Originally posted: May 18, 2004
So this past weekend was our buddy’s Z’s bachelor party out in Las Vegas. And damnit, was it a good time. Like any bachelor party, it had it’s share of booze and strippers and laughs, but along with that, it had a group of hilarious bastards who get their kicks out of humiliating their good buddy in public places.
I’ll post pics of the trip when I get them all collected. But for now, got an hour to burn and hear about it? Well, read on…
The cast of characters for the weekend was cool in itself. A bunch of guys who went to high school together, all representing different grades and camps. From my little brother Chris’s group, there was Chris, Corey, Mike, Clay, and the bachelor, Z. From my group there was me and Freaky. From my brother Dre’s group there was Dre and Kramer. The three groups were all two years apart, but throughout college and post-college, these separate years and the individual groups evaporated, and we all merged into one mass conglomeration of punks, rats, stylers, and a hippie. Half the group lives out in California and the rest of us reside out here in Atlanta. So, the plan was to meet in Vegas, have ourselves a reunion, raise hell, and make sure Z was non-stop drunk and scared.
So on Thursday, I was to meet up with Z, Kramer, and Clay at the airport. Z had planned to spend the first half of the day at work. He had his suitcase and a bottle of Crown in his trunk. He went out to the car at one point to discover it was gone. Krame and Clay had stolen it from his car. He immediately realized the weekend wasn’t going to be nice to him.
An hour or so later, Z found himself at one of Atlanta’s popular strip clubs, The Cheetah, with Kramer and Clay. Tequilla shots followed.
After that, they Marta’ed over to the airport and I met them at the gate. As soon as we had sat down in our seats at the plane, Clay was hitting on the 3 Kentucky girls behind him…
Unlike yours truly, Clay’s got some clout with the women folk.
We arrived in Vegas after a bunch of plane drinks and cabbed it over to the MGM Hotel, and my bros and Freak were waiting for us out front. We followed them in and I got my first look at a Vegas casino.
It was exactly like I expected – big, bright, loud, and wonderfully ridiculous.
We headed up to our room with Kramer smuggling in a case of beer in his bag. We got to the room, and there, laid out on the couch, were Z’s pre-planned (not by him) outfits for the weekend. I’ll get to those later. We cracked open beers and Chris and Corey read off the list of tasks that Z was expected to accomplish for the weekend. The first one was the Kidd…
Z’s first task was to wear a “Kidd” basketball jersey, huge-ass jeans, and a red ball cap backwards, Fred Durst-style, and to go gamble at a blackjack table. Of course, along with the outfit, he was expected to stay in Durst-character, responding to his card hands with nonsense like “Yeeeeah Dog…” and “This hand is tiiight!” etc…
We headed down to the casino and laughed our asses off at the quiet, polite, red-headed kid trying to talk like a suburban gangster as he gambled. Sadly, there were quite a few other folks down there who looked just like him…
We must have looked kinda suspicious whispering and pointing at him, cause soon there was some old man in a tie standing by us and watching us through the corner of his eye.
His first task completed, Z changed back into his civilian garb. Kramer immediately rounded us up and herded us into some “party bus.” It was some big ass black van with a stripper pole and porn playing on a screen on the back. We passed around a bottle of Southern Comfort. Corey took a swig, then barfed all over the bus. He pulled out 100 bucks and handed it to the driver. And there went Corey’s blackjack wins for the night…
The “party bus” dropped us off at a strip club. I hadn’t been to a strip club in quite some time, and made sure everyone around me knew I was not pleased with the cover charge. Everyone told me to shut up and stop being a cheap bastard. Strip Clubs are weird and dark.
We headed back to the MGM after that, and folks split up – some going to the tables, some going to bed, and the rest of us heading out to the big ass bar in the back.
By the end of the night, Z and I were bellied up to the bar. Actually, it wasn’t night. It was about 8:30 in the morning. We looked over, and there was some girl sitting next to us. She mentioned that she was a “working girl.” I thought, “holy shit,” and ran over to sit next to her. Not like I’d ever have any interest in the actual services of a hooker, but I had all kinds of questions to ask her. Can’t say I’ve ever talked to a hooker before, and I really wanted to learn shit like, how does a normal girl turn into someone who bangs for money? and what do her parents think? and what’s her favorite movie? I asked her if she’d answer my queries, and she said “If you pay me.” I said, “Actually, you should pay me. I’m more interesting.” Apparently, I wouldn’t make a good reporter, cause she pretty much ignored me from then on. I was able to annoy her enough to find out her favorite movie is “Heat.” The one with Val Kilmer and DeNiro and Pacino and all. Interesting, right? A hooker digs DeNiro movies. Eventually, our hooker friend realized we were a waste of her time, and left.
Z and I finished our beers and then staggered over to the buffet to eat breakfast at 10 am with all the folks who had been to bed and showered and didn’t reek of booze, cigarettes, and strip clubs.
A couple hours later my brothers woke me up and we headed down to the pool where everyone was hanging out around the private Cabana, drinking bloody marys and Budweisers, and blasting punk rock out of the boom box. The pool area was packed with young folks doing the same thing we were (without the punk rock). It was time for Z’s second task – the Speedo.
According to instruction, Z stripped down to nothing but the bright green Speedo that Corey and Chris had brought for him. He slowly strutted around the pool area, doing a full circle as the entire population of pool-goers watched and laughed at him. Eventually, he ended up next to the lifeguard stand. He stood there for a moment so everyone could see him, then gave a big stretch for his fans. The entire pool cheered. It was freaking hilarious. He then, according to instruction, did a ridiculous power dive into the pool.
Everyone at the pool was laughing and cheering for the dude in the Speedo, people wanted to buy his next drink, girls clapped for him. It was impressive. Maybe Speedos are coming back in style? I wonder…
That night we headed over to the Hard Rock Casino and ate dinner at the Pink Taco. It was a Mexican Restaurant. Not a strip club. There was a big group of pretty girls celebrating a birthday next to us. Dre ordered a shot of Petrone (spelling?) tequilla for everyone at both tables.
We had a great time at dinner – laughing and pounding Pacificos.
As we waited for a cab out in the parking lot, we turned over to a couple dudes and one of their girlfriends. We started asking them ridiculous questions, like asking which one of us was the ugliest, and so forth. Soon, the questions started getting more and more bizarre, like “if you had to run one of us over in a car, and didn’t kill us in the first try, and had to back up over and over again… which one would you pick?” In betwee these questions, Chris would pop into the group, and with some high-pitched redneck accent, would ask these absurd Nascar/diareaha questions, like “If Daryll Waltrip and Randy LaJoy had diareah in Talledega, which one would…” or something like that.
At one point, one of the guys started a comment with, “I’m straight, but…” At that, Dre barged in, pointed at the dude, and stated, “I’m not convinced!!” The dude didn’t like that…
After sufficiently annoying these folks, we hopped in our cabs…
Chris, Corey, Dre, Freaky and I were in one cab. As soon as we pulled out of the parking lot, Freaky began to cry. Well, pretended to cry. He started wailing this high pitched sob, yelling, “I don’t know why I’m crying!!! Why am I crying!!” I began to yell out, “Pleeeeese stop crying. Pleeease stop crying. Pleeeease stop crying.” Over and over.
Chris and Corey joined in.
“Pleeeeease stop crying. Pleeeease stop crying.”
“Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!”
“Pleeeeease stop crying. Pleeeease stop crying.”
“Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!”
“Pleeeeease stop crying. Pleeeease stop crying.”
“Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!”
“Pleeeeease stop crying. Pleeeease stop crying.”
“Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!”
We continued this for about 5-10 minutes.
We then all started whispering, “IT’S THE WHISPER GAME. SHHHHH! SHHHHH!! SHHHH!!!” Over and Over and Over, as Freaky piped in with “Psst! Psst! Psst!”
We continued this for about 5-10 minutes.
I then kicked into a Morning Zoo Crew personality. I would yell shit like, “THIS IS DARYLL DARYLSON (or something) ON THE MORNING ZOO CREW!!!” while Freaky would pipe in with noises like “booy yoy yoing!!” and “Bloink!!” and so forth. Chris then played the role of the girl calling in to say how much she liked the show! “Hiii, I looove your show!!” “WELL THANK YOU, PRETTY LADY!!!” “BOOOOING!!!”
We continued this for about 5-10 minutes.
For the entire 30 minute or so ride, the cabby didn’t say a word…
We laughed our asses off. It was definately one of the funniest cab chants we’d had in years…
The club was huge. It had strippers and $7 packs of cigarettes.
After the club, we headed back to the MGM. Some folks gambled, some hit the sack, some just drank.
At one point I had to take a leak and I walked into the bathroom. I heard a shriek and a “What are you doing??” Shit, ladies room. I quickly ran out of there.
That morning – well, it was about noon – I was in Chris’s room, annoying him by sitting cross-legged on the bed right next to him and smoking a cigarette as he was just waking up. We began to question what happened to Z, when all of the sudden, he and Kramer barged into the room and started jumping on the beds and pushing us around and raising all kinds of ruckus. They had been out on the town all night. It was noon, as I mentioned, making it Z’s second full all-nighter. He’d had about an hour of sleep the whole time he’d been there so far. Kramer had just taken him on a whilrlwind tour of Vegas. These dudes were fired up…
Oh yeah, I forgot another funny thing. On one of the afternoons, Dre and Z went to get some more beer. Z decided to wear another one of his outfits. He put on a ridiculous tie-dye shirt and horribly ridiculous tie-dye pants. Dude probably looked like Carrot Top. They bought beer and a couple bags of ice. As they walked back, they realized they had too much to carry, and threw one of the bags of ice in the trash. They threw away water. Throwing away water is funny…
My dad is currently out in Nevada for work, and he met up with us that afternoon. A group of us went to the sports bar in the hotel and bet on Nascar. My dad put his money down on Earnhardt Jr. and won. He had won money on the race a couple weeks before, as well. He knows his Nascar.
So that night, we said goodbye to my dad and went up to wake up Z. The dude was a mess. Hung over and tired and looking like shit. He wasn’t going to like his next task: The Leather Man.
Oh, before I go on, lemme mention a hilarious coincedence. Freaky’s older brother Jeff – a doctor – just happened to be staying in the same hotel celebrating a bachelor party with a bunch of his old college buddies…
Ok, back to what I was saying. The Leather Man. We made Z put on a pair of tight black pants, a black tanktop, some silver “arm bands” that club-goers apparently wear on their biceps, and some terrible black leather boots. Oh, and a black leather cap. The same kind of cap that the guy from Judas Priest wore. Z looked like a complete sicko. Total male dancer whore. It was nasty. We gave him a boom box, and gave him his task.
His task was to barge into Freaky’s brother’s bachelor party and dance, as if he were a male stripper that had ended up at the wrong party…
Z, all hungover and tired, was not pleased. It didn’t matter. So, we followed him as he walked down the hotel hallways in his gay male stripper outfit, carrying a boom box that was blaring some truly horrible Jessica Simpson song and that creepy dance song that goes, “I’m Blue, dadda deeda da da!” We would follow him as he’d have to step into crowded elevators, the music blasting, and people staring at him, either laughing, or trying to hold it in cause they weren’t sure if they were supposed to or not.
So we followed the poor bastard over to the bachelor party full of about 10 dudes in their mid-30s, only about 3 of whom knew what was going on. He walked into the hotel room, and started awkardly dancing near the older bachelor dude that he’d never met before. The dude looked over at his buddies, pissed. He couldn’t believe his bastard buddies would waste money on a damn male stripper… All his buddies took pictures of the goofy amateur stripper nervously putting his Judas Priest hat on the head of the other bachelor. It’s surpising Z didn’t get his leather-covered ass kicked.
We then thanked the group of dudes for letting us humiliate our bachelor buddy by humilating their bachelor buddy, then followed Z as he reluctantly paraded through the casino in his outfit. Heads turned. People laughed. And “I’m Blue dadda deeda daddado” never sounded so good.
It was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.
We then wandered over to another casino and sat at a bar and got served by the slowest bartender I’ve ever seen in my laugh. On our way out, we asked a bartender if we could have a to-go cup for my glass of beer. They said, “take the glass.” Uh, ok. We wandered back to the MGM with glasses of beer from the other Casino. I don’t know. That just seemed weird. I threw the empty glass in a trash can when we arrived.
We went down to the Fat Tuesdays in the lower level of the MGM and ordered a bunch of 190 Octanes. We then hung around the casino drinking big plastic yards of bright orange frozen drinks, looking like complete geeks. We finished our drinks in the Food Court of the MGM, laughing about old high school stories, and then all went back to gambling, hanging at the bars, etc.
At about 3am, I realized I was a dead dog. I didn’t want to quit the night – I was having too much fun – but I was practically falling asleep in my chair. Realized the sad fact that my night was over. I headed to the elevators. If I recall, a dude and his lady were making out in the elevator as I just stood there, drunk and sad.
I walked down the hallway. The air conditioner by the Coke Machine buzzed and banged over the sounds of my flip flops slapping the floor as I staggered to my room. Chris and Corey and Freaky were down at the tables gambling. I realized that as soon as I stepped into the dark room and put my head down, one of the most hilarious and fun weekends of my life would suddenly end. I was sad. I wanted another day. I walked into the room, emptied the ATM receipts and quarters from my pockets onto the table, laid down on the floor, and the vacation ended.
That morning, Freaky and I sat at the slot machines smoking cigarettes, drinking coffee, and stuffing dollars into the slots just to watch them eat the rest of our money. The rest of the gang joined us. We were all tired and hungover and not looking forward to the plane ride back. But damnit, we knew we were gonna be heading back to Atlanta and California with big dumb smiles and memories of delirious debauchery, comedy, and laughs. And great friends.
Man, we had some serious kicks this weekend. Chris and Corey, you guys did a great job planning this thing. Z, congrats on your upcoming wedding, and congrats on being such a good sport.
And the good news is, my little brother Chris has his own bachelor party coming up in a couple months. It’s gonna be hard to beat this one, but I know all of us are already looking forward to trying…
I’d be nervous if I were him…
