Party. It's fancy. A piano tinkles genteelly in the background. The band is tickled to be there. Hotty and Jane stampede to the buffet, and Yawn heads to the bar. Jane and Hotty have a slap-fight over the chicken and Ameritrash, looking dazed, asks if he's in heaven. Hotty chuckles, and Jane says that they have enough cheese for the night. Hotty brandishes the tongs at the poor ghost and makes a scene, because it seems he is yelling at no one -- sigh.
Barside, Yawn pours a drink down his throat, turns around to survey the room, and wham. A lady in a bowtie with a tray full of glasses makes a saxophone start playing. Does everyone know that a saxophone playing means "boner"? Well, it does. When you hear the fluh-duh-floodle-doo of a torchy saxophone, cover your eyes. The chick is cute, but could you seriously be hot for someone in a bowtie? Yawn is acting stupefied. Flies buzz into his open mouth. Floo-doo! Doo-widdy-doo! Please, make it stop. They "banter," and she is "charmed," and she tells him to sit down and she'll bring him a drink. He's all like, "Score!" I'm all like, "Barf!"