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. 

SLO Up From the Flo Up

Like any trip to SLO (San Luis Obispo), it became one for the ages this past weekend. Not because it's where I went to college for 5 years but...ok, it's because I went to college there so fuck you...happy? What can I say, it's the first place I got to experience being an adult and having my first beer. Look at me now mom and dad, I'm a complete piece of shit. College did me well! But I digress...

This weekend I was down there for a golf tourney. And even though I can't play golf for shit, I can still be a winner. How? It's simple...BRING 3 RINGERS. And that I did. Not only were they ringers, but mother fuckers that like to drink. To me, you can have all the goddamn talent in the world, if you don't booze, I won't even consider you. Why the fuck should I, right? It's like you having a sign posted on your fucking chest that says, "Giving away free AIDS." Fuck all that shit. I need talent that will not only help me look good on the golf course, but party with me so I won't be the only one blacking out all night.

On our way into town, me and the 3 MuskaRingers hit up a golf course in Paso Robles...Hunter Ranch. A nice course for you fucking golf snobs out there, that like to wear collard shirts and drink $8 bottled water. Hey, I wasn't paying for shit so it's all good. Anyway, long story short, we golfed and fucked that course up. Well, not me, my other 3 amigos did. But the best part wasn't even the golfing. It was the 8 Bloody Mary's, 48 beers, 2 cans of chew and the goddamn swarm of bees that whizzed on by the 12th green. Not sure if any of you have seen that shit up close and personal but that freaked me the fuck out. There I was, drunk, screaming like a little bitch as 1,000 bees were migrating to some place to call home. It was like a scene from the movie, "Candyman" except no one got a big ass hook stuck in their ass. I have no clue if that even happened in the movie, it just sounded like something appropriate to say. Honestly, the only thing I remember from that movie, were a shit ton of bees and some scary ass black dude fucking people up. Anyway...

So we finish our round, hop in the car and head south to lovely S-L-O. We get in about 6:30pm, grab a beer at the hotel happy hour then head downtown to go grab some sushi. Keep in mind at this point, we've all put down enough booze to kill a fucking mountain lion and a few cubs. I won't bore you with details on what we ate so I'll get to the good part...5 tall bottles of Sapporo and 10 bottles of Sake. GONE! I mean, the sake tasted like shit, but when you're in a college town and you're the 4 oldest mother fuckers in this restaurant...beggers can't be choosers, right? Next stop...Mother's Tavern. Ooops, my bad...it's got a new gay ass fucking name: Mo-Tav.

We find a spot at this place and before any of us head to the bar, we all agree that we should have one more drink and call it a night. But who the fuck were we kidding? We've been drinking since 1:30pm and it's now 10:30pm. So, as I always do, I agree, but tell the guys, "Well let me at least get the "one" round." They nod, I go to the bar and come back with 4 pints of double Red Bull/Vodka's (just a side note, in 5 hours, I decided to take three 5 Hour Energy's because apparently, "they weren't working"). What was suppose to be "one last drink", turned into:

- 5 rounds of Jameson shots
- 3 more double Red Bull/Vodka's
- Shots of some shit that looked like piss but tasted like shit
- Cheering on two Latin bitches that were basically fucking each other on the dance floor
- Freaking some chick in a wheelchair
- Asking the bartender if I could make a sandwich in the kitchen...about 50 times.

Once it was all said and done, I found myself alone...separated from my Three Amigos eating three pieces of pepperoni pizza from Woodstock's, walking back to the hotel. It was 1:45am and I'm pretty sure I drunk dialed everyone in my phone including my mom. Matter of fact, I know I drunk dialed my mom because I think I left a message telling her I was drunk and was about to get ass pounded by a very large feminine man in the drunk tank. Sorry mom. You know, when you roam the streets by yourself wasted, you do things you never thought you would do when sober. Like, go to 7-11 and spend $30. What the fuck would you spend $30's on, J? Good question. Apparently I bought all this for 30 singles:

- Four 5 Hour Energy's
- 2 Spicy Hot Burrito's
- A big bag of Chili Cheese Frito's and Flaming Hot Cheeto's
- A tuna sandwich
- Gum (lost it on the way to the hotel)
- Gummy worms (ate the whole pack on the way to the hotel)
- Cup 'O Noodles
- 2 bottles of water

Finally, I get back to the hotel. Drunk as shit. Still hungry as fuck. Confused like a virgin, fucking a Cheese 'n Broccoli Hot Pocket...I needed to go the fuck to sleep because in 3 hours, I was heading back out to play more golf. Then my buddy decided to wake up...

Have you ever seen somebody sleepwalk? The better question is, have you ever seen somebody sleepwalk naked knowing they were intoxicated? Well I have, and that shit was the most amazing thing I have ever seen in my goddamn life, people. Look, I may have done some shit in my lifetime that was really weird and fucked up. But whatever I did, would never top this. EVER. Ok, I might be lying just a little. Anyway...It's almost 3am and I'm sitting at a table eating one of my 20 bags of fucking chips when this mother fucker decides to wake up. Butt ass fucking naked. Here I am, thinking he was getting up to grab a drink of water or head to the bathroom...oh no...in exactly 2 minutes time, this dude opened up the closet, pull out two hangers, grab .85 cents in change, threw that shit at me from 10 feet away, turned around, opened up a cabinet and took a piss in it...all while swaying side to side like his dick was watering some plants. I sat there...a handful of fucking chips in my mouth...coat hangers chillin' by my feet...3 quarters and a dime scattered across the floor...and my buddy taking a goddamn leak in the living room. Not giving two fucking shits in the world.

He went back to bed without saying one fucking word to me that night. I went to bed too. As for the piss on the carpet and inside the cabinet...no one cleaned it up because quite frankly, there was no reason to. And if you want to know how we did in the golf tourney the very next day...we won that shit - DRUNK. The rest, is fucking history.

Why You Should Never Give Your # Away at Bars

St. Patty's Madness

Today's a great fucking day! You know why? Not only is it St. Fucking Patrick's Day, but it's Day 1 of the NCAA March Madness Tourney. Talk about Christmas come fucking early, right?

With a day like today, I know a few things:

1) 100% hoops fans will be unproductive at work.  When I say unproductive, I mean mother fuckers will not be working but acting like they are, with a set of head phones on. All.Day.Long.

2) Lunch breaks will be an hour longer. Tabs will be $100's more.

3) 82% of employees will smell like fried food and booze throughout the day.

4) No one will work til 5pm.

5) 88% of America will be intoxicated for one of three reasons: 1) March Madness, 2) St. Patrick's Day, 3) Both

6) 50% of people will lose a lot of money. Whether it was betting on 1st round games or at the bar buying people they don't even know, drinks.

7) 64% of men and women will get laid for either the first time in their pathetic lives or for the 30th time.

8) 44% of men and women will have a drunken, blacked out, one night stand.

9) 15% out of these people boning tonight, will contract an STD. Specifically, herpes.

10) 20% of these drunken fucks will get arrested. Not for fighting. But for just being too fucking drunk.

11) 10% will for sure get arrested for fighting.

12) The streets of San Franciso and around the world will smell like stale beer and puke tomorrow.

13) 80% of women will wear the shirt, "Kiss Me, I'm Irish." Please note: there is a 90% chance they will not kiss you because they're bitches and just want attention.

14) 54% of couples will argue. It will be for a few reasons: 1) One of them is too fucking drunk, 2) One of them is flirting way too much with the opposite sex, 3) One of them threw up and just got kicked out of a bar, 4) One of them is too emotional because they are way too fucking drunk, 5) One of them is too drunk to have sex.

15) If booze runs out at a bar, there WILL be violence and some shit will be burned to the goddamn ground.

16) 80% of employees will either call in sick tomorrow or look so hungover that they will be sent home from work.

17) Every toilet in America tomorrow will have shit stains from the massive consumption of Guinness and Jameson.

18) 75% of people will not remember where they were between the hours of 7pm-3am on 3.17.2011.

19) Every person will have three new phone numbers in their cell.

20) The madness will start all over again.


20 things. 20 FACTUAL things. Happy St. Fucking Patty's Madness folks!

Later, Stainer

WARNING: The events in this post are real.  The people are real.  The details are real.

I have had a lot of fucked up shit happen to me in my 31 years of living.  You name it, I probably experienced it.  From getting my face pissed on when my older brother was fucking wasted when I was in high school, to being puked on all over my face/body from my college roommate at a packed restaurant...my luck is pretty fucking awful.  That's why, what I'm about to tell you doesn't surprise me, nor does it make me feel embarrassed.  Things happen in life.  It just so happens, the fucked up things always happen to me.

It was an end to a very long and busy week.  What better way to celebrate then have a few drinks and let loose from the craziness that has taken over my life the past two months.  Work.  As much as I want to bitch about it, I can't.  I'm still employed and if anything, I'm thankful as a mother fucker to have a job and work for a great company.  But I digress...

It's about 5:30pm and I'm on my second drink of the night.  The bar is poppin' and it feels good that the weekend is finally fucking here.  And yes, I'm planning on getting fucking wa-wa-waaaaasted.  Not blackout wasted, but eat everything in sight on my way home at 11pm wasted.  The mission was clear.  The details were simple.  But all that changed when I went for drink #3.

Cocktail in hand, I was mingling with everyone, enjoying my Friday night.  How could this night go bad?  One cough and a tense anus, that's how.  I shat myself folks.  And when I say shat, I don't mean wet fart or a Hershey fucking squirt.  I mean, I literally shat my fucking pants.  All because I coughed.  At first, I was like, "What the fuck?!  Did something just come out of my ass right now?  No.  Could it?  No.  Should I go to the bathroom?  Is that shit I smell?"  But the longer I was debating on if I really shat myself, the more I could feel the wet warmth spreading around my ass cheeks.  I basically had to excuse myself from a conversation I was having, then proceed to walk down a flight of stairs with both ass cheeks clinched ever-so-tightly, hoping no shit I just shat, would spread farther then it already did.

I get to the bathroom, and notice that the lighting in this fucking place is goddamn awful.  How the fuck am I suppose to see how much shit are on my boxer briefs, let alone if my asshole is fully clean after wiping?  Based on the bathroom lighting alone, I am convinced that at least 60-65% of men and women who take a shit in this place, do not have a fully clean asshole after wiping, and are very likely to be walking around in shit stained drawers.  You mine as well be fucking blind because that's how I felt.

As I was sitting on the crapper, I looked straight down to see how much shit was really in my boxers.  Again, the lighting was so bad it felt like I was taking a shit in the dark.  I had no clue how much dookie was in my drawers so without even thinking about it, I went in. That's right.  I fucking braved it, put my hand in my boxers to feel how much shit really came out of my asshole.  Bad fucking move on my part.  Lets just say when I did that and took a look at my hand, it looked as if I dipped my hand in one of those goddamn chocolate fondu fountains.  This was not good at all.  Things just went from bad to fucking worse in a matter of 10 seconds.  There I am sitting on the fucking toilet with shit now smeared all over my boxers, my right hand is covered in my own shit and I'm trying to figure out how the fuck am I gonna get out of this shitty (pun intended) situation in this dark ass bathroom?

I ended up wrapping half a roll of toilet paper around my right hand because not only could I not see if I was wiping all the shit off but, my hand just smelled awful.  The smell was so bad it made me rethink about what I should stop eating and start eating.  Once I wrapped my shitty hand, I knew I had to ditch my boxer briefs.  It was either that, or walk around smelling like shit, right?  Basically, I undressed, took off my boxers and since there wasn't a trash can in the stall, I said, "Fuck it," and threw my boxers behind the toilet.  I mean, what the fuck was I suppose to do at that point?  Walk out of that stall in a packed ass men's bathroom and say, "Hey guys, don't mind me, I just shit my pants and I'm gonna throw these here boxer briefs in that trash can.  Don't worry, it doesn't smell too bad."  Fuck that.  There was no way in hell I was going to do that.  It's bad enough that once I ditched my drawers, I had to unwrap my hand that was still doused in my own shit and wash it.  The torture kept coming because once I went to wash my hands, the soap that I used smelled liked shit too.  It was as if, the bar gods were trying to punish me for something I might have done months ago.  I didn't like it one bit and I knew I had to just fucking leave and head on BART.  I grabbed my stuff, and left.

I finally get on the train and realize that the punishment isn't over.  For the next 45 minutes, I'm going to have to endure my right hand smelling like I have been finger banging my own anus for the last 2 days, my taint probably covered in my own shit and my nut sack sticking to my inner thigh.  All because I fucking coughed the wrong way.  I knew I shouldn't have eaten those goddamn sausages during my department meeting this morning.  I also shouldn't have eaten those beer battered chicken strips for lunch.  Even though it tastes so good, my stomach never agrees with it.  EVER.  I could have just taken a shit before I went to the bar.  But no, I had to be greedy and hold it in til I felt like my asshole was going to explode.  I felt the signs.  The tight anus.  The stomach noises.  The cramping.  I did this to myself and it hasn't been pretty.

I finally get home and the only thing I could tell J-Co was, "Honey, even though I'm 31 years old, I shat myself at a bar and I'm sorry."  She looked at me as if her body language was saying, "Why the fuck are you telling me?  I'm not the one who shit my pants, buddy."  That look really said it all. Well, lets not forget to mention her actually saying to me, "Go take a shower, you smell like shit.  I'll go get you some food, you look like you had a rough few hours." Yeah, you bet your sweet ass it was rough.  But it got rougher when I took off my pants and realized that I shit so bad that my dookie stained the inside of my jeans.  I'm assuming that's the reason because I really don't want to admit that I didn't wipe my ass good enough which caused me to stain my Banana Republic jeans I love so dearly.

This story is fucked up, I know.  I'm not one bit embarrassed telling this story exactly how it went down.  What I am embarrassed about is how I got kinda drunk off of three drinks.  I feel like I turned into a little fucking lightweight bitch.  Ball Buster asked me, "Do you think anyone noticed?"  Shit, if they did, who gives a fuck?  What could I have done?  Denied it?  I smelled like a goddamn toilet for fuck's sake.  It is what it is.  And what it is, is simple.  I shit myself...and I'm sorry fuckers.

"Bartender, another round please?"

Study: Americans Get Majority Of Exercise While Drunk

My 1st Work Hangover

Graph Expo (Chicago), October 2002. First job out of college as a sales rep for a 17 billion dollar company. Here I am at the biggest printing trade show platform in North America, ready to take on every business owner known to man. 22 years old and all I want to do is be that guy...the one that surprises all those "mentors" who could really give a shit about the kid out of college. First order of business, take care of those clients that are willing to spend the dough. One thing everyone needs to know about this company is that every rep needs to do whatever it takes to get these clients reeled in - dinners, drinks, gifts, blah, blah, blah..ENTERTAINMENT IS YOUR MIDDLE NAME. And for me, the company that resides in Los Angeles (my territory), wanted exactly that.

The trade show ends on day one and almost every rep has plans with different clientele. Luckily for me, my GM asked if I could entertain some guests as a good "first time to get my cherry popped" experience in the world of sales. How hard could it be, right? Take some guys out to dinner and drinks and call it a night and be ready for our morning meeting at 7am the next day. This didn't go according to plan...

One thing I realized was that when you have a group of men that have been married for years, kids in high school and get the opportunity to leave all that for 5 days for free food, booze and entertainment...they are gonna run with it! FOR ALL 5 FUCKING DAYS!!!! For them, it's like a bachelor party without the bachelor and Las Vegas present. Instead of writing massive amounts of lines, let me draw out what our itinerary was like:

7pm - Drinks at the hotel bar (Sky Bar at the W Hotel is the bomb)...3-4 drinks

8:30pm - Another bar down Rush and Division...roughly 3-5 drinks. We're feeling saucy and at this point, business talk has been thrown out the fucking window and now topics include, sports, next bar to hit and possible strip clubs.

10pm - Pit stop at the Excalibur (don't worry, we didn't fly to Vegas and this isn't a strip joint). Low and behold, we're at a party thrown by my company's lovely competitor. They have no fucking clue who I am...I'm the recent college grad, remember? Free drinks for me and my clients = edge of blacking out!

1am - Guess what folks, we're still drinking for free!

3am - Blacking out is almost near...

5am - Shit faced, about to throw up and my generous hospitality gets a limo for me and my guests back to the hotel. Let me mention that the hotel was probably only 5 blocks away. My excuse? We couldn't walk to save our lives.

6am - Not really sure what happened between the time we got in the limo and back to the hotel. And I'm not really sure I want to remember...my point is we got back fuckers! Oh, guess who has a meeting in 1 hour? Me! FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!!!

7am - Enter drunk me into a room with 25 other drunk fucks who haven't slept. Thank you Jesus! This ain't so bad afterall...

10am - Meeting and breakfast is over, hit the showroom floor and here comes the fury of, "Holy shit man, I'm either gonna throw up or shit myself." What to do, what to do?

10:45am - Scrambling to the bathroom in this big ass venue. I'm new to everything and have no clue where I'm at because 1) I'm still fucked up, 2) I'm about to puke, 3) Did I say I was still fucked up?

11am - *cue the victory music* Bathroom is found and I run in that mother fucker like Huessin Bolt running his 40 yard dash. No need to barf, just drop my fucking slacks and drop bombs like it's WWII all over again.

Think of every fucking awful noise you could possibly think of and that was me dropping deuce (I know this is TMI but roll with me here folks). I was wrecking that porcelin god like Dirk Diggler destroying a midget in one of those fetish porno's. "What the fuck?!" I look to my right when I grab for some tp. "That's not what I think it is, is it?!" I take a closer look. "Son of a fucking bitch dude! Son of a fucking bitch dude! That is not what I think it is in the men's bathroom!" Guys, I can't believe I'm writing this now that I think about it...if you haven't figured it out, I'll tell you...

While I'm taking this dump that has made me teary eyed and moan like a drowing tiger, I noticed what I thought I would never see...a fucking tampon dispenser. Read that again. A FUCKING TAMPON DISPENSER! I'm still drunk and taking the most atrocious crap in the woman's restroom right now! I put my hands on my head and start to hear voices. That's right, female voices. Big fucking dilemma! Blowing ass violently in a woman's restroom behind door number 1 (that's right, I took the first fucking stall I saw open), isn't gonna be pleasant for the chick who's waiting. "Deep breaths...finish what you got, wipe and just leave as if you don't see anyone." All I had at this point was to try to talk myself through it. "Why the fuck did I drink all that booze and eat those hot wings and artichoke dip last night?!" Time to finish...

I wipe, tuck in my dress shirt, button up and prepare to face the person who's feet I've been looking at while the fury has been shooting out of my anus for the last 10 minutes. The toilet flushes, the door opens...

In front of me stares a very large black woman who has this look...it's not the type of look you would think...it's so bad, there's not even a word to describe it. It's a look worse than if you were to find out your best friend banged your mom or dad. A look worse than if you found out your friend got off watching donkey shows in Tijuana every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. It was a look like if you met Satan in a dark alley with your pants down masturbating with a pickle in your mouth while wearing a gold chain with whipped cream smeared around your nipples. That's the only words I could describe this look. I couldn't look down when I opened that door, something told me to look up and deal with it. "That.Is.Disgusting." She muttered those words and all I could do was give her a blank ass stare with a little side smirk. I ran, ran without washing my hands...ran so fast, hoping no other woman could see me leave.

I got my cherry popped alright. Getting my drink on with actual clients and shitting with furious anger and vengeance while getting caught in the women's fucking restroom. FML!

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.