Saturday, 18 July 2009

The Great British Stag

Where do you begin when it comes to dissembling this fine human institution? Stag and hen parties are a staple for the marriage type, the final few hours of acting like an arse because you will apparently never be able to again once wed. Aren't they fantastic? A true testament to the human condition, all of the loudest and dimwitted of yr mates attempting to give you one last hurrah before the tedium of wedded bliss destroys yr soul. I don't understand why there is a need to dress up like a twat because yr getting married, maybe I don't understand the desire to get shitfaced in the next town over when there is an array of perfectly suitable drinking holes right where you already are, and maybe just maybe I don'tnt get the fucking point when you do the same thing every Friday night and in all fairness you are lucky to have found someone even worth marrying after you probably picked the drunk mess up in something like Oceana or the local Yates.

But more importantly, aside from the fact that all people on stag and hens look like twats there is another thing that really bothers me. The scale of ambition is pathetic. If someone I knew, least of all my BEST friends, thought throwing a big send off for me involved any of the following, I think I would rather be friendless:

Devil horns
Anything that sparkles (not including fireworks)
Custom print t-shirts
Wondering around old street
A kebab for the train home
Being home in bed by 2
Possibly going to a strip bar

So, yr friends are trying to give you a send off, why the fuck then are you wondering around some crappy part of London, with t-shirts two sizes too big that look like they have been printed in times new Roman size 12 font, yr still wearing yr work clothes and really the best they can muster is the possibility of a flesh show (because yr getting married, you've never seen a pair of tits before so now is the time to get acquainted with the female form). Where is the action? It all looks and sounds like its come out of a box, mass produced "memorability". Jesus Christ! I was on the train last night, yes that's right, the train so you are correct that would make the time EARLIER than 1am, and I see a stag party going home, the stag party had ended at about 12am, that would be a night to remember, because no night I can remember has ended before 3am for a long time. To me a night to remember needs to go on til at least dawn, that's just standard, it also needs to involve a lot more than a MacDonalds and/or a kebab and attempting to cream myself over toplesswoment at the same time as all my friends.

I want to set off fireworks from the back of cabs, I want bottles and bottles of booze and bags and bags of powders, I want the sleaziest clubs the city has to offer and when they close I want the worst of the afterparties and the very best of the bugging out corners, if we are going to strip clubs then I want the worst of the worst, I want to go to cheapest and dirtiest of the lot, then I want to go to kings cross and buy all my friends two for a tenner hookers and bring them in on the party, when I get hungry I dont want a kebab or a burger I want a barbeque in one of the royal parks and when it gets light i want to steal a car and drive to a house in the suburbs and use the pool to wash the filth that i have been rolling around in all night whilst the family sleeps in doors, then i will want to get married and if a hooker has somehow died along the way, not even that will matter.


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