Nothing beats a Grizzly Lake house party in the context of insanity. Clapton arrived at the party a few minutes prior to your arrival. He would have patiently stood outside the house for you, but he couldn't pull himself away from the table filled with assortments of alcohol that was most likely spiked with a Class A drug.

The aroma of weed and alcohol mingled with the fresh air as the door opened, revealing you. You wouldn't have come, if your best friend wouldn't have begged you, and desperately bribed you. You knew the owner of the house, Billy Nolan, wouldn't stand to see you or Clapton in his sight, so you had to keep that in mind. Or you might end up leaving with a purple eye and scuffed lip.