So not only does a power cut stop me from doing last night’s blog, Word being an utter prick tries to stop me from doing today’s by letting me write it out then deleting it? Wow, thanks world. Fuck you too. Hence, this is a rehash of something I’ve just written, and as such isn’t as passionate about being hilarious as it was before.
I’m going to a stag do tomorrow* for the first time in my long, fat life. The details aren’t important – who, what, why, where, when and how can take a running jump for all I care. All that matters is the fact that even with my lack of experience I am still a lean, mean, fat-reducing grilling machine/stag do man. This is owing to the fact I have researched many stag parties over the years, with my main bodies of research conducted in Liverpool, Bournemouth and Riga, Latvia. I can tell you for a big fat fact that these are some of the finest places around to pick up some ‘stagging’ technique. See my plan for tomorrow:
- We will wear wacky, zany and outright crazy items of clothing that make us completely unique and individual (bought from a shop). These will indicate that we are indeed out for a good time and are not the usual plebs who go to pubs. (Note: can be applied to normal nights out)
- The groom-to-be will end up dead. (Note: can be applied to normal nights out, though not necessarily with a groom-to-be. A bride-to-be, for example, is even funnier)
- We will be as obnoxious and aggressive as possible to anyone who isn’t a part of our group, as is traditional for British stag parties. After all, we don’t want to break with tradition. (Note: can be applied to normal nights out, though only applying to traditional tradition, not stag-tradition)
- We will get into fights within our group once everyone else we have alienated and insulted leaves or runs away. After all, what says ‘fun’ more than punching each other in the face? (Note: can be applied to normal nights out, because everyone needs to punch their alleged friend in the face at some point, right?)
- We will end up in a strip club, where I will feel uncomfortable and want to leave. After all, gawking at trafficked-in Eastern European girls is a good pointer on how to rock the stag night party! (Note: can be applied to normal nights out, especially when you’re on your own. Going on your own makes you even cooler)
- We will drink so much our hearts explode, or something, because drinking is really big and cool. Anyone in the group who uses the tenuous excuse of “I can decide whether or not I drink as I am my own person and simple peer pressure is not something I cave to. I also resent the accusation that I am incapable of having fun without having booze in my system. It’s an immature viewpoint held by a lot of people and is a sign of the shocking state of British culture today” can just balls off. As they’re clearly pansies. (Note: can be applied to normal nights out, though probably with less “COME ONNNN, IT’S A SPECIAL OCCASSION!” to try and make non-drinkers drink)
That’s about it, as far as I’m concerned. If I die tomorrow, it was Anna’s fault. Even if she’s not going to be there – that’s just coincidence.
*Meaning you’re unlikely to see a new blog until Sunday. I’M SORRY, OKAY?