I love women. Other straight men, well, they love women too. And they date them, woo them, kiss them, fuck them, and sometimes, if they’re crazy, they marry them. I have a few friends who have taken the plunge, and many of them who have had bachelor parties as their last attempt to regain whatever manhood they lost before they became engaged.

Whoever thought bachelor parties are a good idea is fucking insane. You’re about to get married to a woman, someone you MUST be madly in love with if you want to spend the rest of your life with her, but before you get married, you want half-naked women rubbing their goodies all over your lap? Imagine the amount of bleach it would take to get rid of the germs.

Last year, I had a friend who was engaged to be married to his high school sweetheart. They were cute together. They’d been together for several years; however, I’d dated her briefly, so I thought, “Better him than me.” Apparently, it took a lot of convincing for her to agree to let him have this party. She set out some pretty strict rules regarding strippers:

1. No kissing.
2. No fondling.
3. No letting her fondle you.
4. No putting money into her g-string.
5. No dirty talking.
6. NO SEX OR YOU’RE DEAD.

Basically, he could only look at them. And that is a direct copy of her set of rules. She mass-emailed it to all of his friends to make sure he’d “be good.” Haha yeah right.

So the night of the party, there were about 15 of us guys at a hotel room we rented out in Tampa. Everyone was super drunk, including Mr. Soon-to-be-Married. I mean, he was so fucked up, he’d taken off his shirt, put it back on, changed, took it off again, and started dancing with the other guys. We knew it was time to bring in the strippers.

There were about 3 of them, I think, and he broke four of the six rules within the first 15 minutes. Then his supposed best friend asked one of the girls how much it would cost to give him a blow job. She told him, he slipped her some cash, and our bachelor was led to the bedroom by a very good-looking, albeit disease-ridden, stripper named Candy. Geez, how many strippers named Candy are there? I swear I’ve met a few.

All the guys were egging him on, but it didn’t take much to convince him to go with her. A half hour later, they came out of the room and our bachelor was glowing. It was so disgusting. We partied for a few more hours, and the next day, not many people remembered a thing.

Except for the one guy who remained sober the entire night taking pictures of this party. These pictures were promptly forwarded to the bride-to-be, who, at a dinner I was hosting a few days later, literally socked him in the face in front of everyone, cried and screamed, then broke off the engagement. It was horrific. I felt so awful.

Why anyone would want to have a bachelor party after seeing that? Even if your girlfriend is cool with it, what’s the point? If your girlfriend was REALLY cool, she’d let you go to strip clubs, maybe even go with you. That’s my kind of girl.

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