To-ga! To-ga!

"There's more white cloth in here than a Klan meetin' in Georgia!" I spit as we cross the threshold of Old Town Scottsdale's Dos Gringos for the club's toga party last Thursday. "So, uh, how do I look?"

"Like someone tried to tie a tablecloth around a hippo," cracks my AC/DC aide-de-camp. "Really, Kreme, there are children in Bangladesh without clothes. They could use the fabric."

"Funny, Jett, and where's your outfit, I wonder?"

"Check it out," she says, indicating a tacky pair of gold earrings, a white wife-beater and sandals. "I'm dressed all Grecian-like."

"Yeah, like a Grecian ho," I frown. "Let's grab a drink. I need a few belts before I break down and do my John Belushi impersonation."

We stroll through Dos Gringos' rambling two-story party palace, scoping all the shorties and studs decked out like the toga party scene in Animal House. You know, the one the clowns at Delta House have when Dean Wormer tells 'em they're on "double-secret probation." Of course, there's no Otis Day and the Knights; no Belushi as Bluto pouring mustard all over himself or crushing beer cans with his head; no Otter, D-Day, Boon, or Pinto. But there are four bars, three DJs, loads of cheap drinks, and plenty of fine señoritas present. First and foremost among the hella-hot honeys in the hizz-ouse is the voluptuous Kristin Vella, Dos Gringos' marketing director, who's the party's hostess, and, to borrow a line from Otter in Animal House, "has a couple of major-league yabbos." Needless to say, when we meet her at the bar, Jett can't peel her eyes away from Vella's cleavage, which is prominently exposed in her low-cut, Roman-style dress.

"This is the first toga party we've ever had," she explains as we do a couple of Jäger bombers with her at one of the downstairs waterin' holes. "But it's been so successful, we're talking about doing it again. Basically, you get in free if you're in a toga. Otherwise, we sell you one at the entrance."

"Dos Gringos is part of a chain, right?" I ask, seeing that the Jettster is nearly speechless, staring at Vella's va-va-va-voom bod.

"The same company owns Sugar Daddy's, Daisy Dukes, Badda Boom, The Door, and the Dos Gringos Trailer Park in Tempe," replies Vella. "Which reminds me, we're having this huge back-to-school bash on September 10 at the Trailer Park with a pool, chicks in schoolgirl uniforms, and a giant slip-and-slide. You two should come."

"Sounds like a blast, but one blowout at a time," I state, nudging my obsessed sidekick. "Right now, we should go conversate with some revelers."

I pull Jett away from Vella and her V-cut, and soon we're easin' up on these three toga-bound dime-pieces Jamie, Ashley and Amy, all suckin' on some tic-tacs (Bacardi O and Red Bull). Amy's a tall brunette, and the other two are blondes. We do some Jell-O shots with them to lubricate the conversation.

"I made our outfits tonight," boasts Amy, with a bit of red Jell-O on her lower lip. "How do you like 'em?"

"Very professional," oohs the Jettster, touching their togas as Jamie eases back to talk to a guy friend. "You're not a seamstress, are you?"

"No, Ashley is a gymnast, and almost went to the Olympics," she tells us. "That's why she has such a tight little body. And me, I'm a model from New York. But now I live out here."

"A model, really?" says Jett, suddenly intrigued. "What might we have seen you in?"

"Ever hear of the Frederick's of Hollywood catalogue?" she says, grinning.

"Wow, what did you wear?" slobbers the Jettster.

"Well, to be honest, not much," answers Jamie, with a scampish expression, then turning to me. "Hey, I love your sunglasses. They make you look like a porn director."

"Heh-heh, good!" I reply. "That's the style I was aiming for: Caligula meets Larry Flynt."

We perambulate, and nearby is this cat named Scott, hanging with his pal, a fella in a red wig and a kilt who'll only give us the name Jack Handy, like in the old skit on Saturday Night Live: "Deep Thoughts, by Jack Handy." Neither's in a toga, though Scott is, uh, three sheets to the wind.

"You're with the New Times?!" exclaims Scott, a little shaky on his feet. "We've got a New Times story for you. I'm a landscaper. He works for Mesa Airlines. And we do synchronized drinking."

"Synchronized drinking?"

"Yeah, we hop on a plane, go to a city and drink for 24 hours, then come home," Scott relates between beer chugs. "We can go anywhere for free because he works for the airline. We've been to like 15 different cities. We just got back from Cabo."