"My name is Periel Aschenbrand, and I am Interboro."

When we found out that T-shirt maven Periel Aschenbrand had written a memoir called The Only Bush I Trust Is My Own, we knew we had to get ours to her book party, stat. Well, not ours, per se — The O.C. was on. So we decided to foist Gawker gimp Noelle Hancock upon you twice in two days, and sent her instead with the shrewd eye of Nikola Tamindzic. After the jump, a newsboy cap, a Brad Pitt look-a-like, and an unnecessarily aggressive pair of eyeglasses.

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Reading over the invite for Periel five times fast Aschenbrand s party, I notice it decrees that guests dress to kill, or really, don t bother. It s an old joke, but that still makes me want to throw on a hockey mask and roll up with a machete strapped to my back (which would have been perfect last week when it was so hot that, if pressed, I actually might have killed someone). But now it's officially fall, so I just put on my judging hat which, happily, is seasonless and goes with everything.

The chick on the left is officially "struggling."

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Sadly, The Bangles' "Sit On the Couch Like an Egyptian" failed to resonate with audiences.

The party is at Home. And, yes, I do know that Home is right next door to Bed. Wocka wocka wocka! Those club owners sure do have a sense of humor, don t they? Next they re going to reopen the bar Rehab next to a club called Kate Moss Recording Studio.

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The "go-go Gadget arms" function is particularly helpful in the world of turntablism.

Despite New Yorkers' best efforts, this woman's lifeforce remains intact.

Upon arrival, I order a rum and Diet Coke — or, as I like to call it, "The Publicist" — and check out the poster-size version of Periel s book cover, featuring her nekkid, hair covering her ta-ta s, holding an apple and wearing a fig leaf. If you want to know the cultural implications, but are too lazy to sit through the premmercial on Salon.com, just think of Bush as the devil offering the world a nasty, dictatorous Golden Delicious apple disguised as the Fuji apple of compassionate conservatism.

And, while we're on the topic, Johnny Knoxville and the rest of the MTV Jackasses totally dropped the ball by not going buck and patronizing Chelsea's Garden of Eden grocery store with a fig leaf-wrapped dick.

You're welcome.

The Lenscrafters clearance sale is never a good idea.

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Periel got her start designing and selling "u go grrl" t-shirts on her website bodyasbillboard.com — which, for instance, has a breast cancer awareness tank that says: What would you give for a great pair of tits? I ask, if she could only wear one t-shirt for the rest of her life, what would it say? Well, maybe if George Bush ever gets out of office, I can take off 'The only Bush I trust is my own' shirt — which I later used for the book title. I also really like the one that reads: 'Does date rape mean I also get dinner?'"

For the record, I think so.

"I'm telling you, man, bears living up in the clouds is WAY more believable than a bunch of kids spawned by cabbages."

The descent into Hell was surprisingly pleasant. We think it's the exposed brick!

The guy on the right is not, in fact, knocked out. Would still do her, though.

Has she gotten any strong reactions to her book or t-shirts? Oh, my favorite is when I got an email that said: What a fucking phony stupid Jew cunt!!! Periel Cunt! Yeah, that was super! She laughs. In the name of privacy, and not protecting it, here s homeboy s email address. His name is Mark. Drop him a line! m22t22@hotmail.com

Tomorrow morning this woman (pictured here on Bourbon Street) will do the swim of shame.

You can just feel next month's Charlie's Angels costumes coming, can't you?

Like "Lady and the Tramp" — but way, way hotter.

Across the room, the token party lesbians are trying to mount each other next to the bar. Nikola is enthralled as they search for the meaning of life in the back of each other s throats. He whispers, When they started kissing for the camera for the 17th time, I just stopped taking pictures and was like, I m watching.

"Hey baby, wanna be my seeing-eye fuck?"

"You see, the tattoo says 'tough,' but the Victorian blouse says 'tender.'"
"Totally."

A book excerpt of a conversation between Periel and her mom:

Me: My ass is killing me. I think I have a fissure. I had anal sex and now my ass is seriously killing me.

My Mother: OH MY GOD. HOW CAN YOU TELL ME THESE THINGS. I'M AT WORK. THERE'S SOMETHING WRONG WITH YOU. THERE'S SOMETHING SERIOUSLY WRONG WITH YOU...

Me: Mommy, will you please calm the fuck down?

Two women exchange insincere pleasantries.

It's like watching a defenseless chick boxed in by two silver foxes, isn't it?

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Periel says she's always...done her own thing. "I was always like this. My mom would, like, come on class trips to the zoo and the other kids would be following directions and I d be, like, climbing into the penguin cage." Proving once and for all that penguins are, in fact, the gateway to anal.

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