Bachelorette Parties are LAME

There is nothing, NOTHING, worse in the world than for a guy to walk into his favorite watering hole after a grueling day of work and see upon him, you guessed it, a goddamn bachelorette party in progress. I happened to run into one of those bastards this weekend, and let me tell you, I was pissed. As I sipped on my beverage with contempt that night, it totally dawned on me that bachelorette parties and pennies are eerily similar in that they are both annoying, pointless, and stupid.

I mostly hate Bachelorette Parties for two reasons:

1.) Bachelorette Parties are uninspired.

Every Bachelorette Party is the exact same thing every single time. About a dozen or so obnoxious chicks will clamour out of a bus or something, where they will proceed to invade some poor hapless bar where all the patrons will be forced to deal with stupid scavenger hunts, solicitations for a “suck for a buck”, and of course, a barrage of phallic paraphernalia waved in front of their faces.

Wow, good job maid-of-honor, no one has EVER thought of doing any of those things before. Your antics have put everyone in hysterics. Bravo. (Now imagine me clapping my hands three times very slowly with a smug look on my face, and you’ll get just the right amount of sarcasm I was going for there.)

As far as the “suck for a buck” thing goes, I’m actually okay with the idea of financially helping out soon-to-be newlyweds. After all, if they’re dumb enough to get married, then they're going to need all the help they can get. I just wish they offered something useful, like a refill on my drink, or for them to leave the bar. Almost anything is better than a stupid blow-pop.

I’m getting all worked up here just thinking about it. Come back tomorrow for reason Number 2, followed by a great remedy to cure your favorite saloon if it comes down with a scorching case of Bachelorette Partyitis.

Continued from Monday...

2.) It is impossible to pick up a chick in a Bachelorette Party

It’s been tried, oh lord has it been tried, but no man in the history of time has ever picked up a chick participating in a female stag party ritual. You would think that it would be easy based on the fact that they’re probably going to be boozing harder than had they been out at the bars normal-style and that there are about a million different ways you could start a conversation with someone because of their crazy theme or their scavenger hunt or whatever. But it’s not easy. It’s impossible, like I mentioned earlier. Here’s why:

A. Stick-to-itiveness. Every guy knows that deploying the divide-and-conquer method is textbook strategy for isolating a girl from a pack of women on any given night. But those girls are going to look awfully foolish holding dildos and inflated dicks in their hands if they’re not in their posse pulling the same kind of shenanigans. The chance of separating a chick from the rest of the flock is negligible at best.

B. The Bitterness Factor. A hottie in the bunch may look like she’s having a good time, but deep show she’s harboring deep resentment for the bride-to-be because she’s not the one that’s about to walk the plank. Since she can’t express these feelings openly, she will probably switch to man-hating mode for the duration of the evening.

C. Logistics. Even if you manage to beat the odds and make some kind of progress with a chick in a Bachelorette Party, you know in a few drinks, that drunk bus is moving on to the next tavern on the itinerary. No girl is worth following a Bachelorette Party around all night, I don’t give a fuck how hot she is.

So there you have it. Fortunately, I have concocted a scheme that is a sure-fire way to eliminate the Bachelorette Party in question. You simply approach any one of the girls as she’s coming from the bathroom or getting another drink and politely strike up a conversation, subversively pumping her for information on the bride and groom and other details about their lives. I realize that feigning interest in this dialogue will be EXTREMELY difficult but it’s very important for the next step.

Later on the evening, when the inevitable suck-for-a-buck girl comes along, casually mention that you heard about the recent affair that the groom had with insert name of girl you just spoke with and how happy you are that the bride was able to work out the drama because it looks like all you girls are having a lot of fun right now. Use as many details from the previous conversation as possible to add authenticity.

If the Bachelorette Party is particular annoying, tell suck-for-a-buck girl that the groom cheated on the bride with another man. For added effect, point to your buddy at the end of the bar and say it was him. This route is bound to end in hilarity.

Which ever way you choose, within a few minutes, the bride should either burst out of the bar in tears followed by all her friends to console her or a full-out Bachelorette brawl will break out. And we all know that fights between women ALWAYS end up in kissing and clothes being torn off, so it’s pretty much a win-win situation for everyone.

Okay, I’ve said far too much on this subject, but to make one final point, while I was typing this rant, my spell-check refused to believe the word Bachelorette even exists. Further research at dictionary.com confirmed that Bachelorette is in fact, not a real word.

It just begs the question, if Microsoft and Internet don’t acknowledge Bachelorette Parties, why should we?




Ever see the movie Bachelor Party with Tom Hanks? Me neither. But I'll bet you about a million dollars that these guys could throw a better party than the cacklefest I witnessed Friday night.

If Picasso Were Alive Today...

If Pablo Picasso were alive today and decided to channel his artistic genius into directing music videos for MTV, he probably would have come up with something very close to the video for DJ Eric Prydz Call on Me.

Let me back up a second. First let’s talk about how awesome the song is. The song is AWESOME. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, you need to do one of the following:

A.) Get your ass on iTunes and download it
B.) Burn it from a friend that’s already in the know
C.) Go back to the year 2004 and walk into any club in L.A. or New York

I first heard the song this summer at a club in Milwaukee where people were rocking out to it like it was brand spankin’ new (we here in the Midwest are a little slow picking up trends from our fashionable neighbors on the coasts). It blew my mind then like its blowing my mind right this second as I’m boppin’ along to it and typing these very words.

The reason Call on Me is so awesome is that it takes the best part of Steve Winwood’s Call on Me, Valerie and gives it to you over and over again. And again and again. And again and again. It’s like eating pizza for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Every day.

If I ever open up a night club, the theme of the club is that I’m going to instruct the DJ to play Call on Me basically every other song, unless of course the kids out on the dance floor are having too much fun, in which case I’ll have the DJ play it a ratio of 3:1 to other songs, in favor of Mr. Prydz’s opus of course.

The only other songs I will allow in my club are songs that have the same format as Call on Me, where the refrain is simply repeated over and over again. That way, uncoordinated white guys like me can string together a few coherent moves on the dance floor, secure in our knowledge that the beat isn’t going to go anywhere.

I might also allow songs with explicit instructions on how to move throughout the entire duration of the song. I’m thinking of that one song where the dude is like, “slide to the left, now slide to the right, three hops this time, now cha cha cha.” You know what song I’m talking about. It’s played at every wedding. Please don’t make me look it up. In any case, I can gyrate to that song as well, so it’s okay.

I wish I could somehow have Call on Me pumped into my cubicle as a permanent soundtrack to my work week. The hours would go by like seconds as I completed all my daily tasks with machine-life efficiency. Then at 5:00, the music would stop and I would slowly awaken from my trance, staring at my hands quizzically and asking myself questions like “where I am?”, “how did all this work get done so quickly and thoroughly?,” and “why am I getting promoted to vice-president?”

Enough said, Call on Me is genius. Picasso would be proud.



I don't think this video needs an explanation. This is high art, people!

Blog Me? Blog You!

Alright Internet, I don’t like you and you don’t like me.

Well that’s not necessarily true…I do kind of like you, Internet. You’ve given me free music and movies, up-to-date news and weather reports to distract me at work, and fantasy football. I won’t even mention that you’ve essentially taught me the birds and bees through your infinite stash of pornographic materials.

I guess I owe you a quite a bit.

Which is why I have decided to bring Brain Litter out of retirement: To feed you a couple extra kilobytes of binary code to help alleviate your insatiable appetite for raw pointless data. I realize my content is far from a hearty meal, but at least it will tide you over until those assholes at Facebook get their shit together.

For those of you who don’t know what I’m talking about, I’m referring to the falling out at Facebook HQ over that new FEED feature that updates you on random wall posts and comments from other users. Talk about a horrible idea going more horribly awry.

I bet you were puking your guts out when that feature was released, huh, Internet? What’s that, you say? Just the dry heaves? Yeah, that happens to me too when I drink too much cheap tequila.

I really don’t know why I stopped writing in the first place. It’s one of the few things I really enjoy doing besides going out with my friends and dominating 5-star sudoku puzzles. There have been so many times over the past few months when I’d be out and I’d witness something cool or be part of some weird event and in the back of my head, I’d be thinking, oh man, I can’t wait to get home and blog the shit out of this interaction, but alas! I can not, for I have forsaken my creativity to be some cog in a wheel.

Cog no more, I’ve got some big ideas (blog and non-blog) that I’d like to make happen between now and next spring. Ideas so big that it necessitated the purchase of a giant 40 dollar dry erase board, because big ideas need a big medium to be written down on. Yeah, I’m THAT guy now; guy that paces around a room, stroking my chin and pondering at a big dry erase board, while drinking a Cabernet and listening to Beethoven’s 5th Symphony in the background. I know, what a douche bag I have become.

At least I don’t have a clipboard, though. I’ve got a long way to go before I become Clipboard Guy.

Stay tuned, ladies and gents, me and Internet have some interesting things lined up for yuhs.



A lot has happened since my last post. For instance, Joe got pubes now.