I just got back from a weekend long bachelor party deal I threw for my tight bro 4 lyfe + beyond at this pretty bad ass lodge in New Hampshire, and aside from the fact that I got so fucked up on the first night I literally slept through the entire second day (sorry gang), I’ll say it was a success.

Oh, also the guy we rented it from is small-timing us on cleaning fees. Seriously, look at this itemized break down. $25 to clean a fucking microwave? I wrote back to the dude to ask if he was looking for a new microwave wiping down guy, because I want to apply for that position. Haven’t heard back yet, but fingers crossed.

These things become more and more frequent as you get toward 30 – I’ve probably been to a dozen by now, and organized a few of them – and since no one explained shit to me, I figured I’d pass on the wisdom I’ve accrued over the years.

Just like everything else these days from your birthday to weddings to holidays, everything is super-sized now. Weddings last a fucking month, what with the rehearsals and parties when everyone gets into town, the morning after brunch, the party before everyone leaves. It’s brutal. Same thing with bachelor parties. One night out at the same old bars you’d hang out at normally isn’t going to cut it. That means you have to plan at least an overnight. Two is even better. If you just do it in the city you all live in, a lot of the other married dudes and assorted pussies are gonna peace out early, or aren’t going to relax because they realize they have to go home to the missus later that night, and they don’t want to get beef for wandering in at 3 am all crooked. Get the fuck out of dodge then. New environments are more exciting, and it makes it seem like more of a thing. The bars you go to in Providence are probably going to be the same shit you see in Boston or whatever shitty town you’re from, but it’s like playing an away game. You’re never entirely comfortable, and that means everyone is on their toes and ready to party.

If you’re into outdoorsy shit, get up into the mountains and go hiking, or white water rafting or something. That stuff is going to be a lot more memorable vis a vis bro-time-forever than tossing back shooters and buffalo wings at Applebees before hitting the strip club. Speaking of which…

Don’t hit the strip club. Invariably some distant friend of your friend that you don’t know is going to insist that it’s not a bachelor party without some Ukrainian broad’s sweater hams up in your face by the end of the night at $30 bucks a minute. No thanks. No offense to my buddies, but I don’t exactly derive pleasure from watching them get an awkward boner. High five bro, solid wood. Plus, Willy fucking Loman with implants over here giving the hard sell all night is a total bummer for everyone involved. There’s a name for people who think a bachelor party automatically equals strippers, and that is dudes who are already married. Sorry man, shouldn’t have gotten married in the first place if you were into chicks. Go to a strip club like a normal person if you must: alone.

Like I said, hiking or boating and shit like that is fun, because you can get it out of the way in the day before getting down to the entire point of the weekend: sitting in each other’s faces, getting wasted, and talking shit about the good old days. That’s what a bachelor party is all about. It’s not necessarily about creating new memories, it’s about hanging out with this one turd you all sort of like and toasting to the person he will soon cease to be. What do you usually do together? Play poker? Shoot pool? Play sports? Blast rails until you can’t stand to look at each other anymore and you start to pull out all the old grievances that have been simmering underneath the surface for ten years? Do that. No need to invent new hobbies all of a sudden. Go to the well, so to speak. Keep it within your wheelhouse. But don’t have an itemized agenda. No one wants that. Have a general outline of a few possibilities that you can do – there’s a golf course nearby, there’s a target shooting place, paintball, a beach…whatever – but don’t stick to it. No one likes a drill sergeant when they’re trying to relax.

It’s ok to get a little sentimental and pull out some of the bachelor party cliches, but no one enjoys this phoney bonding ritual. Hoooboy! A novelty sized, dirt-flavored cigarette that I can’t even inhale but still gives me cancer anyway? I’m in. You’ve never seen so many people standing around pretending to enjoy something when the cigars come out. Not unless you spend a lot of time in art galleries. It’s the epitome of obligatory bonding. Let’s just punch each other in the nuts, call each other fags, and go back inside where the tv and food is if it’s all the same to you guys, ok?

You’re gonna have to suck it up and realize this weekend is gonna run you like $500 bucks. Sorry, that’s just how it works. Between buying cases of beer, throwing down on a round of drinks for 15 dudes you’ll never see again, or picking up a couple pounds of meat to grill, that’s just part of the deal that comes with being a man. You are a man now, by the way, in case that shit wasn’t evident. Pick up the fucking tab every now and again you deadbeat.

This is gonna come a few weeks later, but since we’re on the subject, best to start thinking about it ahead of time. Granted, it’s really not that hard to be a better dude than me, but how is it possible that every guy I’ve ever witnessed tie the knot turns out to have secretly been a combination of Ghandi, Jack Kennedy and Batman all rolled into one? Somehow, every time, the best man manages to make a summary of this investment banker from Connecticut’s life play out like a montage of Rudy, Old Yeller and The Shawshank Redemption set to a Coldplay track.

Don’t bullshit everyone. We know your buddy is a decent dude. Just tell him that, say a few nice things about the wife, and get the fuck back to your seat. Do not use this as an opportunity to dust off some of your old stand up material. Do not talk about drugs, or getting shit-faced together, or breaking the law. Surprisingly, that stuff isn’t funny to his mom because mom’s are total buzzkills at weddings. And most importantly, do not mention any exes, under any circumstances whatsoever, no matter how villainous, or how charming you think the story is going to sound. The wife will never, ever, ever forget that slight and your boy will have to put up with all sorts of hassle the rest of his life every time he wants to go watch the football game with you.

All the same, I’m actually kind of worried about what my future best man is gonna say. “Uh, he never shot anyone on purpose, and he, uh, liked football I guess. I don’t know. They serve that chicken yet?”

Anyway, the point is this, there’s a couple times when it’s completely acceptable to lie about your friends. One, after they’re dead. Two, at the wedding after they’ve just gotten married (same thing.) And three, when the woman they marry asks about the bachelor party amirightfellas!!

WORDS: Luke O’Neil