So a buddy of mine is getting married in the next couple months, and a group of 16 of us are heading out to Vegas for his bachelor party. Pretty standard operating procedure before losing one of your moron friends to Holy Matrimony, right?
Well, here’s the thing – for some stupid reason that I’ll never comprehend, the two guys organizing the party felt like it would be a good idea to surprise our friend on all the details. Meaning they wanted to keep the location of the party a big secret. For starters, my friend (i.e. the bachelor) lives in Santa Barbara, California. Like where the fuck else do you go for a bachelor party if you happen to live like an hour long flight away from an adult playground? LA? Nashville? Fuck that (although I hear Nashville is a pretty awesome place, but it’s also like 2,000 miles away from California). Vegas is the biggest no brainer in the history of no brainers when it comes to bachelor parties – especially when you live a hop, skip, and a Frontier Airlines flight away. Plus it has everything you could possibly want when it comes to acting like a complete degenerate for 48-72 hours: booze, gambling, drugs, nice weather, fancy hotels, pool parties, bars/clubs, beautiful women, golf, strip clubs, good food (more on that later), and about a million other things.
This leads me to the reason number #2 why this whole secret thing is fucking stupid. By not telling my friend where we’re going, the guys organizing the trip are also keeping the rest of the plans out in Vegas a big secret, too. Enter, ensuing hell to my email inbox over the past five months or so. I’m talking 1,000+ word emails almost every month leading up to the party from one of the organizers. At first, it was more or less trying to get everyone to agree to the location of the party (which, like I said, should’ve taken like two seconds). Then, there were the emails about where we’re staying and how much everyone needs to pay. Understandable but also something that probably could’ve been accomplished in like 300 words or less.
So fast forward to last week. My buddy eventually found out where the party is since one of our friends going on the trip asked him what time his flight was arriving in Vegas the day everyone else is showing up (kind of funny, but I was also low-key happy it happened). At this point, you’d think it would make sense to fill him in on the rest of the details, right?
With just about three weeks to go before the big weekend, Shane (the party organizer) decided to shoot us all (minus John, the bachelor) a 1,783 word itinerary. Quite literally the most preposterous email I’ve ever received in my entire life. I’m talking it took me like at least 10 minutes to muster up the courage before I actually read the fucking thing. Once I saw how long it was I almost deleted it like four different times. I mean, first off, who the fuck sets up an itinerary for a bachelor party in Vegas? Second off, who has the time to sit down and write THAT MANY WORDS? Just absolute insanity. This email was so ridiculous on so many levels I couldn’t not share it. And if you don’t feel like reading the entire thing (I probably wouldn’t if I were you), don’t worry. I highlighted the good parts below.
HIGHLIGHTS (and kudos to you for not blowing your head off if you actually read the whole thing.)
- “Sorry for any typos in this email, din’t go back through and proof read!”
Go fuck yourself for writing an email this long. Also, this is the most obvious “I’m going to act like I forgot to proofread my 1,783-word email so I purposefully misspelled a word in the sentence where I said I didn’t go back through to proofread” in the history of long-winded, bang your head off the wall emails. Not fooling this guy!
- “Let’s all suit up for the Sat dinner and for XS afterwards. This will be a great opportunity for a group photo in the Encore before walking into XS.”
Bold print so you know it’s important! With that said:
I think I’d rather rip my cock off than walk around Vegas with 15 other dudes in matching suits. Total noob move, if I’m being totally honest. This is what 21-year old kids do when they go to Vegas for the first time. Everyone in this group is either in their late 20s/early 30s. Not to mention, here’s the average temperature in Vegas during the month of June.
In the words of Chris D’Elia, 100% fuck no. And a group photo? 1,000% fuck no (my words).
- “So back to dinner Saturday night, we want to go to a fancy place instead of doing bottle service (Steakhouse or Italian perhaps) and get a private room, in case there is a NHL Finals or NBA Finals game on (we will be in Vegas right around when both finals will be going on, and possibly even the final championship games).”
I don’t even know where to start here. I guess, let’s state the obvious. I would hope the plan is to be absolutely shithoused by this point on Saturday night. Eating a big dinner will only kill the momentum of that. In the words of Big Cat from Barstool Sports (I only know because I called into Evening Yak on Sirius XM to ask him and BizNasty what they thought about the email), “the big dinner is a tranquilizer dart to your face.”
Here’s the audio from the call.
Pretty clear whose side they’re on. Also, in case you’re wondering, here’s Big Cat’s blog about how to survive a bachelor party in your late 20s/early 30s. Give it a read.
I, for one, don’t want to take a tranquilizer dart to the face. Nor do I want to wear a fucking suit while doing so. Doesn’t sound like fun to me.
- “You don’t have to chip in, but if the 11 of us all threw in just $10 extra dollars each, that would give John $256, which he could then put down on a bet (the rule is that it has to be all thrown down on 1 bet), and he can decide if he wants to play it safe and put it on a 50/50 hand of Black Jack or Pass Line on Craps, or risk it to get the biscuit and throw it down on his favorite dumber on Roulette. If he plays it with the 50/50 bet, and wins, then he’s got a cool $500 in his pocket that he wasn’t expecting, and can use that for other gambling he may want to do later (or pay him back for any gambling losses he may have suffered earlier in the trip). Please are welcome to throw in more than $10 if they want too, and can see how big we can make this bet for him. If he threw down $256 on 1 number on Roulette by the way, he would win $9,000! Imagine that for a bachelor party story he would be telling his grandchildren.”
Uh dude, we’re already bringing this guy along for a scholarship to begin with. That’s what you do on bachelor parties. Also, any time people demand money from me it instantly pisses me off, regardless of what it’s for. Don’t tell me how much money I need to give to my friend so he can place a bet. By the way, if he hits, you better believe I’m getting a slice of the pie (*cough, cough* strip club). And no. He’s not going to be telling his fucking grandchildren about this. Idiot.
- “Oh and one last thing, I think it would be nice to take a group photo out there and buy a nice frame (would only be like $10 each) and surprise John with the framed photo as a ‘gift from the bachelor party crew’ that we can give to him at the wedding. We can figure that out after the bachelor party but just need to make sure to get plenty of group photos in os we have options to choose from (could even do one of those frames with multiple photos).”
Fuck. Off. This isn’t a bachelorette party.
- Key words not mentioned anywhere within the email: “Strippers,” “Strip Club,” “Fun.”
This guy and this party can go fuck themselves. Your thoughts and prayers are now welcome. I’m going to need them for this trip.