The Truth about Bachelor Parties

Or, an Experiment in Too Much Information

An unidentified man we’ll call Papa
Smurf is snatched away from his lovely bride-to-be. He is forced to
drink Wild Turkey during a six-hour drive through the desert,
headed straight for that den of hedonism, Las Vegas. Upon arrival,
he is made to dress up in an ill-fitting Elvis-inspired jumpsuit.
Silicone-filled breasts are shoved in his face while tourists
clamor around for shots with The King. There is no sleep allowed:
only booze, and lots of it. Impaired judgment leads him to
double-down at all the wrong moments, and his unfamiliarity with
the workings of a one-piece jumpsuit, combined with his reluctance
to take time out for potty breaks, results in an unfortunate
suit-wetting incident. When the weekend is over, he is returned to
his fiancée haggard, smelly, and broke.

Who would do such a thing to poor Papa Smurf?

Why, his best friends, of course. This was Papa Smurf’s bachelor
party.

While it’s little wonder this male-bonding ritual sends shivers
of fear through the hearts of so many Smurfettes, I decided to pump
my bachelor friends for the dirt, to determine whether most
bachelor parties really are as bad as cultural lore would lead us
to believe.

Brainy Smurf shared tale after outrageous tale of debaucherous
bachelor shenanigans, including one in which a regulation bowling
ball was chained to the groom-to-be’s ankle and left there to be
lugged around for the entirety of the weekend-long party. Vanity
and Clumsy Smurf were forced to undergo the costume treatment,
similar to that which Papa endured during his tenure as Elvis.
Vanity was dressed up as Snow White, left on the roadside, and then
“rescued,” only to be deposited at a remote Hooter’s where he was
forced to take part in a tabletop tango. Clumsy got off easy,
ensconced in full-body chicken-suit regalia that hid his face from
the curious rubberneckers on Tahoe’s South Shore. Yes, it appears
the humiliation factor is an inextricable part of the bachelor
party experience, though the Smurfs I interviewed had trouble
explaining exactly why. Brainy theorized that “It’s a preview of
the demasculization that happens when you get married, a preview of
biting your tongue and not saying what you want.” Interesting, and
insulting, too.

Regardless, for most Mrs. Smurf-to-Bes, the primary worry has
more to do with naked women than with their future hubbies
suffering a little (or even a lot of) embarrassment. I asked the
Smurfs if strippers are required, and their answers ran the gamut.
Brainy Smurf believes they are; in fact, his own brother requested
a stripper-free bachelor-party experience — a plea that was taken
under advisement and quickly tossed aside in favor of eight naked
ta-tas.

But Handy Smurf disagreed, saying, “I think this actually
depends on the bride. If she’s comfortable with her sexuality and
her man’s fidelity, then yes, strippers are required! If the bride
isn’t comfortable, then strippers aren’t worth the trouble. Also,
from what I’ve seen, strippers are more for the single friends and
unhappily paired men than the groom, who’s typically wishing his
friends weren’t such dudes in the first place. Strippers are also a
good temptation test for the groom — if he’s too happy about the
strippers, maybe he’s not ready [to get married]. If a man can look
at a hot naked lady sensually gyrating before him and say, ‘But I
love my fiancée,’ then he’s definitely ready.” Strippers as litmus
test: that’s a new one. Even the raucous Brainy acknowledged he can
understand the fears of worried wives-to-be, but claimed that, in
his experience, the stories of grooms engaging in deal-breaking
extracurricular activity are akin to tales of Kentucky Fried
Rats — the stuff of urban legend. “Bachelor parties are potentially
very dangerous — there’s the historical pressure to get crazy, then
when you add alcohol and naked women, bad things can happen, but
I’ve never been to one where the groom-to-be does something
horrible.” Papa Smurf agreed, adding, “Anyone who cheats during his
bachelor party is scum.” But let’s just say the groom-to-be looks
like he’s considering doing something horrible. Would it be a sin
worthy of man-card forfeiture to pull him aside, and suggest that,
perhaps, taking part in this unnamed horrible activity might not be
prudent at this juncture?

Papa Smurf doesn’t think so. In fact, he believes it’s the duty
of the future groom’s cronies to keep him in line — although Papa’s
motives are somewhat questionable, and decidedly self-serving. “The
groom has a responsibility to have a great time and stay north of
the stripper’s pole. Should he start to go south, it’s the job of
those present to make sure the wedding goes on as planned. Plus,
for those present at the party who have wives, if word got out
about some wrongdoings, it would probably please the wives to know
that those present helped to quash the situation, versus sitting
back and doing nothing about it.” For the record, Papa Smurf is
married.

But what, I wondered, is the point? While this question just
left Handy Smurf confused (“Point? There’s supposed to be a
point?”), Papa and Brainy found plenty to pontificate about, and
their eyes lit up when discussing the pros of hanging out in
estrogen-free environs. “The point is for all the guys to go out
and have fun, period,” Papa said. “This is one of the last trips
that the boys do. Once married, trips seem to involve couples more
than just the boys. When it’s just the boys, we can eat at buffets,
fart excessively, and gamble until the sun comes up and then goes
back down again.”

Brainy echoed the value of the freedom to fart and forego the
drudgery of maintaining standard personal hygiene, before briefly
venturing into the realm of the sentimental. “Purely male bachelor
parties are a good opportunity for quality time with people you
don’t hang out with or aren’t able to see that much anymore.” But
in no time, Brainy’s mind found its way back to the gutter. “One
function is to get you so dirty that you look forward to a lifetime
of cleanliness,” he mused. For the record, Brainy Smurf is single.
So, what’s the moral of the story? Boys will be boys? Smurfs will
be smurfs? Trust conquers all? Maybe. But maybe it’s simpler than
that. Maybe, when it comes to bachelor parties, ignorance is smurfy
bliss.

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