The Bachelor Party

I didn’t want to let Chad write this blog, but he said he would kill one member of my family if I didn’t. Anyone else, I would consider it an idle threat, but with Chad…

So anyway, here it is, he gave me a little preview of what he’s going to write about and it’s pretty bad, so if you’re sensitive or one of those relatives whose life I may have saved, stop reading now—

OK, Chad Robuckle here, that pussy wouldn’t shut the hell up so I shut him up. With my fists.

Just kidding, I actually threw some orange juice in his face. How come I never film this shit? There’s your reality show. Trust me, it was hilarious. “Oh shit, my eye! You got it in my eye! It burns!” What a douche.

So anyway, my buddy Marcos is getting married soon and I decided to throw a bachelor party. I know what you’re thinking: “my buddy Marcos” sounds like an oxymoron for ol’ Chad “Let’s Keep Our Borders Strong” Robuckle and you’re right. I can’t stand those types, but what I can stand is strippers.

So I volunteered my services and naturally, there was some resistance at first. This nutbag named Jeremy who works over in accounting was like “Hey man, me and Marcos have been best friends since high school, I’m his best man and I’m throwing his bachelor party.”

I was stoked cuz I love getting in fights at work, but all I had to say was, “Well Chad Robuckle doesn’t care who you were best friends with…” and this pussy totally backed down. He was like “Oh shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize who you were, Mr. Robuckle, I’m really sorry. Of course you can plan the bachelor party, Mr. Robuckle!”

I guess word spreads fast once you’ve slammed some dude’s head in a closing elevator door. Especially if that dude is already in a wheelchair. It’s funny that they’re all scared of me, because we all know I’m really just a big teddy bear. I think if you look at the facts of that situation, you would see that crip totally had it coming.

So I planned the festivities, got someone to “volunteer” their house for the occasion and even sent out an Evite to all my friends and some of his too. At first, some of his pals seemed reluctant to partake and things got pretty heated, but they saw the error of their ways eventually. I don’t even remember what I said to most of them that made them change their mind, I was tweaking pretty hard.

So the big day comes and I’m way under budget, by 3 or 400 bucks. How did you achieve this miracle of financial wizardry, Chad Robuckle, you ask?

Simple, I took the stripper money and spent it on something else.

But that doesn’t make any sense, Chad Robuckle, you just told us you love strippers.

That is true and if you question my authority one more goddam time I am going to throw you through a plate glass fucking window on the second floor of this building because I don’t want you to die on impact, I want you to be a fucking vegetable who is a burden on his family, causes them to go broke and lives on for another 40 or 50 years. I want your wife to resent the fact that she can’t divorce you cuz she’d look like a heartless bitch. I want your kids to hate you for the lives you were never able to give them.

Are we clear?

So anyway, I love strippers. What I don’t love is Mexicans. And paying for strippers. So I don’t.

Everyone gets to the party and they’re pretty impressed. They’re all asking who’s house it is and beats the fuck out of me if I know, so I make up some story about my uncle and tell nobody to go in the master bedroom, that yellow police tape is there for a reason.

Things get pretty uncomfortable as everyone realizes they’re in the infamous “McKenzie Murder House” they have heard about on the news. See, that’s the difference between me and everyone else. I see opportunity, I see a free fucking house to have a party in, where they see “the mansion that was the scene of a brutal quadruple murder/suicide”.

They start talking about “bad vibes” and getting freaked out but just as I’m about to tell them they’re going to get some bad vibes real soon if they keep that shit up, the doorbell rings.

The stripper comes in, alone, which is one of the perks of having a real nice house. The escort service figures they’ve got one over on you, coming to your nice house in the richest part of town. They know you’re not going to screw them over because then you’ve gotta explain to the cops why you’re having strippers over to your house on a Saturday night while your wife is out of town visiting her sick mother while you’re forced to work the whole weekend.

So she comes in and she’s pretty hot. Everyone is really excited and Marcos, who is pretty drunk, comes up to me and tells me that he was honestly pretty worried when he heard I would be throwing his party, but that he is now really impressed that I pulled it off.

Normally I would “pull off” his fucking tongue for speaking to me like that, but I figured, hey, he’s drunk and it’s his bachelor party. He’s getting married, he’s gonna need that tongue, so I let it slide. Like I said, I’m a softie.

This girl is a pro so she immediately starts asking for her money, but that was part of my plan from the beginning. I low-ball her by 200 bucks and she makes for the door to go get “Bunny”, claiming this is a non-negotiable deal.

I put my arm around her and assure her that everything is negotiable. I can tell she’s about to freak out so I offer up some of my coke stash and that seems to calm her down. It was very important to my plan that she got that “coke” in her body and washed it down with plenty of “vodka tonics”.

Well that definitely got her in a better mood and she decides she’s going to dance for the agreed-upon rate, but I really wasn’t interested in that. Luckily, the Dilithium Pentasocal I gave her kicks in pretty quickly.

She excuses herself and runs off to the bathroom. The guys are all riled up at this point and kinda bummed they’re gonna have to wait another five minutes but I tell them not to worry, the party is really gonna get started right now.

I flip on the big screen and at first everyone is kinda puzzled as to what they’re looking at. But once she walks into frame and drops her knickers around her ankles and sits down on the pot, they see what’s going on.

Immediately, five or six of Mark’s buddies head for the door, exclaiming that they’re going to be sick. “Have fun sucking each other off in the driveway, you fags!” I tell them as I settle in on the couch with Mark to watch the festivities.

Well at this point, he leans over and pukes all over the floor. Lucky for him, he didn’t get any on my shoes. Things kinda go downhill from there.

I guess I gave her too much Dilithium Pentasocal cuz she sorta falls off the toilet and proceeds to make a pretty big mess. The worst part is, the way she was lying on the ground, you couldn’t even see any good stuff.

Pretty much everyone else makes a beeline for the door at that point. A few suckers stay to make sure she wasn’t dead, I tell them I’ll be there in a minute.

Naturally, the sight of 20 guys fleeing a mansion 15 minutes after a hot stripper enters it is going to be cause for some alarm in the mind of any chaperone for such an event and Bunny was no exception.

He grabs me, as I’m the ringleader and demands to know what’s going on. I decide to be honest and tell him that two jokers showed up and thought it would be funny to slip this bitch some Dilithium Pentasocal, only they didn’t trust the guy in the van down by the park when he told them to use just a little so they gave her the whole thing and now she’s passed out in the bathroom and they’re trying to have sex with her.

He hears this and off he goes. I figured everything would just sort itself out and as I was getting into my car, the gunshots I heard confirmed my assumption.

Work has been pretty great since that day, which was an added bonus. No one dares finger me for the whole thing, because they know they’d go down with me for sixteen to seventeen months minimum and these guys all have families and shit.

A dead stripper and two paralyzed friends is a small price to pay for Mark’s happiness. And by happiness, I mean me telling his fiancee about the whole thing and she deciding to call off the wedding.

You’re free, pal. And you’re welcome.

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