Bob’s Bachelor Party Bash

Starting a story with a title is already setting some precedence. The shedding of one’s innocence before taking on the newfound adult responsibilities attached to the life that lay before you can be quite daunting. So, it only makes sense to raise the kind of hell that only a bachelor party can support. And bring all of the misfits and crazy young adult friends you have acquired to the party to help you lower the bar on your maturity, one last time. That’s a paraphrase from the Funk & Wagnalls dictionary.

I’ve been to many such parties over the years, not so much now that I’m older though. Some of these parties will never make it in to my writings, mostly because well, I learned later in life how crazy and messed up some of my earlier friends were. There parties were unbelievable. But I digress and want to focus on my older brother’s, Bob, bachelor party. In the large scheme of things it was as simple as mine. Bob had his party in his best man’s (Jerry) parent’s basement. I had mine in a barn at our parent’s house. Bob had fifteen attendees. I had twelve. Bob had a blast that night and so did I until a few of my guest developed hay fever and cut the party short.

But let’s focus on his, because that’s what this story is about. My details are sketchy from all those years ago. It was his first wife and I believe it was October but I could be wrong. I remember it being dark outside so October it is for the sake of this story.

We began to gather at Jerry’s parent’s home. The plan was to assemble in the basement. And as the guys began to descend down the basement stairs it was easy to see on their faces that something big was about to happen, something, perhaps, that may require stitches. The innocence on their faces betrayed the expectations they had been setting for themselves. The stock of beer was impressive even for fifteen thirsty mates. Party on dude

And as the evening progressed all invitees had arrived. Dave, our close friend, brought a small portable music player and classic rock, like Bob Segar, Eagles, and Led Zeppelin began to fill the corners of an old spider infested basement.

Most likely by design, Jerry’s mother decided to bring food down early so as not to witness the upcoming atrocities that were bound to occur and just around the corner.

Hot dogs!!! She brought us hotdogs and chips. She was equipped with all the fixing’s, and I mean not just the conventional ubiquitous mustard, onions, etc. She brought bean-less chili con carne and sauerkraut. As soon as I seen the dogs I knew one was mine for sure. So as she set the plate down, with the best manners I could muster up, I reached out and had one.

Then it happened.

One of Bob’s friends pulled out a beer bong. And for those of you that are new to that phrase let me help you out. A beer bong is a simple contraption made out of an everyday household funnel. Attached to the small end of the funnel is a six foot clear plastic hose large enough to fit over the releasing end of the funnel and to make things clean and professional, a clamp was added and torqued down to keep spillage nonexistent.

This was a surprise to all including the groom-to-be.

“How many beers can this baby hold?” I queried to the craftsman who had built it.

“It’ll hold six cans of beer.” He replied.

Suddenly in a very organized fashion everyone queued up. I was surprised to see they all stood behind me. I would be the Guinea pig on the maiden voyage.

I stepped up to the bong and said, “Challenge accepted.” The beer bong began to get loaded and sure enough it held six beers exactly. The trick with beer bongs is to keep the lower end of the hose at the same altitude as the funnel so as not to lose any precious drops. I stepped into position and accepted the hose end while the administrator maintained the funnel. On the count of three I prepared for what I was expecting to be quite painful. I began swallowing large gulps of beer. Instantly my eyes started watering and running down my cheeks. I looked at six feet of clear hose and it was still full of beer. Yikes!!!

Time seemed to slow for me. I could hear screaming and laughter, but it seemed to be in a faraway dream. I was on a mission and that hose had to empty. Then I seen the top of the hose clear and I knew I could make it. One massive gulp after another until I finally drained it. I had drank a six pack of beer in under two minutes. BURP!

Victim number two stepped up to the batter’s box and assumed the position while another bong waited to be filled. The sensation of that much liquid quantity, let alone the alcohol content, left me disoriented. And even though I was trying to get back into the game my body was insisting on releasing more air from my over stretched stomach. Before I knew it number two was standing behind me and they were setting up victim number three.

Holy Cow!!! I found myself in the line again. I didn’t want to do this twice. But the intense peer pressure at a bachelor’s party scales way beyond most other parties. I slowly found myself moving to the front of the line again. And then I was next.

I watched those six beers go in and felt worried. But now I’m holding the hose again and the early intoxicated players in the room were pushing me to go! I closed my eyes, made a small prayer, and began my second round. This time it felt a bit easier for me mentally because I was feeling the results of round one in my brain. My stomach however was suffering in a frightful way.

I saw the hose cleared the beer and I could see the remains step its way towards me with every massive swallow. And then I was done.

I stumbled out of line and found a seat. I mentally checked my body for the results of my young foolish youth. All in all, I was okay with the exception of an aching stomach and my mind wrestling with the simple fact that I had just consumed twelve beers in under ten minutes.

Between belches and the realization that I was getting more intoxicated by the moment, I tried to encourage other pirates to follow suit.

Then it happened.

I’ve said this before but the mind can reason itself in any direction conceivable to man. But a stomach has no mind. It either accepts its meal or it rejects it. I just received a message from my stomach. I was about to get sick.

There is a door across from the upstairs staircase that leads outside and I went for it. I staggered up a flight of outdoor cement steps and floundered my way into the dark and quiet backyard. Without warning I emptied myself onto the lawn. It was an enormous body function that lasted a lot less time that I suspected. I cleaned myself up with the aid of my handkerchief and took a few minutes to collect myself. I actually felt way better and was glad it happened. I looked up at the night stars and promised myself, no more beer.

I returned to the party to find the growing success of the beer bong. Yes, this was going to be a party, party!

Later that evening the shenanigan’s were in full force. This part of the story is obviously censored for obvious reasons. I heard it from behind me. Someone was coming down the upstairs staircase. It was Jerry’s mother.

“Turn off the music a minute boys!” she said with a firm tone only a mother can wheeled.

“I just wanted you boys to know that I was just out back taking out the trash and I slipped on a pile of hotdog bites and beer. I’m okay, but who ever did it, you might want to chew your food more.”

Just mortified. That’s all, just mortified.

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