You promised yourself that this time would be different. You promised that you'd rein it in: just have a few drinks, make some small talk and then call it a night. This here is a modest Halloween party, homey, not some twisted Revelations themed boxing-orgy. That was last night. And quite frankly, you could use some down time after it (the girl cosplaying Fetish Pestilence really liked to work the kidneys). You were going to be nice. You were going to be chill. You were going to take it easy, but then the swarthy fellow in the Robin Hood costume had to go and ask if you got high. What were you supposed to do?
Not follow him into the bathroom?
Decline the mysterious concoction in the Sonic the Hedgehog thermos that he insisted was "some serious shit"?
Not rip said thermos from his hands and take a defensive position on top of the toilet tank, fending him off with your feet while gripping the cylinder with both hands and desperately pouring the mystery contents down your throat, because socializing is hard?
Well thanks for the advice, asshole, but it's a little late. You've already done absolutely every one of those things, and now you've got a dark-skinned man-beast who appears to be in the midst of transforming into some kind of tree monster clawing at your Keds. You've got bigger shit to deal with.