Recently, I helped plan a bachelor party.

Now, I have seen, attended, and taken blackmail photos of many bachelor parties in the past, but I had never officially been part of one.

The day of the party I was called up, given an “honorary male” status, and invited along for fun and shenanigans. It seems that a number of the guys invited had canceled at the last minute, due to girlfriend/wife/partner disapproval. This made the party pathetically small, and I was tapped to fill the gap.

I told them I would put on a fake moustache for the occasion.

The groom-to-be was a sweet, quiet, mellow guy who plays online role-playing games and paints lead figurines. The best man (my co-conspirator in this little adventure) is a batshit-crazy nuclear scientist from Kentucky who looks like a giant hairy Viking.
I knew from the start that this night would end up as a quirky story about prostitutes.

We started our night of debauchery at a nice restaurant, then had drinks at a local martini bar while we mulled over our choices.

“Would you like to go to an upscale strip club?” I innocently inquired “I happen to know of several”

“We want sleaze!” The boys declared in unison.

“Take us to where old strippers go to die!”

… Hrmmmmm.

Skanky hellholes were a little out of my expert field, but I am always willing to embark on a scientific experiment. I told the group that I’d heard nasty things about the Mitchell Brothers O’Farrell theatre, but had never personally gone.

When I described its history and all the rumors I’d heard, the group instantly agreed that it sounded like a splendid place to start out.

Our mission was set, and off we went.

to be continued…