I’ve been kind of an absentee blogger since posting my artistically remedial sunset image on Friday. I’m sure many of you must have been wondering if I was, in fact, dead since I make it a practice to harangue you with silly words on a relatively consist basis. Well, I’m not dead; I was participating in my younger brother’s bachelor party.
Admittedly, though, waking up after a bachelor party-type event can often resemble death, or at least conjure prayers for a swift one.
Most people tend to think about movies like this one, or this one (if they’re older) when they hear the phrase “bachelor party”. Fortunately, age and utter foolishness tend to be inversely proportionate when it comes to such outings. A fellow of my age and experience has hopefully finally learned a lesson or three after waking up more than enough times with a mouth tasting like a turn-of-the-century coal-driven factory and the sensation that someone dropped an Acme-manufactured anvil on the head.
So, while there was certainly the potential to earn myself a multi-day hangover, I managed to behave myself and avoid it. And while we certainly had plenty of fun, nobody stole any exotic pets from Mike Tyson or woke up on a plane to Bangkok. So that’s always good news. In the end, we played some golf, ate some pizza, visited a local casino (with the inevitable mixed results), played a friendly game of poker, stayed up too late, and perhaps consumed an adult beverage or six. You know, just enough to keep up with the bachelor party expectations, not enough to rival a certain Sheen in face-melting excess or anything.
So, anyway, the bachelor had his party and ultimately “fell asleep” on top of his covers, fully dressed. I, for one, consider that winning.
Also, I won the evening’s poker event. Because nobody beats me when it comes to a round of Texas Hold ‘Em wagered with pistachio shells and pretzel rods at 2:30 in the morning.