I was Hoodwinked
So, as many of you know, I went to my little sister's fiance's bachelor party on Saturday. It was fun, and there was much drinking. But I got to thinking about it, and the facts just don't add up. I'm thinking I got sent to the PG-13 bachelor party, and they had some secret NC-17 bachelor party when the bride's brother wasn't hanging around. The facts (and I'm allowed to talk about the bachelor party because this was obviously not the crazy go nuts one that was held in secret):
- No strippers
- No midgets
- No midget strippers
- We met at my sister's apartment
- Brother of the bride was there (that's me)
- The father of the groom AND his uncle were there. They left early, but ...
- Only eight shots TOTAL were taken all night long. Two by the groom.
- We went to really only one bar, and we had to walk through a sit down restaraunt to get there (still a cool place though, I'd recommend it).
- I awoke at eight freakin' thirty the day after this party. Feeling fine.
Now, I'm not complaining. I had a good time, and really enjoyed Indianapolis. Actually, I had a great time. Pretty cool since they had all the 500 stuff out, including parade flags. Plus, #7 was my fault. I should have shown them how we do things in Louisville with the Jägerbombs. But therein lays the problem. If I, as the brother of the bride, had a great time, that means that Ryan wasn't having an official bachelor party.
So Ryan Costello, I'm on to you. Don't think you've put one past me to get me thinking you are some kind of "nice guy" who should have my "blessing to marry my sister." Oh no, my acceptance of you can only be bought with Jägerbombs. And lots of them.
Posted by Phil on June 3rd, in the morning |
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