The Bachelor Party Invite

This is a simple response to a bachelor party invite I received for a friend of mine (actual names have been changed for obvious reasons). I did not include the entire email chain so you may not understand some of the references, but I think you will get the basic idea trying to be conveyed:



I will not be able to make it to the festivities, not because of scheduling conflicts or budget constraints, but because I would rather shit in my own mouth than spend anymore time with you all than what it takes to write this email. Please do not take offence to this as my decision is not based on anything any of you has ever done to me, its just that I have layers upon layers of psychological issues/scars that stretch back nearly two decades. I fear that if put into an elegant spa-like atmosphere with this emotionally charged group I may lose it completely and end up hurting(killing) myself, or worse, every anglo-saxon male over the age of 17 within a 400 mile radius for absolutely no reason at all. Thus said, I am sure you will all understand and accept this, my formal decline of invitation, for Mr. Lieberdowski's celebration commemorating the end of his long and devoted celibacy.

I would, however, like to participate in spirit if you all would allow me the pleasure. I will be mirroring your activities from Arizona in any way that I shall deem appropriate.

For instance, I plan on waking up at 8am (10am central), right about the same time you will be starting your trek to the spa, I will be watching internet porn and masturbating for the full 1hr 15min duration of your spa treatment. The reason for this is to pay homage to the many many years leading up to this joyous occasion that Hank spent alone in a desolate, dark, lonely room late at night, beating the shit out of his own dick to internet pornography.

Just as all of you are reaching the gentle flows of the Raccoon River, I will be returning from the local Quick Trip with a case of PBR bottles, 7 Mega Burritos, a bag of Cheetos brand Puffs, 2 packs of World of Warcraft ‘Heroes of Azeroth’ Trading Card Game trading cards, a Jack’s Pepperoni frozen pizza, and a bottle of Alieve. There are, at all times, at least two fifths of Evan Williams whiskey in my cabinets that I keep close for desperate situations such as this. Back at my fortified and well stocked Bell Rd compound I will commence drinking heavily and eating gluttonously while watching the entire Back to the Future trilogy on my high def TV, watching American Psycho on a continuous loop on the secondary TV, playing World of Warcraft Wrath of the Lich King in window-mode on the computer, participating in two $50 buy-in WSOP qualifier tournaments, and downloading the most recent episodes of The Colbert Report. There is no underlying reason for these activities, they are simply my regular Saturday routine. I feel they are sufficient diversions in themselves and no changes need to be made to this routine in order to comply with the standards of Mr. Lieberdowskis’ bachelor party.

By the time you have finished the tubing adventure I will be roaming the valley foothills, drunk and brain-fried from booze and visual/sonic sensory overload, looking for some naturally growing peyote cactus to eat to bring me into a full-on hallucinatory dreamstate much like in the movie Young Guns. The reason I will put myself into such a psychotic state of mental collapse is because I want to experience what Hank Lieberdowski must have been feeling when he came to the conclusion that he wanted to throw away his vitality/virility/sanity…freedom…and get married.

At this point it will only be appx 7pm AZ time but I will already be naked and blistered by sunburn, roaming the Superstition Mountains, consumed by insanity, and searching for the fabled Peralta family treasure that was lost in the Mine of the Lost Dutchman in 1847. I figure if I can survive this surely fatal mad-dog craziness, somehow actually find the elusive Peralta treasure that has evaded treasure hunters for over 150 years, and come out unscathed on the otherside with my mind miraculously still intact…I may, and I stress may, be able to understand the decision making process that Mr. Lieberdowski underwent to come to his present situation and standing.

I may be wrong with my reasoning here, but isn’t the real purpose of these ‘Bachelor Parties’ to help us all understand and support a fellow comrade and his decision to leave the ranks of manhood where he was king of his domain, only to become a secondary mammal in the service of another for the rest of his life? I certainly think so. Lets not allow this ‘Bachelor Party’ to become another excuse to drink and act belligerent as a release from our jobs/wives/kids/bills/etc… Lets really honor our friend, let us go through his pain and give Tecmo Bowl High Fives if we are able to survive to see the otherside of real insanity. This isn’t just a party…this is a motherfucking freight train coming straight at us and there is no safe option for jumping off the track. We need to face this thing head-on like savage warriors driven by pure adrenaline facing a lethal and unpredictable enemy…this battle has no certain outcome. Victory is not guaranteed, prepare for the worst. This storm will surely pass, but not without casualties. Be strong my friends. I will see you on the otherside.