Tuesday, June 29, 2010
The shenanigans from the weekend began pretty much immediately. We went to get some food and start the drinking and found out there was a pirate theme in Put in Bay during the weekend...because apparently adults need an excuse to get drunk and look stupid. All I really wanted to do was enjoy my meal but it was disrupted by one of the most disturbing sites I have ever seen. Pirate pussy. I spotted some lady standing on a balcony above us who didn't appear to be wearing any panties. So we all point up to her and she jumps on the railing and lets the whole bar area get a peak at her beef curtains. Holy hell, that was one ugly vagina. I can't even describe it without feeling nauseous. All I can say is I will never eat a Philly cheese steak again.
So after we were offended by the nastiest gash in the history of Homo Sapiens, we decided it was our turn to offend some ladies. Or, more accurately, one of the members of our commentariate thought he should find some skanks. But he didn't really want to find skanks, he just wanted to yell skanks down the hallways and see who would get pissed off. My favorite exchange went a little something like this:
Commentor: Skanks, Unite!
Random guy with his wife: What did you just say?
Commentor: Skanks, Unite! Do you know where we can find some skanks?
Random Guy: No.
Commentor: Well what about her? (gestures to guy's wife)
Random Guy: Did you just call my wife a skank?
Commentor: No, sir. But is she, and does she know where we can find some?
The guy then puffed out his chest a little until he eventually realized he would have been walking into a death match. Shortly after this there was a knock on the door and a hotel employee was on the other side. It turns out at least five people had went down to the front desk to complain about some of the offensive exchanges that took place outside our door. I assured them there would be no more problems and they let us stay.
So we made it through one night. And then we started Saturday by cracking beers before noon and a Jagerbomb at half time of the USA soccer game. The bar was full of people with their faces painted red, white, and blue and I was determined to be as un-American as possible during the game because it just pissed me off. I had my first encounter with a vuvuzela and it's as lame as you thought it would be. I have no doubt that our chants for Ghana were the deciding factor of that game.
After the game we went out on the town again. Some of the group went to a pool bar connected to our hotel. One of the bachelor party attendees decided that he wanted to bring his own beer into the pool, which wasn't allowed. So not only did he bring in his own five cans of beer, but he decided he didn't want to get in the water so he just walked on top of the bar and drank his beers. Needless to say, he was kindly escorted and asked to never show his face again. What an ass hole.
It is after this that everything became a little hazy. I remember ending the night by going to several bars and awkwardly thrusting my pelvis into male strangers when I walked behind them. I woke up Sunday morning wearing shorts that I didn't wear to bed. Apparently I grabbed a can of shaving cream and started a war in the room. Shortly after this war is when I concussed myself. That next morning I felt like I had been ran over by a bulldozer and ass raped by a freight train. A hangover cannot even begin to describe the pain that was creeping up on me.
But on the ferry ride back to our car I heard one of the greatest phrases ever: Wal-Mart retard. There was some girl on the ferry ride sitting across from us and apparently she looked like she had a mental disability, at least to one of the attendees. I told him that I didn't see what he was talking about and he went on to describe her like this; "You know, one of those Wal-Mart Retards that can function enough to bag your groceries but that's about it." I don't know why, but that was just incredible to me.
I didn't really realize until Sunday night that I probably had a concussion. I couldn't sleep. I was sweating my balls off. I felt like I needed to puke every time I got out of bed. And then I drove through the fucking storm of the century back to Columbus and damn near had a panic attack. But I made it back, and yesterday I decided I better go to the ER just to make sure I wasn't about to die. Four fucking hours later I came away with a piece of paper saying I had a concussion and cervical strain, which is basically whiplash, and a prescription to some Darvocet. Greatest bachelor party ever? Indeed.