Advice Column: What Happens In Vegas...

Dear J-Wunder,

I'm a big fan and can't thank you enough for the daily laughs. The world loves you and we need more mo' fo's like you in this galaxy. Ok, enough of the praises...I need some damn help bad. 

So I've been dating my girl for a year. Great gal. Awesome relationship. We get along really well. Sex is great. There's only one big problem - I'm the best man in my best friends wedding and in the next two weeks, is his bachelor party in Vegas. My girl doesn't want me to go and it's making her trip out big time. I've done NOTHING to show her I can't be trusted but I think she just has this whole idea in her head that "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas." 

I need your help because as much as I love her, this is my boy and it's his bachelor party for crying out loud. We're going to have fun. We're going to go to strip clubs. That's what it's all about right? It pisses me off that she's trippin' and I really don't know what to tell her any more. She basically has given me the ultimatum that if I go, our relationship is over which I think is stupid as hell. 

Help because as much as I care about her, I need to support my boy for his last night of fun. 

Thanks,
Just a bro supporting his boy



Dear Just A Bro Supporting His Boy,

Oh man...here we go with another bullshit email about someone in a relationship tripping over nothing.

What's the goddamn deal with some people? Can't a guy or gal just go and have fun in Vegas without the other person having to worry?

AIN'T NOBODY GOT TIME FOR THAT!!!

I find it highly entertaining that some relationships are all good until something so small, like a bachelor party (ok, maybe not so small), sets the other person off. Mind you, you've done NOTHING wrong in your 1 year relationship to even make your girl trip. Ain't that a bitch?!

I'm going to be honest like I always am and will tell you what I think about your girl and her opinion on you not going:

FUCK HER.

TWAT.

Who the fuck is this broad to tell you, the best man in your good bro's wedding, that you can't go to his bachelor party? Because it's in Vegas? You know how you said, "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas"...NO FUCKING SHIT. This applies to anyone who goes. Kids, parents, grandparents, nuns, students who say they are going there for college because "they got a good business program". You could be the most boring person in the fucking world and should still know, what happens there, stays there. Period. And you don't even need to do shit.

Why the fuck does your girl think that's the goddamn slogan for that goddamn city? For fuck fucking sake, bromigo...your broad needs some Calgon to take her ass away from whatever the fuck she's already thinking. I mean, shit. See, this is what happens when people date insecure motherfuckers. Sure y'all are all good, but once you get to have a good time outside of the relationship, all of the sudden, bitches be all worried about nothing.

So what if you guys go to the strip club? So what if y'all get so drunk you end up passing out on some bench on the strip, covered in your own puke and piss at 5 in the morning? That's what happens at bachelor parties. That's what happens in Vegas. You do shit that will make a goat throw up and a whole congregation pray for your sins. That's the fucking point. Sure you may want to fuck a few broads who are down to ride the Pound Town Express...hell, you may even not want to work that hard and just pay a hooker to bang you...and sometimes, that's ok. But has it even happened? Are you looking to even do that? You probably aren't, but guess who thinks you are?  You guessed it...your girl who is about to guilt trip the shit out of you until that fateful day comes and your ass is on a plane to the land where STD's are born.

All I'm saying is if she trust you and you've given her no reason to not trust you, then go to Vegas and tell her you're going. Say that shit with the manliest voice you got, too. Like Kevin Hart said, "Say it wit yo chest!!!" If she doesn't like it, she can kick fucking rocks because not only is she stupid for wigging out, but she's stupid as fuck for being an insecure hatchet wound (that's "vagina" for y'all who don't know what the fuck I'm talking about).

You know, back in the day, when I would go to Vegas with my boys, which felt like every other month, my homeboys women would usually trip out. Not because they were going to Vegas, but because I was going with them. I was tagged as "J-Wunder...the baaaaaaaadddddd influence." No bullshit. Every girlfriend literally blamed me any time their men hung out with me and ended up too drunk or got in trouble. Like I put a spell on these motherfuckers or something. No joke.

This is probably what your girl is thinking - "All these dudes going to Vegas for a weekend of sin and as much as I love my man, I can't trust his friends." Well, let me tell your girl and the whole fucking world who love to blame other people for shit, something...if you're a grown ass adult that is capable of making your own goddamn adult decisions, then don't blame someone else for that person's mistakes. No one is going to make you take a shot or have that drink. No one is going to put a strippers pussy in your face and force you to smack it up, flip it or rub it down....ooohhhh NO. We might try and influence you to do some shit like get you so wasted that you end up putting that roofie you saved from Tijuana in your own drink, but hey, like I said, you're a fucking adult capable of making adult decisions.

On the other hand, maybe your girl had a past relationship where her ex-man fucked up when HE went to Vegas. If that's the case and you let her win this battle and you decide not to go, I suggest you hand over your balls to her right this fucking minute and know that you will never get them back. Congrats for being a little punk ass bitch. Again, that's assuming, this happened and you want to donate your balls to the "I Made My Man, My Bitch" Foundation.

These types of broads need to chill the fuck out and calm the fuck down. Like WAY the fuck down. It would be one thing if your ass pulled Shady McShadster during your relationship but from the sounds of it, you're like this beautiful ass angel and shit. Vegas is not a place for everyone. But it is a place for bachelor parties and a ton of fuckery. Now, if your girl can't live with the fact that you are going there to have fun with your boys and let loose, then fuck her.

This is not about you having fun. This is about her just being a complete insecure little twat. Real talk.

What I will say is that if you do fuck up, tell her. You'll probably get an ear full and will never be trusted again but know this...it takes more of a man to admit he's done wrong than a man to lie and get caught slippin'.

If you go to Vegas, tell your girl she can exit stage left if she doesn't like it. But if y'all do decide to stay together while you head out there, just remember..."What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas."

I'm not telling you what or what not to do. I'm just telling you what the motto is to the place you're going.

Good luck,

J-Wun

The Downfall of J-Wunder Following His Own Advice

Ok, so if you hadn’t heard, our fearless blog writer (and fellow contributor to some) went to a Bachelor party in Arizona this past weekend. For those who haven’t heard, you’ve clearly been living under a mother fucking rock for the last 2 weeks…because that is all we have been fucking hearing about. Bachelor party this, drinking an obscene amount that… blah, blah, blah.

Well, if you didn't hear from Mr. Wunder himself over this trip, consider yourself really fucking lucky. I shit you not, this dude was a fucking shit-show off of like 5 O’Douls. I’ve never met a person who complains about dying more than this guy. He either knows how to party like a fucking rock star (mind you, I’ve partied with him) or the guy is a fucking pussy. My opinion – it’s definitely the latter.

Don’t agree with me? Fuck you. But more importantly, for all of you who aren’t looking to FAIL at the next Bachelor/Bachelorette party, please follow the 3 rules that my dear friend J decided not to follow.

Rule #1: Choose your booze wisely. There is scientific evidence that shows depending on the type of booze you’re drinking, the type of “drunk” you are. You know what I’m talking about… happy drunk, blackout drunk, angry drunk, etc. Well J did not choose wisely. Last I hear, he was drinking Corona Light. Chick’s beer? Yeah, I should know… I do advertising for the goddamn brand. No wonder you were able to drink 27 goddamn beers in a matter of 10 hours. You were drinking the closest possible thing to water. Douche doesn’t even begin to explain the level of gay you were, J. Yet SOMEHOW you still fucking blacked out. I pray to God that you were taking shots of something, or else, I'm never drinking with you again.

Rule #2: Choose your strip clubs wisely. When you see an ad for a $5 strip club, what the fuck do you expect to see? Perky breasts? Probably not. Cleanly waxed vag? Very unlikely. I hate to say it but there are just some things that you don’t want to skimp on. I’ll say it again, there are some things that are better off paying full price for. Pussy, being one of them. When you see some crusty-ass bitch spraying Windex on the pole after a bitch does her dance -- it is probably not a good sign. It is definitely not even remotely sanitary, and my advice.....you should stay at least 100 yards away. Just sayin’.

Rule #3: What happens in _________ , stay’s on J-Wunder’s Facebook page. That’s right folks – you think your bachelor party will stay just between your closest buddies? Well maybe the crazy shit – but when a blacked-out individual posts his phone number on Facebook, saying “ask me anything” – probably a bad fucking sign. Now, I’m not saying that J has a big mouth or anything, but I swear there was a fucking post every 4.5 minutes about the shenanigans at the party. But seriously, sometimes the rest of us don’t give a flying fuck that you’ve slept for 25 minutes, while in a hot tub, gripping your fucking Corona Light. I mean, while the staying up drinking thing is cool, the rest of it makes you sound like a pussy. Sorry, said it.

And if you think anything is secret at a Bachelor Party, check out this video I stumbled upon…. It’s of our dear friend J, making an ass of himself (what else is new?) back in 2004. See, the great thing about this guy is that he always has some story of when he did this or did that. And by the YouTube God's that be, he definitely was doing this - BEING A DANCING MACHINE. My apologies in advance Mr. Wunder if I might have embarrassed you for showing this vid (took fucking forever to find) from your good 'ol partying days in Mexico (you thought I forgot about this story you told when we first met huh, asshole? ooops). I do have to say you look 19 years old and actually cute. What happened fucker? To your credit though, anyone that can do the worm, running man and milkshake while commanding the stage like you did, is alright in my book.



I hope you all follow the rules of what NOT to do for your next bachelor/bachelorette party. However, if you're like J and just don't give a fuck, then by all means, party like you're about to die, tell all your friends about it...and enjoy those bitch ass Corona Lights. I wonder how long it will take J to respond? I say 5 hours from reading this post. You're welcome.

P.S. This fucker might kill me. Love ya, J! Asshole.

Because I'm mentally preparing for a bachelor party...

How to Party @ a Bachelor Party

In two days, I will be heading to Scottsdale, Arizona for a weekend of complete and utter debauchery with 6 other fine fellows to celebrate a good friends final days as a single man. With that being said, the other day I asked myself, "What's gonna make this bachelor party better than the other 15 bachelor parties I've been to in my life?" After a 1.5 second debate with myself, it hit me. A bachelor party should never try to be topped if you follow the "rules of partying for a bachelor party". Wait, what?! "There are "rules" J-Wunder?" Of course there are fuckers. And if you don't follow them, you could be looking at a long and boring ass weekend ahead.

Some of you so-called partiers are probably shaking your heads saying, "I'm a rockstar when it comes to partying. You don't know what the fuck you're talking about, J!!!" Well friends, two things: 1) Go fuck yourself and 2) Yes I do. I may not be the guy that stays up for 72 hours straight while doing some of the most ungodly things a human can possibly do, but, I'm damn near close. Just because some of you talk a gang of shit, doesn't mean jack shit. So grab a pen and some paper and take notes on how you can be THAT guy (or gal) and enjoy the best bachelor/bachelorette party weekend of your life.

Rule #1: Be ready to drink. Sounds simple right. Wrong. I've been to my fair share of bachelor parties, and out of all of them, there were 2-3 of them where the so-called "partier" ended up being a goddamn, fucking pussy ass cunt. Why? Well, for starters, they thought watching the NFL draft after the first round was more important then hanging with the guys while drinking Scorpion Bowls til they turned blue. Secondly, they are just a fucking vagina. Do you want to be that vagina? The vagina that talks all this fucking shit, that when it comes time to lay down your cards you end up looking like a fucking bitch? Uh, no. That's what I thought. Bachelor parties are for those people who just say, "fuck it...lets drink...I'm ready to die this weekend." It's not for some fucking clown that wants to sip on tea and braid his goddamn taint hair because he's a fucking pussy. Bachelor Party = Drinking. Drinking = Drunk. Drunk = Acting a fool. Acting a fool = What the fuck just happened? FOR A WHOLE WEEKEND. You wanna watch tv and pretend you wear a tampon? Here's $150...now go fly your ass back home and watch tv. We're here to drink and get fucking drunk. Pussy.

Rule #2: Don't look a stripper in the eyes. Strip clubs are dangerous. For a few reasons...1) They are expensive and will burn a big ass hole in your pocket, 2) You will get a severe case of blue balls that tops your first make-out session with Cindy Bellflower behind the bleachers Freshman year in high school, 3) You will be told you are the hottest thing since that Edward clown in "Twilight" and actually believe it, 4) You will overpay for a Bud Light by $10 and 5) If you're drunk enough, don't expect to have any valuables in your possession the next day.

Five things that will happen and probably can't avoid. But if there is one thing you absolutely must follow...it's not looking a stripper in the eyes. Why? Simple. Dealing with strippers needs to be a business transaction. You give them $20, they put their titties in your face with a little tug and pull for a nice tip. You laugh, she laughs. She groans, you moan. Song ends and you leave smelling like coconut with some glitter smeared on your goddamn face. End of story. That's how it SHOULD be. HOWEVER, if you fucking dare go outside of this business deal and stare deep into those strippers eyes, be prepared for the following: 1) You will pay for sex, a blow job or a hand job (who wants a bj or hj with a condom on? awkward), 2) You will withdraw your entire savings account on treating yourself and the guys to big titty broads dancing on your lap because, all of the sudden, you fucking deserve it and you don't answer to any mother fucker, and 3) You will fall in love. Read that last part again..."You will fall in love." Don't believe me, go hit up a strip club and look those sexy bitches in their eyes. I guarantee you will walk out crying, broke and heartbroken.

Rule #3: Party like it's the last night on earth. Hard to imagine, right? Well, if you're a fucking pussy, maybe it is. So in order not to be that fucking pussy, what you need to do is make sure that everything you do...it's at 110%. Look, if you could bust your ass being top dog on your high school basketball team, you sure as hell can party like Godzilla is about to destroy the goddamn universe for 3 fucking days. Bachelor parties aren't meant for dudes with excuses. It's for guys with purpose. What that purpose is, is up to you. All I'm saying is that if you're drinking, drink as if you want to end up getting your stomach pumped by that hot ass EMT that picked your ass up on the curb in front of the Pussycat Lounge as you lied there in your own throw up. If drugs are more up your alley, hell, snort, smoke, or eat whatever the fuck you desire, but make sure you do it so your mug shot at the county jail looks something like this:

Rule #4: Don't sleep. You can sleep when you're fucking dead. It's a bachelor party so why not try to spend every waking moment stirring up shit with the guy that is about to become shackled for the rest of his life, right? If you go to bed before the sun comes up, don't fucking show up. God hates pussies. Especially ones that go to bed at bachelor parties. Tired? Snort some blow. If you don't want drugs, then stock up on a case of 5-hour Energy. That should get the blood going. Don't disappoint and be that dildo that is the only bitch that gets shut eye. If someone is going to suffer and be sleep deprived, it's gonna be the whole damn crew.

Rule #5: Don't be a bitch, and have FUN. How do you spell bachelor party? F-U-N. I hate Debbie Downers, Vagina McGinestein's and Winona Whiners (you like that one, huh), so don't fucking be one. The weekend isn't about you or whatever bullshit you want to bring to the table. All you need to worry about is spending money, getting drunk, slapping some boobies in your face and possibly getting arrested. How hard is it to have fun? For some, it's pretty fucking hard so do everyone a favor and don't be the dick that brings down the party. If you decide to do that, not only will you get your ass kicked, but we'll stir up rumors about how you had a threesome with a midget and her cat. Yeah, it may sound like a complete lie, but trust me, I'm a good fucking liar asshole.  

Bottom line - GO FOR BROKE!!!! Any questions?

In two days, 7 men will have every intention becoming the biggest pieces of shit known to any human being ever to walk this planet. Is this natural? Well, for a bachelor party, it is. Outside of that, consider yourself a pathetic piece of shit that should be sent straight to hell. Don't think you know how to party until you've lived by these rules. You may say to yourself, "But I already do this on a regular basis." If that's the case, I only have this to say...If you're under the age of 30, good for you...I wouldn't expect anything less. If you're over 30, go seek help. Or find a fucking job you degenerate fuck. In any event, have fun. Passive aggressive much?

Wish me luck. I might need it. 

Advice Column: Bachelor Party Promise Land

Dear J-Wunder,

As the best man for my buddy getting married, it is approaching the time to start planning his bachelor party. After careering the first bachelor party I planned in San Diego, I am feeling reprehension that such heights cannot be achieved again. I was hoping that you could give me some words of wisdom on how to choose the best location and a few suggestions that might have been previously overlooked. Events in the area or hotspots to hit would also be helpful. Here are the details; looking at about 10 people, so not a huge group. The trip will be in July or August. SF (too close to home), Vegas (don't want to follow some of our other friends footsteps), LA (because LA sucks) have all been ruled out. So where should our party of excess drinking and searching for scantily clad sloots end up?

Regards,
Needs a Map


Advice from J-Wunder:

Dear Needs a Map,

I saw the words "bachelor party," "excess drinking," "scantily clad sloots" and the biggest fucking light bulb popped in my head.  So big that it actually gave me a chubby.  If there is one thing I know and am an expert at, it's mother fucking bachelor parties.  The ultimate party for any man, is a bachelor party.  Whether you're single, in a relationship or married, you need to understand that a bachelor party is an event that is holier than Vatican fucking City.

To plan the ultimate bachelor party, ALWAYS consider the following:

1) Attendees:  Every guy that goes to a bachelor party needs to understand that the main goal is to have fun.  What "fun" means to the group, is up to the group.  So if that means getting a few strippers and paying a few hundred dollars to fuck their brains out in the bathroom while eating a hostess fucking cupcake off their vagina's, then so be it.  People love to do weird shit with strippers sometimes.

The best bachelor parties are the ones you barely remember.  Just make sure that the guys who are in relationships or married, make that ONE phone call upon arriving at your destination, then burn their fucking phones or throw that shit in the ocean immediately.  Look, it's a bachelor party.  The last thing anyone needs to hear is the oogly, googly bullshit conversation your buddy is having with his girl.  Don't try to act like "the guys are just going to the beach then going to a nice dinner."  Fuck that shit.  You think your girl is stupid?  She knows you and your perverted ass friends are going to get fucking drunk, see some titties, go to the club then cause a scene at the nearest Denny's on the late night.  Stop trying to act like the angel.  If that happens, send that guy packing and tell him to grow a cock.  It's a bachelor party, not 6th grade fucking space camp. 

2) Location: San Diego and Vegas are great places.  You can't beat sand, gambling, booze and hot bitches 12 months out of the year.  But since you want to mix it up, how do you determine a good location?  Simple.  Weather, beach, downtown area, demographics, most popular city.  July and August are hot months in a majority of places.  Hot weather equals two things.  1) Excessive drinking, 2) Chicks in minimal clothing.  Put those two together and you get scantily clad sloots wanting to slip and slide on that ding-a-ling my friend.  Like I always say, location, location, location.  Ain't no one trying to celebrate their fucking bachelor party in Bakersfield, CA so if ideas like that get mentioned, punch that fucking friend in the face and call them a pussy.  Then spit on them.  Matter of fact, they shouldn't be able to talk the rest of the bachelor party trip.  

3) Accommodations: Wherever you end up going, accommodations are always important.  For 10 dudes, the hotel route is not the best way to go.  Unless you have no choice.  And if you have no choice, you are always limited to what you can do in a hotel room.  Trust me, I've tried some pretty ridiculous shit and got escorted from a hotel like that!  The BEST option is always a house.  Why?  Because the number of things you can do in a house.  One of them being, throwing a crackin' ass party in a bad mother fucking house.  Another is inviting over multiple strippers.  And if not strippers, drunk chicks that are looking to bang you and your buddies like it's a friendly game of goddamn Monopoly.

Lets not forget, a house gives you the ability to not only store excessive amounts of booze, but drink excessive amounts of booze which can lead to sex.  Which can then lead to orgies.  Which could also lead to a gnarly STD if you don't wrap that willy of yours you horny fucks.  That reminds me, make sure you and your buddies bring boat loads of condoms.  Any chick willing to fuck you after knowing you for 10 minutes, most likely has something on their vagina.  Or is just a huge slut. 

4) Duration of stay:  It's a bachelor party, so do you and your buddies want to drink, do drugs, bang strippers/sluts and commit random crimes for three days or four?  Four days is always pushing it only because after three days, someone is almost on the verge of dying from too much alcohol consumption.  I know that all too well.  But you're all adults, so if that happens to anyone, tell that guy to sack the fuck up, take a 5-hour energy and keep drinking.  Remind him bachelor parties aren't for pussies.  They are for men that love pussy.  Don't forget to add "men love booze" part too.  If he starts to cry about it, tell him you're gonna call his girlfriend or wife and tell 'em he had sex with a tranny at the strip club and you have pictures to prove it.  He should be pounding 40's of Old English within minutes.  

5) Time of year: Like I mentioned above, this bachelor party is in the summer and if that's not a calling from God, I don't know what is.  It's amazing when you go somewhere and you mention the words "bachelor party."  It's like your pimp status went from a 5 to a fucking 11 and your dick grew from 5 inches to 8.  A bachelor party in the summer?  No better way to go.  You can't beat summer and you can't beat summer with chicks in bathing suits.  So yeah, if anything, summer is the way to go!  Whoever bitches about it being too hot, kick the guy in his balls, call me, and I'll replace that sack of shit so we can have a good time.  Remember - any dude that bitches about a bachelor party should no longer be your friend.  EVER.  

Now with all this being said, I'm gonna give you SIX places you MUST consider going to for your buddies final days of freedom before he gets hitched.  These are in no particular order:


1) South Beach Miami: Topless - Check.  Hot Women - Check.  Excessive Drinking - Double Check. Sluts - Cha-ching. Sex, sex and more sex - Yes please.  I mean, Check.  Ocean Drive.  Go there.  Walk around there.  Rows and rows of bars lined up.  From Fat Tuesday's to Wet Willies, you have booze and hot chick access at the palm of your hands.  Did I mention topless fake titty women?

2) Lake Havasu - Every person I know that has been here, don't really say much.  They just smile really big.  I just translate that to: "Havasu was awesome.  I drank a shit ton.  Blacked out everyday.  Probably had more threesomes than Peter North in a porn flick, and had my first thumb rammed in my ass while 69'ing some hot brunette.  Oh, and I might have gotten a genital wart but I'm sure it's nothing serious." 

3) New Orleans: Where can you drink in the street all hours of the day besides Vegas?  What place lets you bring your own booze into a bar and ask if you want a refill?  What place lets women walk around drunk, half naked, flashing their tits every 5 minutes and horny as hell?  New Orleans my friend.  The Big fucking Easy.  Should I go on?

4) Mexico: I don't care where in Mexico you go.  Shit, go to fucking Tijuana if you want.  Mexico is a foreign Las Vegas but EVERYTHING is legal.  Sex, drugs, Fourloko...every-fucking-thing is there for the taking.  Why do you think everyone goes there, parties their asses off and comes back a changed person?  Because it's fucking crazy there and something went down that made them see the light.  I'm talking about shit a fucking convict wouldn't even think about doing.  You do shit there that I can't even write about.  I mean shit you take to the grave with your soul.  A-MAY-ZING!

5) Austin, TX: Southern Belles, beer, live music, food and a damn fucking good time.  The place to be is 6th Street downtown.  Places with names such as "The Dirty Dog" and "Casino El Camio," are sure to get you fucked up my friend.  As far as you're concerned, your bachelor party group, are now professional bull riders looking for a female to play the game "8 seconds."  Don't use that exact pick-up line because I'm sure you'll get a beer poured on you, but go ahead and try it.  If it helps you get laid, you owe me a beer.  Actually, I know that line will get you laid, so definitely use that shit to help you get some tail.  

6) Jersey Shore: Yeah, I said it.  Douchebags.  Guidos.  Guidettes.  Jager shots.  Spikey hair.  Fake tans.  Dragon patterned t-shirts.  Fists pumping.  Jersey accents to die for.  What else is there to say?  Tell Pauly D I said what's up.

Here's your guide and I hope it helps you on your search to the bachelor party promise land.  Take what I say in all seriousness.  I can't tell you how many bachelor parties I've been to and it was ruined by that one detail that was left out.  Be a good best man and give your buddy a party he will never forget and never want to talk about.  Trust me, if he never wants to talk about it, it was a good fucking time.

Sincerely,

J-Wunder

Bachelor Party Aftermath - 11/15/2009

I was going back through my blog today and came across this entry I had from my buddy's bachelor party awhile back.  It gave me so many flashbacks that I thought I should re-post it....FYI, I was literally hungover for a week after this and didn't talk to any of these guys until the wedding.  Enjoy.   

11/15/2009 - I've had some experiences when I traveled but nothing quite like this. The goal for me on Sunday was to make it to the Raider game and home in one piece. But when you get 14 guys together for a bachelor party at a beach house in San Diego (that started on Thursday, mind you), chances are pretty slim. I'm not gonna lie, I live for this shit! The people that know me, know that THIS GUY loves this type of stuff! But the reality is, I'm 30 now and thinking I'm 21 again is pretty pathetic. From the words of my buddy Jason, "This weekend, I gave everything I had..." and fuck, did I pay for it. Fast forward to Sunday morning 4am.

After drinking for hours on the final day of this bachelor party, my goal was to crash by at least 11pm. I wasn't punking out on the rest of the guys that wanted to party, I was just doing what I thought could get me over the HANGOVER since I had the earliest flight out the next day. You guys need to understand that what I drank and ate for 3 days could kill a mature farm animal. Scary, I know. It's 4am and I wake up with the worst case of the bubble guts and for the next two hours I'd be sitting on the crapper for a 2-3 hour time frame asking God, "Why me?!" I'm tired, shaking and just want to try to shake this feeling off b/c I want to be semi-normal when I board the plane back to Oaktown. But when you realize everything you drank and the last meal you ate consisted of 3 double cheeseburgers, a big mac, extra large fry and a diet coke all under 15 minutes (my friends challenged me so how could I say no, right?), you know shit is gonna get ugly.

I get it together, head to the airport and wait to board my flight. Shit just went downhill from there...

My flights packed and the only available seating are middle seats. By the way, I hate fucking middle seats! At this point, my ass hurts from sitting on the John for hours, I feel like death and I just want to get some shut eye and keep it together. I sit by a 60 year old woman that had a body of a 10 year old girl and a fucking giant that looks like Mark Eaton (if you don't know who he is, google him. he's not pretty!). Not off to a good start. All of the sudden, I get so lucky to have a mom and her 4 year old sit behind me. Lucky me, this kid kicks my seats the whole fucking flight. This isn't helping me from yacking my guts out. Now here comes the kicker...the flight attendant does not only look like the figure skater Scott Hamilton, but the jerkoff is annoying the shit out of me, talks really loud and is wearing a red clown nose like he's fucking Patch Adams (I take one look at him and just think, "Man, this douchebag needs to get laid or something"). My head is steaming and I'm really trying to be cool at this point.

We finally take off and I'm feeling a little whoozy and I'm praying to God that I don't throw up. Not so fast...the drink orders come out and the two sitting in front of me and the woman across the way decide to purchase bloody mary's. I took a wiff of that and shit just got way real. From the bloody mary smell, that little fucking kid kicking my seat and the thought of what I just consumed for the past 3 days, I started to get that pre throw-up drool. If you don't know what that is, it's the shit that taste funny, looks like spit and once released from your mouth, you're fucked - THROW UP CITY! I gotta act fast and gotta act now. At first I looked at the seat back pocket in front of me and noticed that the barf bag they supply wouldn't even hold what I thought was going to project out of my mouth. I get up, and dart for the bathroom. This is the worst part...

I head to the back of the plane and the door's locked. I feel like shit, I want to die and feel like I'm being punished. Literally, 5 minutes later, a huge guy who looked like he could have consumed a 12 year old boy, walks out. I give him the, "Hey buddy, please get out of my way b/c I'm about to use your face as a toilet right now," look. 2 seconds later as I walked in, I realized that this guy took a shit so bad and so foul that it caused me to start projectile vomitting all over the can within seconds. I think I was throwing up so violently that I sounded like a dying sea lion. For a good 10 minutes I was heaving everything I possibly could while at the same time making things worse b/c I couldn't shake off the thought of all the Natty and Keystone Light I drank. I clean up this awful, dreadful lavatory and head back to my seat. The looks I got were not the most amusing but hey, you gotta do what you gotta do right? What a weekend and a story about my hungover ass to start the work week.