#172 Bachelorette Parties

Why can’t Women ever just be happy with what they have? Throughout history, they’ve seen all the shit that we’ve achieved through hard work and scream, “I WANT IT!!” followed by a fucking temper tantrum until they get their way. First men got to vote, so women HAD to vote. Men had higher paying jobs, so women bitched and moaned until they got higher paying jobs, too. Now there’s even talk of a Woman running for President? Are you fucking kidding me? There’s a reason movies with Women as President are classified as “Science Fiction” – because they’re fucking fairy tales! Anyways, another long lasting tradition among Men is their Bachelor Party. It’s the last time that they’ll ever be able to experience life as a single man before getting married aka committing bro suicide. However, even the time honored tradition of banging some prostitute in Vegas then giving whatever disease you contact to your wife has been compromised.

Women now think that they deserve to “let off some steam” before the big day. Since we’re in the peak wedding season, over the next couple weeks you can expect to see a fucking shitload of drunk girls plowing through the bar celebrating their “BFF getting married!!!!” It’s a Bachelorette Party, but much like that tramp stamp in “Wedding Crashers,” it might as well be a fucking bulls-eye.

I don’t know when Women got the idea that they need to celebrate their last few days of single life, because honestly, the last thing any girl getting married wants to be is fucking single. For girls, getting hitched is the Final Four, Super Bowl, World Series, and Daytona 500 all rolled into one. Not only did they convince some guy to marry them so they can get knocked up, quit their jobs, and most importantly, never have to diet again, but they also get like 50 other parties celebrating this shit. Why the fuck do they need to copy the last treasure that guys can give to their soon to be castrated bros?
First of all, Bachelorette parties have nothing on Bachelor parties. While Bachelor Parties consist of non-stop drinking, strippers, hookers, drugs, getting arrested, and cheating on spouses, Bachelorette Parties “rage” by making “cute T-shirts,” drinking out of Penis-shaped straws, and going on scavenger hunts. While this shit is fucking lame, that doesn’t mean bros can’t have fun with them.

Every member of a Bachelorette party might as well be a fucking fish in a barrel. The key to nailing a member of the group is getting them to turn against the herd. Let’s be honest, even though every group of girls thinks they’re the fucking cast of “Sex and the City”, they’re not. Girls are catty and competitive, especially about guys. So if there’s a hot girl in the party who’s single, you can fucking guarantee that even though she’s wearing that “Bride’s Official Hair Holder” T-shirt, that she’s fucking jealous. She knows she’s hotter, so why isn’t she the one getting married? Taking advantage of hot vulnerable drunk girls is about as bro as it fucking gets. The key is isolation. If you can separate the hot chick from the group for 10 minutes without one of her fat friends coming up to you trying to get you to suck some fucking Lifesaver off the busted Bride’s t-shirt, you should be golden.

While Bros nail Bridesmaids, Bro Kings ruin Weddings. The obvious easy way in is finding out the Bride’s fiance’s name, then introducing yourself to her with the same name. Every fucking Bachelorette scavenger hunt has “make out with someone named (insert fiance’s name.)” After she finds out how fucking good you are at making out, you better fucking believe the Pound Town Express’s conductor will be shouting out: “Next stop: Men’s Room ‘Koala Kare’ changing table!!”

Are we fucking happy that slam pieces keep stealing our shit? Fuck no. Sure imitation is the highest form of flattery, but when it comes at our expense and safety, like allowing Women to drive, I just can’t stand for that shit. In other cases of their blatant brogiarism, such as Bachelorette Parties, we find a way to reap some fucking benefits. Girls’ night out? Fuck that. When a swarm of liquored up, desperate slam pieces wander into the bar, bros realize what they need to fucking do: Divide and Conquer.