I poke fun only at Mr. Copley and his many delightful friends, not at amfAR.

Now back to cynicism with you, my friend.

Also on hand that magical evening were socialite “oven cleaner to the stars” Mr. Clean, who’s shiny dome lit up the aft end of the yacht where the ever tasteful and discerning David Copely uses Norman Rockwell originals as a classy alternative to bath tissue.

After an appetizer of lobster, soufle, mac-n-cheeze, whipped cream, and mouthwatering warm-lard shooters, David led the party to the main course. Whole steers, baby fawns, roast rhinosaurus, and fragrant Swiss scheisse sausages were poached fresh French effluent.

The meal was accompanied with only the best selection of refreshing “hovno z prdl”, flown in from Prague.

The skinny-dipping was led by David, who splashed mightily into the Mediterranean waters, displacing far more liquid than any of his boyish companions, as they slid through the warm sea, re-enacting the grotto of Tiberius.

Finally, spent, the Happy Days hoist lifted Mr. Copley back on deck, and he retired with his little friends to the owners cabin for a sound sleep.