What's So Funny? Bachelor up!

By the end of this summer, I will have attended three weddings—which will be one more than I went to last summer. If this trend continues, I will have to attend 137 weddings next summer. This will be difficult because I don’t even think there are that many days in summer, which means I will have to double up on some of the days, which means that by the second wedding of the day, I will inevitably have armpit stains. And that blows. Nobody likes the guy at the wedding with the pit stains. He’s the shifty, nervous-looking guy who makes uncomfortable conversation with unblinking children, hovers around the cake too long, and is overly chatty with the mother of the bride.

And what do you do if you’re that guy? Do you wear your suit coat to cover up the pit stains, which makes them hidden but even more enormous under suffocating fabric in the goddamn blazing summer sun? Or do you take the jacket off and hope they naturally fade away, holding your arms stiffly out in front of you and praying they play Thriller so you can pretend you’re doing the zombie shuffle, but really you’re just trying to aerate your pits? Man, it’s a fucking quagmire! It’s like a snake devouring its tail.

But alas, such is the bane of existing 29 years, and thusly reaching an age where people commonly “get their shit together” and then celebrate by rubbing your nose in that shit through unending, insufferable ceremonies. Fortunately, this excludes the two weddings that I’ve already been to this summer, which were tasteful, concise, and downright fun.

But we’ve all been to those other types of weddings, and if you don’t think you’ve ever been to one like that—one where the priest rambled on and on about how a love like this has never existed in the history of the species, and where extended relative after extended relative gave pointless, rambling toasts for hours—then you were probably the one throwing that wedding.

And shame on fucking you.

But you know what’s more unbearable than bad weddings? Bad bachelor parties. Those can get creepy fast, and then it’s an entire room full of pit-stained skunks. Which is why I’m going to tell you a little secret about bachelor parties. Success of The Hangover aside (and by the way, I knew about Zach Galifianakis way before you did, and yes, I am that guy who will point that out anytime anyone mentions The Hangover), no one at the bachelor party really wants some completely debauched experience with ecstasy and strippers. If I wanted to sit around in a room with a bunch of other dudes achieving group boners, I would have played lacrosse.

So, here are my two foolproof formulas for tolerable, laid-back bachelor parties based on a recent experience:

Option One: Eliminate the bachelor. A friend had a delightful karaoke throw down at a bar, and guess who we invited? Girls! Friends of the bride, girlfriends, and just a ton of girls! And this was an amazing success because you know what every group of guys really appreciates? Girls! Available, unpaid-for girls!

Option Two: Compete. For another buddy’s bachelor party we went to a place in Thornton called X-Treme Challenge: Gladiator Fusion Arena. Some former American Gladiator champion owns it, and a bunch of us gathered there recently to celebrate our friend’s impending nuptials by beating the holy hell out of one another! This was great because if there is one thing guys like more than girls, it’s competing with one another, and then ridiculing those who didn’t compete. It’s what we do best. Look at the popularity of sports. Give your bachelor buddies a chance to compete at something, and you’ll all be laughing about it at the wedding. Except for the shitty athletes, but whatever. It’s their turn to feel bad.

But Adam, what about you? We only read this column because we care about you! What would your dream bachelor party look like? That’s a great question, you sycophantic, ass-kissing reader, you. The answer is you’ll find out when you find a girl who likes bird watching, sugar cereal, and shitty Bravo reality television, and who also has tits as big and bright as the sun.

And no aversion to pit stains.