Don’t know about you, but I’m tickled pink, purple, and magenta over the upcoming inauguration. I’ve even gone out and purchased special “inauguration” sweat shorts with velvet fringe and a matching suede cummerbund. They didn’t have my size, so I went small. I now have bulges in all the right places (it’s a vestigial tail, in case you’re wondering).

So it’s only days till Barack Obama becomes our 44th president, and people are frantically looking for places to stay, as well as tickets to see this truly historic event. Some predict that the number of people gathering could be up to four million—and that’s not including celebrities like Beyoncé, Jimmy Smits, and Urkel. Susan Sarandon is coming, and rumor has it she’s bringing her mentally challenged grandson, Tim Robbins. He’s so cute when he tries to vote!

Bottom line: Because most of the people attending the inauguration are far more important than you or me, it’s pretty unlikely that we’ll get the best seats in the house—or any seats at all. True, there will be tons of parties, but they are the exclusive kind you and I aren’t invited to unless we’re Hollywood elites or have great drugs or pictures of David Geffen blowing a llama.

I only have the latter, but there are plenty of other methods by which to crash this thing and—more important—get laid, without being rich, famous, or strapped with bricks full of OxyContin:

Go as someone else.
Pretending to be someone you’re not is change you can really believe in—at least for a weekend. Screw the major celebrities and consider the inconsequential, off-the-radar ones. I’m talking about people like Tim Daly. Although the name is somewhat familiar, the face is not. I mean, Tim Daly—the guy from Wings? If I didn’t add “the guy from Wings,” you’d have no idea who the hell he is. So be him. Or if you really want to be daring, dress like a homeless beggar—and go as Maggie Gyllenhaal. You may take home a lesbian from Georgetown!

Say you work for Obama.
Get some business cards and give yourself a snazzy title like “head organizer” for something like the “inauguration advance team.” To nubile college coeds, saying you’re in D.C. as part of the “advance team” is enough to get you to first base—possibly even second. If you add that you’re in charge of getting weed for Biden, I will personally guarantee you fifth base. (Note: Fifth base is exactly what you think it is.)

The fact is, there has never been a better wingman on the planet than Obama. With his amazing ability to unify everyone under a feel-good notion that you’re totally awesome and everything’s going to be peachy keen, he’s like a human version of an Ecstasy pill. If you’re for Obama, suddenly banging someone else who’s for Obama is totally OK! When Obama talks about change, he’s really saying, “Let’s change…into this thong I made out of discarded candy wrappers.”

 If none of this works, I offer two alternatives for January 20:

Buy a ski mask and fly to California.
Google the list of celebrity attendees, cross-reference it with a copy of Star Maps—then go break into a few vacant homes. You may never actually meet Josh Lucas, but you can at least pawn a few of his Rolexes and a strap-on or two.

Purchase the “Greg’s Special Inauguration” package.
For just $39.95 a night, you can stay at my place in N.Y.C., where we’ll watch the event together in bed. True, you’ll miss out on the Lincoln Memorial’s lovely reflecting pools. That’s OK: I have a Slip ’N Slide in my basement. And it doesn’t run on water.