Ever be relaxing, enjoying 12 or 16 quick beers at a bar, when it’s suddenly assailed by about 10 to 20 females, one of whom is decked out in some preposterous outfit? Soon they start bothering people (particularly men) around you, trying to find out names, get pictures of guy’s underwear, and pissing normal people off with a checklist this group of cackling buffoons has “thought” up. With grating laughter and dimwitted jokes, this bevy of lassies are enough to make anyone run for the door. The latest reason to stay home with a 30 pack is that horror of horrors, the bachelorette party.

The first and probably most cringe-inducing factor of the bachelorette party is the veil that so many of the-soon-to-be wed wear. It’s as if they think they’re saying, “look at me, look at me! I’m getting married,” when what it really says is “the only way anyone would believe someone as perpetually annoying as me could get married is if I wear this veil.” I won’t discuss instances where the veil is attached to a white baseball hat; other than to say the woman looks like a bride as imagined by Corky Thatcher.

Typically, the fun-filled gals on a hen party (I won’t say “bachelorette” again- it’s not even a real word, and it’s not feminine- it translates to “little bachelor”) have some kind of scavenger hunt-esque list of wild and crazy things for the betrothed to do. You know, drop dead hilarious things like kissing a guy on the cheek, getting a guy’s boxers, getting a picture taken with a group of guys, and having a guy sign your shirt, or even bra- wooooooooooo! I wouldn’t have quite such animosity towards these activities if the fatassed loudmouth in the group (everyone knows who I’m talking about) didn’t feel the need to announce every activity as it happens TO THE WHOLE BAR. Listen, dear- no one gives a shit that Mary’s just gotten some clown’s underwear, or that she kissed him on the cheek, or whatever other unforgettable antic has gone on. Keep it to yourself.

Getting back to the clothing of the guest of honor, she’ll often be wearing candy necklace that men can pay to suck on, or a t-shirt with candy stuck to it, and a sign that reads “buck a suck.” She and her friends prowl the bar and solicit men to participate in this socially accepted form of prostitution. I understand this kind of thing works really well in any red light district, as well as the bar scene. By the way, has anyone noticed the only guys who partake in this action (who they’ve never met before) look like imperfect clones of mongoloids? Is it really fun (or necessary) to excite guys like this? For Pete’s sake, is the whole candy-as-clothing thing really that entertaining?

Other annoying, not even remotely funny aspects of a hen party can include; a male blow-up doll, penis lollipops, penis shaped straws (the lollipops weren’t enough?), getting condoms from men, getting business cards from men, and crank calls to ex-boyfriends (how mature!). This is humor?

Okay, I know that not all hen parties are made up of stupid props and moronic behavior. It’s just that the only ones anyone notices happen to exemplify stupidity. But it’s okay. Everyone knows guys aren’t breaking down the Rosetta Stone on bachelor parties, but we keep it to ourselves, for the most part. It’s often the ladies who do not. When a gang of crazy, matrimony-high chicks descends on a bar, the smartest move for those in the bar- men and women alike- is simple. Go home.

Tom Donnelly