I’m usually not one to brag, but my wife is the coolest fucking woman on the planet.
I’m the best man for my brother’s wedding that’s coming up in March. And as I’m sure you all know, one of the chief responsibilities of the best man is to plan a kick ass bachelor party. I have some experience in this realm, as I planned my best friend’s Vegas bachelor party four years ago and we all had a pretty good time. But in my brother’s case, there were some obstacles to overcome.
First of all, I had to save some dough during tight economic times. Second, I live in Massachusetts and he lives in Baltimore. His friends are also spread out all over the country. It took a few months of e-mails and phone calls, but we managed to get a motley crew of degenerates and misfits together, and we’re headed to Atlantic City tomorrow.
My brother—the warden of all the technical aspects of this website—is one of the finest people I know. He’s kind, generous and a great friend, not to mention the best little brother I could ask for. But he’s also a little shy. While I got my father’s gregariousness and inherited a love for the spotlight and attention, my brother is very private. And rather reserved (at least until you get some shots into him).
So even though I booked two suites at the Trump Plaza and made reservations at a really nice steakhouse, I wasn’t sure about one thing: strippers or no strippers?
Just for comparison’s sake, I went to Buffalo for my bachelor party because the Patriots were playing the Bills. We went to Canada, where the strip clubs are absolutely outrageous. I was thrown up on stage and absolutely accosted by two strippers. They removed some of my clothing, took my belt and started mercilessly whipping me in the chest as my friends howled for more and threw money at them to beat me harder. Later that night, one of my friends bought me a dance with the most muscular woman I’ve ever seen. She was the female Hulk. And while she purported to have a vagina, I’m still not sure it wasn’t surgically put there.
My brother would not have liked all that. It’s just not his thing. But should I still involve strippers somehow? I mean really, can a bachelor party really be called a bachelor party if strippers aren’t involved?
As I pondered my stripper dilemma, MJ came up to me and said she had something for me. Then she discreetly dropped a sealed white envelope in my lap. I felt like we were in a mob movie and she was handing me over protection money. She told me it was my money for Atlantic City. The only problem was it was WAY too thick.
“How much money did you give me? Why is this so thick?” I asked.
“Well I know it’s a pain making change at the club so I made sure I got you 100 $1 bills to save you time.”
Who needs Viagra with a wife who throws out boner-inducing statements like that? Seriously people. My wife is the fucking shit! Not only does she totally trust me and not have one bit of a problem with me going to the strip club, she helps me out by getting me the necessary $1 bills in advance.
How many other wives/girlfriends are that cool?? Not too damn many. Most of the women I know would whine about their guys going to a strip club and hold them hostage emotionally and sexually as payback if they did go. Or even worse, forbid them from going. Well those women suck! That’s why as much as I might bitch about MJ at times, she is the greatest, sexiest, coolest wife on the planet and this is just one more example why my penis has pledged its undying devotion to her for life.
Hear me now strippers of Atlantic City, we’re coming for you this weekend and we’re gonna make it rain. Courtesy of my rockstar wife!