Let’s do it.  Let’s throw a 90s teen movie party.

This will be our last chance to throw one. Maybe we’re all graduating from high school and going off to college soon; maybe we’re graduating from college and we’ll have to get real jobs and stop getting obliterated every other Tuesday night. Whatever the milestone is, I just know that a 90s teen movie party is the only way to commemorate it.

First, we’ll have to get an absurd amount of alcohol. For whatever reason, this will consume a lot of our initial time and efforts. What, do we only know one person who’s of legal drinking age? That doesn’t even seem probable. There will be a lot of exciting hijinxs and buying alcohol will never look so adventurous again because in reality it isn’t because all you’re doing is buying alcohol but it will be for us because we’re throwing a goddamn 90s teen movie party.

Onto the evening’s guest list: I’m really hoping that word accidentally gets out about our medium-sized get-together and the house is absolutely decimated by the end of the night. I mean, the meteor from Armageddon is going to have a nuclear Jughead attached to it and they’re going to crash into the property, rendering the house a complete wasteland. Then Godzilla is going to stop by just to make an appearance, play some beer pong, and then leave for a different party. The place will be utterly destroyed but that’s okay because there are never any long-lasting consequences when you have a 90s teen movie party.

We also need to invite the girl of one of our dreams. She has a boyfriend who’s probably an asshole —  some jock type that has no redeemable qualities and no discernible IQ, but will likely face some form of poetic justice by the night’s end. I mean, that would never happen in real life. But it will happen tonight.

Maybe one of us will get to kiss romantically in the pool because it’s totally not freezing cold and doesn’t smell like chlorine and it’s not like either of us had our phones with us before spontaneously jumping into the pool fully-clothed. Extemporaneous make out sessions in the pool are only romantic if we’re both fully-clothed. Everyone knows that.

This is going to be the biggest night of our lives, despite still being young enough to not be fully-functioning adults and feeling the need to celebrate big events by trashing a house and playing King’s Cup with people we don’t know and will never see again. Somehow, tonight will be the culmination of everything else. I just know it.

We’re going to make grand gestures in the name of young love that would appear borderline psychotic if performed in the real world. We’re going to drink with a bunch of other 20-year-olds pretending to be much younger than they actually are. We’re going to get a feeling of finality the next morning through voice overs and cliched realizations. We’re going to throw a mother fuckin’ 90s teen movie party.