Booze Hounds

The Fake Bachelor Party Part 2: The Disaster

In case you missed Part 1 of this short series, clink the link here to get all caught up. Now that  you’re all caught up, get ready to dive deeper into this vile and twisted narrative. Fast forward two months and The fellowship of nine was aboard the Royal Caribbean decked out in their fake bachelor party tank tops. The boys were off to a grand start as 5 minutes being aboard, the walky-talky’s we purchased were confiscated due to our repulsive words on channel 1.

Strike 1.

Next stop, drop off our bags before we cause any more attention to ourselves. Nothing like a cramped hobbit hole with double bunk beds for 4 overweight men for 4 straight days. F**K it, nothing will deviate us from a fun-filled week. In order to get fully ready for the “mustard drill” required, the boys needed some liquid lubrication to power through this drill. A combination of alcohol, immaturity and obnoxious shouting led to strike 2.

The instructor made it a point to single us out and if in the event the ship should perish, he stated over his megaphone “You all cry like babies.” 

Not even one  hour into the cruise and the whole cruise staff has already put us on the “watch list”

Before we set a sail and all contact to the world was gone, I decided to FaceTime my good old friend Ely. Keep in mind he had no idea we made these shirts nor going on a cruise. for that matter. I also felt it was a necessity to congratulate him on social media thus creating a rumor that he was in fact engaged. Brent was not amused to say the least.

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To document every detail of this cruise would take far too long and would lose the interest of essentially all of you. So here are the cliff notes of the cruise.

Sex: The SS F**k Fest am right? Wrong. Female affection on this cruise came scarce and was essentially non-existent. Forever Sexless in Seattle.

Royal Caribbean Staff: The Gestapo that was the staff of Royal Caribbean were quite occupied with our group. It seemed every hour, one of our names was called over the intercom. Weather it was obscene gestures or someone attempting to throw all the pool furniture off the balcony into the abyss of the ocean; we were always in the middle of the controversy.

The Fake Bachelor Party: The staff may have been employed by Lucifer himself and sex eluded us, but the fake party itself was a f****ng blast. Females were intrigued and actually wanted to speak to us, just not sleep with us. The challenging part was keeping our stories straight in regards to the groom, Ely. Weather he was too hung-over to leave the room, cheated on his fiancé and had to leave early or there was even the theory that he snuck into the baggage room and was occupied in cruise jail. There was always an excuse on his whereabouts.  Day 1 to Day 3, we were the stars of the cruise the main attraction, the bachelor party that had no shame. By day 4, we were deemed repulsive. Our bachelor party shirts were stained with sharpie, blood, regret and a revolting stench as we all had worn them 4 days straight. At the tail end, we were more of a spectacle to stare at as we hurled our guts over board. Like the stray cat in the alley, no one wanted anything to do with us.

The Aftermath: The sound was like the shrieks of one hundred dying mice as the boat captain’s voice echoed throughout the cruise. The clock had struck midnight, thus ending the sexless Cinderella story that was post collegiate spring break. Panic set in. In the four days we inhabited our room which formally came known as the “Dungeon” we absolutely demolished it. From a broken toilet, holes in the wall to the extravagant Ranch bomb that imploded inside the room one debauched night; it was damage control time. Much like moving out of your freshmen dorm, it was time to hide all the vandalism we generated. Next stop, checkout. Being we purchased the all-inclusive alcohol package, the boys were under the impression we would leave the SS freakfest debt free. Wrong. In what we hoped to be a smooth transition off the boat turned into quarrels and altercations as each of us owed anywhere from an extra $300-600. Evidently bottle and room service did not comprise into the “all inclusive” package. A depleted bank account, an empty soul and a monstrous 3-day hangover was a result of the cruise. Best part about taking a week off of work? The 1,469 f****ng emails you receive when you return to the laboring yard that is your job.

Conclusion: In the end, was it worth it? Sure, I got to miss work for a week, was able to ruin the life of Brent Ely for a short while and I may or may not have gotten a girlfriend from this cruise who is still under the impression I’m Troy Jacobs the successful engineer from Texas. Jokes on her.

Check out the video above which shows no matter how far you travel, you’ll still most likely get drunk with your boys and get ignored by all girls.

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