I went to Vegas again this past weekend for my buddy Sanders's bachelor party. Here is an email I just sent out to some friends.

From: daveglenn@live.com

Sent: Tue 5/20/08 6:58 PM

To: [friends list]

Subject: Chuck E' Cheese

First of all, congratulations to Sanders on getting hitched. We all wish you the best on your journey into matrimony. Second of all, to all those who clicked "Yes" on the e-vite and didn't come, you are officially an e-vite flake and your flake factor has been elevated for any future events you are "Yes" for.

The list of non-flakes include:

Sanders

E.J.

Brad

KayGee

Jason

Axe

McBride

Baba

Punchline

Etienne

Me

P.J.

I will not say much about Friday or Saturday-day except that it was a blast to all who experienced it. However, some things cannot be felt with a written summary. You just had to be there. But I will include a short list of occurrences that were cool, mischievous, dangerous, or daring.

Friday

-While at the MGM pool, Axe encountered a group of chicks that had an astronomical number of beers lined up on their table.

Axe: Can I help you out with that?

Girl 1: Ugh, that is the lamest pick-up line ever.

Axe: I was just trying to get a beer. Shut your cocksucker.

Girl 1: Ugh, what a dick!

(20 seconds later)

Girl 1: So what are you guys doing tonight?

-Baba and McBride decided to make a scene while leaving the pool/casino. McBride tied his shirt into a knot exposing his hairy stomach. Baba wore a towel around his waist like a dress. They held hands and swung them back and forth at a 120-degree swooping arc. The other eight of us followed behind and tried our best not to laugh. Elderly passer-bys looked at the odd couple with both confusion and curiosity, while people under the age of 35 understood the joke and just laughed. One notable gangster-looking guy didn't get the joke. His face was both angry and sickened.

-Later, back at Baba's house, during a pre-party game of beer pong, a prehistoric moth the size of an eagle came whizzing into the garage to stir up a frenzy.

Saturday (day)

-After walking out of the MGM pool hammered, I decided to scare girls that were entering. I went up to 12 different sets of passing girls that were in groups of two or three and used the following line:

Me: Watch out, someone just took a dump in the pool (indicating with my hands a log 12 inches long).

The reactions were priceless. Some just made a face and then looked at their friend with a look of horror. But most would ignore me as if I was some lunatic, and then after they thought they had lost me, their quick gait mysteriously would slow to a cautious stroll. They then would look at each other, and one would say, "Did he just say someone took a dump in the pool?" I carefully observed the reactions from afar and did some deep undercover lip reading. One set of girls walked three more steps and then stopped dead in their tracks. I doubt they ever made it down to the pool.

Saturday Night

 
Following tradition, the groom-to-be was taken to a giant luxurious strip club called "Sapphire." I know I have described stripclubs as "like going to a Chuck E' Cheese with no tokens." I still stand by that. But it was Sanders's night, and E.J. had some kind of hook up with the bouncer to get us in for free. Hundreds of strippers circulated the joint like covert vampires, scanning their domain for the guy who looked the least confident.

The tables and chairs out on the floor were all full, so for the first hour we stood lifeless by the bar like tough guys. I went to order some beers and was terrified to find that beers were $11.50. The only place I had ever seen beers more expensive was at some club in Ibiza, where beers sold for 15 Euros. I bought them anyway.

I looked around and at first thought there might actually be some normal chicks to hit on. But upon deeper scrutiny, I realized that 98% of the chicks in this giant building were ALL strippers; perhaps 200 total, all half-naked. They leaned against posts. They leaned against walls. They sat on stools. They sat on railings. They lurked around corners. They danced on stage. They chilled by the bar. They waded through tables and chairs. They hovered above jaded dudes at the ATM. I looked up and half expected a stripper to be swinging from the chandelier. Had a Puritan time-traveled to this place from the 1600s, they would have probably thought they had entered hell. Nope, this is the future.

After nearly a full hour and a half, we finally found a table. I ordered Sanders a lap dance and things took off. E.J. got a lap dance. Etienne got four lap dances in a row. Then he paid $100 for Sanders to go "in the back room." We didn't see Sanders for another half hour. Punchline got a lap dance. Etienne got another lap dance. Etienne ordered E.J. a lap dance. Etienne ordered P.J. a lap dance. The 20s left pockets like dollar bills. I sat there deflecting chicks left and right.

But curiosities arose. Some strippers would come up to me, and I would shoo them away with my hand. Others I had questions for. Here is a slice:

Stripper 1: (sitting on my lap) How are you doing tonight?

Me: So why aren't you working at a desk or something?

Them: 0 for 1

Me: 0 for 0

Stripper 3: Hey sweetie.

Me: So how long does it take for you to lean against these walls until some guy asks for a dance?

Them: 0 for 3

Me: 0 for 0

Stripper 7: (Looks at me, smiles, and shrugs as if to say, "You caught me, it was me who stole the cookie from the jar.")

Me: (Shakes head as if to say, "No.")

Them: 0 for 7

Me: 0 for 0

Stripper 12: Hi, what's your name?

Me: So do you guys all wear the exact same perfume?

(I am convinced that in their contract, they all are required to wear the same "Tooti Fruiti" perfume. If it wasn't tooti fruiti, it was at least "Juicy Fruit." They all smelled exactly the same. They claimed it was different. No way)

Them: 0 for 12

Me: 0 for 0

Eventually, enough was enough. I gave in. It was weird. All of the sudden I actually was starting to have some serious fun. My friends all had dances. Sanders was in the back room. I think this was how they suckered so many fools into spending money. They let them feel this "high" from rejecting them, and then it was only a matter of time before guys would succumb to them and say "yes." It was like listening to a new Ashlee Simpson song ten times in row. The song might suck the first ten times, but the 11^th time it starts to get good. The 13^th girl got in on me at just the right time.

Them: 1 for 13

Me: 0 for 0, still with no tokens.

She smelled like Tooti Fruiti.

After a few more hypnotic lap dances, we went home and crashed. P.J. stayed behind. He started talking to some local chick from a bachelorette party. They were touchy-feely all night. She was sticking her hands up his shirt and down his pants. When they got into the parking lot, she told P.J for the fifth time, "We're not having sex tonight." Just as P.J was about to call her a tease and take off, he remembered something he had read. The following is a statement made by P.J. the next day:

"I was about to go off on her and call her a cock tease, but then I remembered something I had read in a Dave Glenn story. I realized it might be a test, so when she told me she 'wasn't having sex with me,' I replied with, 'That's cool, I just want to hang out.'"

It worked. My stories have officially helped people have sex. Don't worry; I will not let it inflate my ego.

P.J went back to her animal-infested house to fuck. The chick had 17 dogs and 11 cats, four of which were in the room when they fucked. The following morning, her excited mom actually requested to her daughter, "I wanna see him!"  

On a serious note, Sanders has all but departed us unmarried guys. One down, several to go.