I was invited to a BBQ a few weeks ago, which is already weird because it’s December. It was hosted by some friends who live in Clearwater Bay, which is a weird place because it’s full of people wearing shorts divided into three categories:

a) Rich expats who live in really nice mansions.
b) Less rich but still kinda rich expats who live in village houses.
c) Local Chinese who live in village houses and blast old-timey Chinese music. I’m not sure if this group actually exists or if the music is motion-activated by lost expats wandering around obnoxiously.

The weirdness started early when we wandered through dozens of winding paths trying unsuccessfully to find the place. See, Clearwater Bay folks think it’s easy to find their house—just pass some mansion, and walk along a narrow path while huge snarling dogs bark at you behind some fences. But to us Central my-only-skill-in-life-is-doing-jello-shots people, every back road looks exactly the same: a place where you will get murdered.

If you’re a low-budget horror film auteur, you could make a career off a “The Hills Have Eyes”-type scary movie in which four impossibly good-looking people get lost at a beach party and end up being tortured in a haunted Chinese village house that plays loud old-timey Chinese music. What I’m trying to say is—we got really lost finding the BBQ, didn’t see a single soul, and almost got mauled by approximately 35,000 dogs.

Finally, after Google Maps told me I was somewhere in the ocean, we spotted a local taxi driver and got ourselves there. I arrived, said my hellos and was immediately interrupted by a giant SQUAWK!, which I assumed only happened because I was going crazy. After another SQUAWK! we turned to find in the neighbors’ yard, which again was completely devoid of occupants, a GIANT bird sitting on top of a huge cage. “Oh, it’s an import,” my friend told me nonchalantly. Wait, what? Who imports an angry squawking bird the size of a 10-year-old kid and why is that bird on top of its giant cage instead of inside it? Unfortunately, we couldn’t ponder this because we were interrupted by the sound of 45 barking dogs from other houses that blasted Chinese music and were probably abandoned in the 1930s or something.

“Want to meet my dogs?” my friend asked, and I shook my head, afraid I was going to be mauled, then thrown in a cage and fed to a mutant bird. “Great!” my friend said, ignoring me, and six insane dogs charged in as well as two cats who looked very worried. “I love them soooooo much,” my friend gushed and hugged the dogs for longer than I’ve ever hugged anything in my life. My other friend and I looked at each other like, "Uh oh, crazy animal people. Danger, Will Robinson, danger!" and asked where the burgers were. “We have some potato salad and vegetarian hot dogs,” my friend said. NOOOOOOOOOOOO! I decided on a liquid lunch instead.

A little while later I was feeling tired so I asked if I could lie down. I was put in a guest room with the four dogs who were desperately trying to get to the party. Then, the weirdest part of the day happened.

The dogs lined up perfectly in a row and the first dog stood completely still. Then, the second dog got up and started humping the first dog. Then, the third dog stood up and started humping the second dog. Then, the fourth dog got up, and alternated between humping the third and the second dog, while the fifth and sixth dogs ran around the room. This went on for a minute then—I swear this is true—all dogs turned mid-hump and stared at me while still humping each other. Concerned, I returned to the BBQ, where a South American “businessman” repeatedly asked me where to find good cocaine.