See, this is why I didn’t go to my office holiday party this evening.

But was there ever really a time when the Xerox machine — that perfidious usurper of the music industry’s potential income — was such a novel, newfangled contraption that “photocopying one’s bare buttocks” on it was the height of drunken office fraternization? Has any drunk, outside of a 1950s movie or television show, ever actually worn a lampshade to the delight of his co-workers or friends?