What Really Goes On At Those Notorious Bachelor Bashes. We expose (some) of the secrets of this `Me Only` ritual.
For the record, I`m not doing this out of choice. Actually, I see it as a service to both mankind and those other alien life-forms that inhabit the earth - namely, women. I knew that, one day, they would hunt down some poor down-trodden, henpecked male to reveal all. I calculated it would be safer if I did the dirty work myself. Honestly, I volunteered to reveal our innermost secrets out of sheer bravery. (Okay, I admit, the cash incentive helped.)
So what, indeed, do us men get up to at one of these stag gatherings? I believe it is a secret that women have agonised over for centuries. What initially started out as a rite of passage has evolved, over the years, into an all-out debauchathon. As we move with the times, so do the needs and ideals of man. Nowadays there are some sects that are reverting to a more civilised, less sex-oriented evening where a bunch of men get together amid classical music and expensive wines to discuss families, careers and so on. As for the rest of us, a bachelor party is just an excuse to get drunk and misbehave. Being a member of the latter sect, I have had occasion to attend a number of such functions whereby the main focus of the evening was most definitely not light conversation. Picture a place where men can be men and women aren`t allowed. (No, I am not referring to heaven - but for one night, you could come pretty close!) You see, the bachelor party I am referring to is a night that is almost all male - bar one female. The fact that she doesn`t talk (plus one or two other `minor`, scintillating attractions) makes her acceptable to the gathering at hand. The proceedings usually go something like this:
Stage One - Everyone Arrives
A friend of mine was having a bachelor party a couple of months ago. The next week (poor guy) was to be his wedding. His brother, who is already married, had decided that he would take it upon himself to organise the evening. A couple of snacks, some light music, a bit to drink and we would see how things developed from there. Slowly, we sauntered in, sheer delight tattooed across our faces. Tonight was our night: no girlfriends, no wives, no inhibitions!
Stage Two - The Introductions
It started casually enough. "`Howzit?" "Fine. Howzit with you?" General male banter. We discussed the major topics of the week: "Can`t believe those stupid Golden Cats!" "Ja, Chris hit a 78 at Dainfern on Tuesday." A solitary voice resonated above the hum: "Did you hear? They reckon beer makes you five percent more intelligent!" All my adult life, I had maintained that there was a special link between the amber liquid and our true intellect. Who cared that the information came from a less-than-reputable source? That was enough to get us going. After a heated debate regarding the relative merits of various hangover remedies, it was time to put all this pure intellect to the test.
Stage Three - The Real Introductions
Pssht! There`s nothing more evocative than the sound of a beer-can being opened. It`s like the call of the wild. Granted, the closest any of us might have come to the wild was breaking-down in the middle of the Karoo, but the analogy is good enough. (Wow, I guess that comment about acquiring more intelligence from beer really was true!) After a couple, you begin to see things in a different, clearer light. For instance, how come nobody can recognise Superman, even though the only difference between him and Clarke Kent is a pair of glasses and underwear worn on the outside?
It is at times like this that men can become men and `bond` in the way that we are supposed to. Women don`t need a stimulus to talk. Men do. If our stimulus happens to make us fall down a lot, then so be it.
Stage Four - Meet Patricia
It is around this time that the music has gotten a bit louder, so we can drown out our own voices which have increased by several decibels. Enter the highlight of the evening. Here is Patricia, our stripper - closely followed by Sampson, her bodyguard. He`s there just in case things get out of hand. Who, us? We wouldn`t dare.
A crude (no pun intended!) semi-circle is formed around the dance platform. Now the fun really begins. Even though most of us are loaded, the guys are still jostling for position with everyone trying to sit behind everyone else. This goes on until the only person left in front is the poor bachelor in whose honour the occasion has been staged. However, he needs to be punished for leaving the fold. And he knows he`s in for it.
Stage Five - Patricia Starts To Jostle Her Positions
It`s at such moments that you feel a real attachment to your fellow man. Maybe it`s because you`re holding onto his arm so tightly that you`d need a surgeon to separate the two of you. (No anaesthetic necessary.) She`s quite a delectable babe. Long legs, beautiful eyes, a smile to melt butter . . . . What would make a girl like this want to take off her kit in a room full of guys? Who knows? Who cares? When you`re in a room full of cavemen, your sexual depravity shines through. We can`t explain it, it`s just a part of us. The music starts and she sways from side to side. We squirm in our seats . . . dreading that she`ll come our way. This is it! This is our time!
Stage Six - Leave It To Your Imagination ...
Sorry, I cannot do it. I cannot write more. Patricia may be able to shed her gear, but you`re asking me to strip my soul. It`s the ultimate betrayal. It borders on sacrilege. The bachelor party is for men and men alone. We`ve let you into the boardroom, and some of us have even consented to wash dishes. Surely we have the right to hold onto just one small vestige of our manhood? Please, ladies?
Article source: LifeWorld