an island, a stag do & oiled boobs...

back home in the emerald isle, we irish use different terms for everday things that are used here in the U S of A; sidewalk=footpath, hood of a car=bonnet of a car, stove=cooker...the list goes on. another of these anomalies is the bachelor party. back in the land of poets, painters, priests and perverts (the last two, being quite often an almalgamation) we call the bachelor party a "stag do". don't ask me why, i'm sure there is some rambling, bullshit history about the derivation of the term somewhere in the depths of the internet but right now that's not my beef.
my beef, gangster talk for problem, is a particular stag do that i was supposed to be helping plan. my friend from school, as in grammar school, paddy, is the first fool in my gang of growing up friends that is getting married. the grand day is july 11 of this year and the arranged stag do date was agreed upon as april 29, or that weekend anyway. irish stag dos tend to be something more than a one night affair.

anyway, to get back on point. during my christmas vacation back in ireland i managed to reignite a friendship with another buddy of mine, eamonn, whom i had sort of slipped out of contact with over the past couple of years (for reasons that will make for riveting reading at a later date). we resurrected the camaraderie and agreed that we would be the main organisers of paddy's stag do...job's a good one, deal done.

now, for a stag do, i prefer to follow the lines of top shelf alcohol, kegs of guinness, pussy ping-pong and well oiled boobs. so the first ideas that came to me were along the lines of a weekend in amsterdam, prague, berlin or some other european getaway. this was instantly shot down by the groom himself. "no, i want it in ireland"....ok, so we agree on ireland, after all, we do know how to throw a party! so i said to eamonn, "it has to be a city then, galway, cork, belfast...maybe dublin" (though i hate the place).
so at the time of my departure from ireland after christmas, back to the grind in NYC, we had at least sorted out what country we would experience the debauchery.

i was still thinking about getting some strippers on board, some good ones, willing to get up to crazy shit, some super-soakers maybe, white t-shirts, k/y wrestling...i mean its a man's goodbye to singlehood, it has to be raucous and memorable right? well, imagine my serious disappointment today to learn, not via the groom, nor even my supposed co-planner but through a completely different third party, that the stag do was to be held on an island, off the coast of donegal in north western ireland!

an island? off the coast of ireland? with the wind and rain and not even a fuckin shrub between there and america to protect us!! fuck me, isn't that where they send lepers and goats? where there lives about 23 people, 18 of whom are over 86 and the other 5 are paid help to change the sheets? i honestly couldn't believe it. i mean how are we to have any craic in a place like that (craic as in fun...another irish term). am i to smuggle in some divas under cover of dark in a goddam trawler? someone smell fish in here?

its a sad day i suppose, it appears paddy has already checked in his balls to hotel matrimony, not even his last hurrah to the concept of "another woman's breasts" is to happen. the future bride is already wielding the axe of doom that usually befalleth with "i do" and by the way i don't mean anything wrong at the stag do, nothing improper, i respect the honour of the engagement, in fact i don't give a crap if the paddy doesn't even look at a stripper, but the rest of us, we need fun, gettin the groove on sorta stuff.....beer caps off with butt cheeks sorta stuff, ya know? its just not fair waaaaaaa:(

god i need i drink, i'm hittin the bars early tonight....nassau maybe for a while, doc watson's later......mmmm well oiled boobs:)