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Charlie Hatton
Brookline, MA
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Wow. Another crazy weekend almost over.
This time around, it was a bachelor party. At a casino. Which was cool... but it was a little weird. Don't get me wrong -- I like gambling, and eating, and drinking, and sleeping in my underwear on couches in strange hotels just as much as anyone. Well, anyone this side of Courtney Love, anyway.
And it was a lot of fun. Still, it seemed like something was missing. A bachelor party without strippers is like porn without nipples, you know? It's still enjoyable and all; it's just not quite the same. Like alien porn, or nipple amputee porn or something. It's a little creepy.
It's probably better in the grand scheme of things, though. The casino idea kept all the guys out of trouble. Poorer by a few dozen bucks, or hundred bucks, or first-born child, maybe -- but there were no stripper-related injuries, at least. Those are always tough to deal with. Whether it's an eyeball strain, or choking on body glitter, or G-string paper cuts, taking in an 'exotic' show can be very dangerous. And just try explaining to your wife why you spent three hours in the emergency room to have a tasseled pasty removed from your nostril. That'll cost you some roses, fellas.
And on that note, I think I'll toddle off to take a little nap. Gotta refresh those batteries after Lady Luck -- and Mr. Guinness -- beat the living hell out of me for a day and a half. Sixteen hours or so oughta do it. Manana, amigos.
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What no nipples? Say it Ain't so. Just when I had hope for the youth of America. What's the world coming to? Which way is the moral compass pointing? Wait a minute... that's not a Compass but why is it pointing north?
Speaking of which... I will never forget my 6th grade teacher who had permanent nippleage. You could hang wet snowsuits on those puppies.