Every party needs a Poopah
Someone has to sit apart from the group and tear carniverously at the pork ribs, while cornbread crumbs dribble down his beard. Someone who'll wash it all down with lemonade and lick the excess BBQ sauce from his moustache like so many bearded animals. And then with nostrils flaring, eyes narrowing, he'll try to find a way into the conversation when he shouldn't. He'll make the sort of snide remarks he should keep to himself, loud enough to stop the conversation, for a moment, before receiving the shaking head and fluttering eye movements of dismissal. Then our poopah can return to the book he is only halfway perusing or the other conversation he is only one quarterway involved in. This is the awkward exsistence of the Poopah.

As the night wears on, and the laughs around him grow heartier, his strength lessens. At the crossroads of fun and enjoyment, the poopah grabs his coat and bounds offroad to the valley of grump where he can be alone. This particular poopah manages a goodbye, but one that leaves his irksome presence lingering. It is not only the poopah who suffers from this existence, but partygoers everywhere.