But we're an unstoppable party train, fired up on adrenaline, sugar, and god knows what. We've just completely annihilated the interior of a large building, and we're erupting with orgiastic glee. Clothes are stripped off. Rowdy club kids vogue naked all up and down the block, to the honking alarm of several drivers trapped in the hullabaloo. Suddenly some gonad in an Audi panics and plows through the crowd. A horrified shriek – someone's hand has been run over. She's OK, but the scene turns on the Audi, which is soon covered with rioting, nude revelers trying to rock it on its side before it squeals off into the distance.

For the past year and a half I've wholeheartedly orbited the anarchic, somewhat monthly blackout hole that is promoters Zac Posse and David Toro's Club Macho scene: tailing its path of glitter-strewn havoc from destroyed venue to destroyed venue, gorging on its chaotic musical and visual excesses, aiding (and often abetting) its glorious freefall into the outer rings of party legality – and beyond. Seriously beyond. Two hundred and fifty pounds of powdered sugar on the dance floor? No problem. Giant half-naked food fights? Sure. Someone usually calling the cops? You betcha. The tall tales of each installment continue to grow with time, but one thing's painfully clear: You don't just go out to Club Macho – it freakin' lands on you.

With its Molotov cocktail of artistic expression, infantile regression, and chemical ingestion, Macho reignites a proud tradition of audacious underground chicanery that includes legendary parties like Rehab, Product/Klubstitute, Blood and Butter, Stompy, Lowrider, Skid Marxxx, Stinky's Peep Show, and Baby Judy's – or, hey, if your club clock's set to super-wayback, Larry Tee's Burger King and subway car Disco Outlaw parties in '80s New York, Voom's protorave abandoned-building smash-and-jams in Detroit, and San Francisco's own Cockettes shows, which wobbily straddled the thong-thin border between early-'70s-style "happenings" and some badly needed personal "recoverings."

Yet beyond the thrill of future-tragic unselfconscious transgression, Posse and Toro's club revives another key element currently missing from underground nightlife: terror. Macho makes nightlife frightening again. Trannyshack's filth-spewing trash queens used to be scary. So did Club Fuck and Jesus's now sadly defunct live multiple-mutilation/penetration scene. The Pit, a literally underground mirrored cubicle on Howard Street that stayed open 24-7 during the tweaker heyday, was absolutely horrifying (or was it just the shadow people?). And Survival Research Labs' one-offs in Mission Bay consistently highlighted the possibility of personal injury due to giant flame-throwing catapults cobbled together from trashed refrigerators and junked car parts.

But whereas those hammered houses of horrors were stage-choreographed to draw in curious cover-paying hordes (or, in the Pit's case, to keep them far, far away), Macho's asylum is overenthusiastically run by its inmates. Posse, 22, and Toro, 26, provide the open-source base of venue and half-assed theme, then call on everyone in reach to contribute his/her/its own code of spectacular combustion. It's DIY destruction at its best, a costume party gone horribly, horribly wrong. DJ Ari Reaganomixxx tears through queasy sets of genre-butchering vinyl hiccups. Sculptor Heather Ciriza pitches in with self-immolating decor (grass dance floors, melting cotton candy clouds, and a stadium-size, Seuss-shaped layer cake have all been featured). Electronic heroes Matmos, DMX Krew, the Soft Pink Truth, Gravy Train!!!!, and Hawnay Troof materialize from out of nowhere to rupture eardrums with live sets. Artist-designer Amanda Kirkhuff helps ground the flyers and visuals knee-deep in greasy-fisted queer camp. Drag diva Juanita More, schizophrenic tranny Bambi Lake, young punk legend in the making Brontez, and several other borderline personalities kick up the unstable-celebrity quotient. And any number of underage-looking street kids provide the nudity and masturbation. You supply the vomit.

"Hi, this is Chloë Sevigny. You've reached the voicemail for Mr. Zac Posse – please leave your number, even if you think he knows it."

Talk about a club kid power move. Anyone who can score Chloë Sevigny for their voice mail pitch is almost too much. I set up an interview with Posse and Toro, fully expecting a double whammy of overblown Michael Alig wannabe, but – surprisingly for a couple of kids who can't seem to enter a club without someone sighing and saying, "Oh god, those brats are here" – they turn out to be disarmingly unaffected and sweet to the point of shyness. "Sorry, we've never been interviewed before," Toro offers in a soft, cuddly-wuddly koala bear voice when I observe that they seem a little nervous, and I wait for the punch line – or at least a broken beer bottle shoved in my face. But it never comes. Could it possibly be that the club scene's current enfants terribles are truly a couple of girls who just wanna have fun, and not the calculating monsters most promoters in their position become to claw their way into the big time? I'm flattened.

"We just want to make a space for all our friends to do their thing. Something just wasn't there when we started – nowhere for people to express themselves and be supported, or even watched. We wanted to create it. It was like we almost felt we had to. No one was doing anything, and it wasn't that hard," says Posse, a fetching, doe-eyed, Hawaiian-born aspiring singer who assures me his upcoming debut single, "Lemme Tell You Something About Reading," will be "prancy and really, really gay."

"And we have a lot of crazy friends," Toro quickly adds. A slight, handsome Los Angeles native who recently graduated from the San Francisco Art Institute, he seems the more interested of the two in grappling with Macho's cultural implications. "We definitely feel this eerie connection with the old-school gay underground in what we do, the energy and freedom of it. I think Macho's also kind of about combining things that we're interested in, making an environment of them. Food, art, sex, music, design, drugs, porn, different kinds of people – we try to make sure every party includes all those elements.

"We also like to see what other people on the queer scene are doing and incorporate it. Like, tonight we're going to our first circuit party ever, because we really want to check one out."

"We're very excited," Posse coos. "It's our friend Gus's party, Adonis. We have no idea what to wear around a bunch of giant muscle guys! It'll definitely be interesting."

"Checking out other parties is good for us," Toro says, "not only to see what's going on, but also to get new ideas for Macho venues. We're always looking to see who's brave enough to host us."

I ask them about their influences. "Brontez, Oprah, and Beyoncé," Toro replies. "The three Bs. Well, there's no B in Oprah. I guess her B is for big."

"And vogueing too," Posse says. "For our last party we went to all these resale shops and bought a bunch of random trophies to give out to people at this fake awards ceremony we staged – sort of like at vogueing balls, but we just gave them out for any category we could think of. Someone ended up stealing half of the trophies, which was good, because we were kind of getting bored with it halfway through."

Future plans? Posse's pursuing his musical career, while Toro's moving back down to LA for a while to participate in the Black Diamond art program and volunteer for Oprah's Angel Network (I shit you not). "I don't really like LA," Toro says. "It's too conservative. I can't run around in my underpants like I do up here. But sometimes I need to leave this city to appreciate it more."

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