After receiving a couple compliments on my last column on how to deal with telemarketing, I figured it helped people. So now, in this column called “Guide to Better Living,” I will touch upon subjects that will inform and enrich peoples’ lives.

This installment will be called, “How to be a Party Animal,” but maybe a more accurate label would be, “Colin’s a Dick and you Probably Shouldn’t Invite him Into Your House.”

I’ve had my fair share of lame parties with nothing to do but play Nintendo or watch people act like idiots. So, I’ve created several party games and activities to keep me busy in strangers’ homes.

Drunk or sober, they can bring excitement to any dull party. Enjoy.

-Rifle through CDs. I always find music to put me in the mood. Whether it be new wave or cheese metal, ’80s music seems to work the best. I’ve found Men Without Hats, Twisted Sister, and Quiet Riot’s “Cum On Feel The Noise” to work best.

-Smart partygoers think ahead. You should probably bring a costume. Once my friend Jason hosted a party where you had to dress as someone you want to go to hell. So think ahead. Nothing says party like dressing up like a leprechaun or giant panda bear.

-Search through the owners’ closets and wear their clothes.

-Draw faces on the eggs with a marker. This way, they make hilarious expressions when cracked (or thrown against the neighbor’s house).

-Get a marker, and give passed-out party guests mustaches or tattoos.

-Climb onto things, and claim you can’t get down.

-Once, I tried to make a bunch of party hats and organize a parade. However, the host claimed not to have any construction paper or glitter sparkles, so I settled for one hat made out of an empty 24-pack box. I took a pair of scissors to make it into a mask. I used the handle as eye holes and taped a bunch of signs to it. The main sign read, “Captain,” and incorporated a star logo. The small print read, “Detroit Rock City Edition.” One side had a picture of a naked roller bladder with a limp penis grabbing his ankles and read, “Slap my ass.” The other side had some awful drawing and something written about oral sex. With only one hat, I knew there wasn’t going to be much of a parade. I put it on my intoxicated friend Rob’s head and gave him a magical scepter. Actually, the scepter was an electric broom – no shit, an electric broom. It looked like a regular broom, but had a switch that gave it vacuum action by the bristles. The parade consisted of him running around the room while I threw a ball at him. Purely ridiculous! Needless to say, the parade ended with some kid getting hit in the head and a spin-kick that left Rob with a bloody hand. Long live the captain.

-Break chairs. For some reason, I always end up breaking chairs – purely accidental, I assure you.

-Write on walls. Dirty limericks and inappropriate drawings work well. Something dawned on me the other day: Without really thinking about it, I’ve written the word vagina in two different houses.

-Hide a dook. This is where you take a poop and hide it in someone’s bathroom. Good hiding spots include the medicine cabinet, in between rolls of toilet paper or under the sink. You should tape a sign to the door saying, “I hid a dook.” This game was invented by the great misfit Chris Pontius, who was fired after a mental breakdown. The skating magazine, Big Brother, hardly seems worth reading anymore.

-Spin drunks until they vomit.

-Run around naked. Not a personal favorite of mine, but many seem to like it.

-Homemade fireworks equal fun.

-Record your mischievous deeds. Once I took and broke this kid’s tape recorder and left him messages on how I crapped under his pillow and various other wholesome activities. This works well with video camcorders.

-Walk in. Pee on the floor. Leave.

-Role play. This is a personal favorite of mine. Try to get others involved. For instance, a few New Year’s Eves ago, I thought I should commemorate the monumentous holiday with an exciting climax. My friend Billy planned to repel down the side of the house with his rock climbing gear. He would act as the ball as we would count down, but a mix of alcohol and being a wimp persuaded him otherwise. So, instead, I taped a bunch of toilet paper to my face and declared I was Father Time and I wasn’t gong to give up 1998 without a fight. A young man named Dan chose to dethrone me. Dressed as Baby New Year – in nothing but a pink diaper – he provoked a mock battle with Father Time. I clearly had the upper hand, but chose to throw the fight so ’99 would arrive.

Another instance of role playing came the day before at a party. We had believed to be sitting next to none other than ’80s rock legends, Survivor! Unsure. We asked our waiter if they were indeed the musical masterminds behind “Eye of the Tiger” and that other song from Rocky when he’s running up the stairs. The waiter had never heard of them, so my buddies and I belted out a couple of verses for him. The next night we were in a basement full of musical equipment and decided to play Survivor, featuring the drummer from Def Leppard – this was because I could only find one drum stick and. Luckily, I watched VH1’s Behind the Music. We played all the hits of both bands and finished our set with some new impromptu songs in the Noise/Spazz-core vein.

One final example of role playing occurred when Billy and I were hanging out at some girls’ house while she fixed a two-foot hole in the wall from the party the day before. She had a big-ass stuffed lion. At first, we just ran in circles yelling “Rawrrrr” and wrestled the lion. Then Bill came up with the brilliant idea of pretending to be Green Peace. We crept in the shadows and ran around the other side of the room. We then set about releasing the lion into the wilds of Africa – actually, it wasn’t Africa but one can always dream. “Run Free,” we cried out with our hearts and souls. It was so beautiful to see a pretend lion being set free in someone’s basement (Africa) that a tear trickled down the side of my face. I knew I’d never be the same again.