Buttercup:
It’s chilly out and you’re in a green skirt and goth-hot. You’re smoking to relax the shrooms. You fall in love with Pablo Escobar and his taped-on mustache. His friends are DEA agents. You overhear a skeleton tell someone outside he was just harassed by the Powerpuff Girls in the kitchen.
Pablo is doing push-ups to prove his sobriety and then pukes in the bushes. You offer him pumpkin tortilla chips and yell at a mime for breaking character.
Your friends return and you melt into each other. You never see Pablo again, but who cares. You’re the one that got away.
Later, Mojo Jojo drives you home. You compare stolen souvenirs—a rubber ball, liquid IV, a beer. You aren’t proud of it. Aren’t you supposed to be the ones that save the day? You’re spiraling. Nothing has ever been funnier.
Blossom:
It’s Saturday and you’re in a pink bow. You sit on a countertop like the judgy old muppets and heckle a man in a skeleton suit you keep calling Stevie Bridgers. You and Bubbles laugh laugh laugh. In the bathroom, there is a single Cheeto on the ground. You start cleaning and Bubbles is yelling “The prophecy!” You exit the bathroom to see the party host at the door. She looks pissed. You shoot finger guns and walk away.
You find Buttercup outside making Pablo Escobar do push-ups. You’re unsure if she’s smoking the same cigarette as when she first arrived or a new one. She yells “YOU’RE BACK” and everything is whole. No one has ever been more beautiful.
You start looking for your friend, Timothée Chalamet, who you’ve dubbed Timmy Tonight. She is networking her tongue down a woman’s throat. You don’t get her costume. You go to the garage while everyone is inside and contemplate cutting the power—you are a menace.
Bubbles:
It’s Devil’s Night and you’re in pigtails, singing in the mirror with your friends, the ones you have matching tattoos with. You palm a handful of penis-envy mushrooms when Buttercup says “That wasn’t really a microdose,” but you only know to fully indulge. You collectively decide microdosing rules and go to a friend-of-a-friend’s party.
You bring pumpkin tortilla chips that you opened to try (they’re gross) and debate if it’s weird or polite to bring pre-opened chips. You offer them to people and everyone agrees—they’re gross. You feel awkward because you’re definitely being awkward.
Two years later, you will miss Blossom and Buttercup every day. You’ll be in Brooklyn and they’ll be in the Blue Ridge and the beach. Timmy Tonight will have a baby. You will live with Mojo Jojo and try to tell new friends about this party, but you muddle details and text the group chat for confirmation. You’re unreliable as a narrator but you are laughing laughing laughing and the story gets blurrier with every retelling. Nothing has ever been funnier. You have never loved so hard.
