Let Cockburn debase himself at your Christmas party

It is, as Andy Williams memorably put it, the most wonderful time of the year. Christmas party season has hit the Swamp — and naturally Cockburn is in his element.

He has dusted off his dowdiest Clark Griswold cardigan and Santa hat. He has stocked up on milk thistle and Brita filters to abate the inevitable daily hangovers. His social calendar is quickly filling up with invites from think tanks, embassies and slightly grubbier magazines than this one — but it could be fuller still.

Email your party invitations to cockburn@thespectator.com, and DC’s best lubricated gossip columnist will, schedule permitting, grace your rager with his presence, drink your booze and snort your unmentionables in the handicap stall — hey, Bing Crosby’s not the only one dreaming of a white Christmas. He’ll even (whisper it) take a cab across the Potomac if duty calls.

Cockburn is a good sport — as if you weren’t aware — and will gladly bring his good tidings to shindigs of any political persuasion, faith tradition, sexual orientation or gender split. Last year’s DC party circuit was woefully blighted by corona-craziness. This time around, Cockburn is vaxxed, waxed and perhaps a little bit Xanaxed. He’s not going to let the seven-hundred-and-sixty-first variant get in the way of a good time.

At the end of the party season, but before we celebrate the birth of Christ on Earth, Cockburn pledges to dish out some end of year awards to the folks who threw the most memorable blowouts. These will include best cocktail, worst name-drop, argument of the year and the Mistletoe d’Or for the most pathetic attempt at a festive fling — because there’s always one who can’t resist the allure of the Thirst Noel…

2021 kicked off with an attempted coup — let’s close it out with an even greater disgrace to the District of Columbia. Cockburn’s secretary is primed and waiting: cockburn@thespectator.com.