother has transformed one of the AA meeting vans into a chariot commandeered by the local raccoons, who have been turned into Drug Counselors for the night.  You’ve made your big entrance and you’re the Belle of the Ball–no one can touch you.  Your mascara streams down your teary face as you accept the award for Miss Detox 2009; your prize of an extra day pass this month is earth shattering–but it is just gravy.  Wave and blow kisses to your admirers.  Do one more stroll down the catwalk and a final vogue.  Pandemonium!  Get back to your chariot and the comfort of your bunk before you turn back into a recovering drunk at midnight.  And don’t forget your nighttime medication.

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