© 2012 Timmy Tamisiea. All rights reserved. A funny big beer for a funny little man!  Marriage!

196/365 – Abby & His Bachelor Party (A children’s book for ages 9-90.)

I’m going to a strip club tonight.

I don’t feel like mincing words are bring clever . . . it’s a strip club.  Where sad, lonely men think women adore them and want to be with them.  A strip club.  A place where fat men feel thin and rich men feel richer.  A strip club.

This is for this funny little man’s bachelor party.

Don’t trust that face . . . it’s full of bad 2am ideas all hours of the day.

And, you know, I’m one of those red blooded Americans who find strip clubs weird.  If you have any semblance of deduction and observational skills, you’d notice the sadness behind these women’s eyes.  The fat guys are worse — the denial behind their eyes is palpable.  That, and when some wried lady starts gyrating in front of you as your friends watch, a shower is needed.

This is the plan for the bachelor party (After party comments in BOLD)

1) Chicago Brauhaus.

This was taken with my eyes . . . after all the beer, focus was not paramount.

This is a Chicago tradition.  Beer boots.  Sausages.  Old German ladies serving beer is steins.  A polka band.  Yeah, bachelor tis shit up!

Of course, it was great when a familyt of six sat down necxt to us.  It was clear that they had just finished a first communion ceremony.  At one point, a member of our party asked me, “Should we stop cursing?  There’s little kids there.”  I said, “No!”  

John Serve points out the innocence about to be lost.  Ironically, after a first communion.

I mean, all respect to the family, but it’s the Chicago Brauhaus!  Wrong location to celebrate God’s bounty in your belly on a Saturday night.  There’s a whole table of 20 somethings in full lederhosen clebrating a birthday.  Right behind them is a table of 4 biker dudes.  Us not swearing is like takeing out a Baldwin — another one will take it’s place in a few minutes.

Oh god, there’s so many. Hail Hydra!

Also, we bought Abby a boot.  What?  A boot.  No, a glass boot full of 2.1 liters of beer.  And he drank it.  By himself.  I helped with a few gulps, but that was it.  Abby became a man this night.  A glorious full bellied man!

A funny big beer for a funny little man! Marriage!

 

3) Limo!

I’m sure it will be a douche limo.  And if not.  We’ll christen it with douche.

This was our chariot that awaited us:

Can't tell if it's a limo?  Good, cause I was that drunk too.

 

We climbed in and John Durbin and Matt Sanchez and I sat in the very back . . . and instantly became the peanut section.  

Peanut section . . . after we dies and became ghosts.

It didn’t help that John and I had invented a voice for how I whine to Megan about things that make me embarrassed or sad or just to apologize for everything that happens in my life.  While not true, it was damn funny.

Oh, that and I ate a brownie.  That’s all I can say about that.  A brownie.

This lighting was normal.  Then I ate the brownie.  It was just a BROWNIE.


2) Horseshoe Casino

Located in beautiful Hammond, IL – home of rape and murder – I’ll put my money on red.

A casino! Swirly carpet. Swirley lights! Swirly people. That’s how a casino is supposed to look, right? What’s this brownie doing here?

The casino was fun till Matt and I sat next to a bitchy old lady at a Pai Gow table.  All she did was moan about Matt’s moves . . . at a table where it’s player vs. dealer, not everyone!  She was my worst nightmare – a guy who doesn’t gamble being thrown to a bitchy woman who hates that you don’t gamble.  And Matt gambles!

You know the bachelor is in trouble when he bursts into flames on the spot.

When it was time to leave, we couldn’t find one of the guys . . . he claims he found a Keno machine that had a loop hole in it.  

I think this was the “Keno” game he found.

I was up 18 bucks when we left.  Abby was up FUN!  We all won . . . 

. . . As security cameras followed us out of the building.

 

 

3) Club O

Located just a mile from Horseshoe, this will bewhere my virginity will crawl back inside me.  Gross.

I have no pictures here.  But I did check in on Foursquare!

Where’s my syphilis badge?

The best part was watching my friend John giggle his way through the experience.  Actually, we both giggled . . . a lot.  Like 10 year old boys.  It’s ridiculous; a strip club.  Especially one called Club O.  This was not our scene so we just giggled at all the ladies trying to “get up in that.”  I told one lady who wanted to give me a lap dance that I had to take care of my boyfriend and then pointed at John.  

Megan. Meet my new boyfriend.

In the end, I stayed up till 4am and still had energy to drink a few more beers on the ride home.  I was giggling the whole time too.  Probably because we lost another party memeber in the strip club . . . for an hour.  I think he was talking over his problems with one of the upstanding lady employees that work there.

By the end of the night, of course, when I turned to John Durbin, he looked like this:

Post a Comment

Your email is never published nor shared.

You may use these HTML tags and attributes <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>