This year was indeed the last Black Hearts Party. Theories as to why ranged from the insulting (the hosts were all getting lame — and some married — so they decided to end it) to the conspiratorial (the hosts wanted to scale the party back from a large event to a much smaller, much less public, much more twisted version) to the wishful (it was all an Andy Kaufman-esque prank; there'll be another one next year) to the downright strange (the hosts are finished with Valentine's Day and next year are turning their attention to Saint Patrick's Day by throwing the First Annual Aubergine Shamrock Party). Hey, whatever helps you sleep at night.

As the last, the Seventeenth Annual and Final Black Hearts Party was a pastiche of greatest hits as well as new cringenuities.

Past years' favorites that reemerged for our noir retrospectival included Pornigami, where one could learn how to make a broken heart out of paper (or just rifle through the porn like the rest of us), an updated Curse Your Ex shrine with cursing slips printed on extra curse-worthy 40-year-old paper (seriously), and, of course, the ever-popular Chamber Of Destiny. This year's shrine to Black Hearts Party patron saint / muse Dogcoon featured a gilded idol of Dogcoon in all of Dogcoon's greatness, under which guests could contemplate the majesty and mystery of Dogcoon while posting prayers requesting access to the people and crotches of their choice.

New this year was the Tunnel of Reality, featuring disturbing version of Valentine's Day staples. There was also a Precious Black Hearts Party Memories board where guests could record fond recollections of their first BHP orgy, first BHP prostate manipulation, dumping an ex at the party, etc.

We also emptied our closets to create a retrospective of classic invites through the years. And lest the garbage fans feel left out, a few hundred discarded black Sephora boxes found a new calling in the form of a gorgeous giant black head sculpture vomiting black hearts onto the floor. And for guests who found nature calling, there was special black toilet paper that — to everyone's surprise — did not leach dye onto one's nethers.

dj patty hearst provided the musical backdrop for the variety of novel and impressive acts guests committed inside the forest of grope tubules, while those seeking more privacy (and, more importantly, a wall) reaped the benefits of the several Convenient Dark Places that were provided for their use.

And late in the evening, after everyone was comfortably sauced on black sangria, black rum punch, black cosmos, or any of the top-shelf black liquor (black tequila?) the event was invaded by giant white rabbits in labcoats who wandered throughout the crowd, recording cryptic notes and measurements on clipboards.