Hello, I'm Kelly Mantle. Hello, I'm Kelly Mantle. Hello, I'm Kelly Mant cocktail party at Sharon Stones in San Francisco.

We were perusing through the hallways of photographs, and we found ourselves in the parlor, she'd like to call it a library,

and we danced to disco all night long. At 3 a.m. we convened in the middle of the dance floor,

and we held our glasses up in the air, and as we clinked our glasses to dreams and aspirations and times gone by, we brought

our glasses down to our lips and that's when I started to cry.

Because I realized my glass probably has germs on it from all of their glasses.

How am I going to take a drink of this and partake in the party?

I don't want to be a party pooper.

But instead, I threw my glass onto the wooden floor and it shattered,

and I was hoping the room would end with uproarious applause.

But instead, Sharon looked at me and said, why?

Why did you do that?

And I stood there alone, feeling like Carrie on stage.

And all of a sudden, something took over me, a telekinesis, if you will,

and Oscars and Emmys, and Golden Globes started flying across the room

and shoving, smacking, stabbing people's foreheads.

And I thought, no, this isn't what I wanted.

I just didn't want to catch a cold.

Well, as all the bodies lay there on the floor,

Sharon was still standing, as she would.

And I looked at her, and I raised my glass and I said,

may your only pain be champagne.

...