Operation Ruin Ely’s Life

Much like the compulsion I felt when orchestrating the Fake Bachelor Party the day-to-day corporate lifestyle began to take a toll on me. Wake up, get verbally abused just to come home to zero female companionship. A shakeup was needed. Nay, a revitalizing event to cap off the year of 25, which has been just an atrocity in itself. Vegas was my first instinct. One glance into my bank account and that Cinderella story of an idea was transformed into a pumpkin of shit. So, I did the next best thing. Forked out half a year of savings, weeks vacation and rented an RV. Nothing like compressing 7 of your fattest friends into an RV to travel across the country. Better pack my snorkel from the tsunami of women that will be trailing our RV.

Where to vessel was the lingering question. Remember that ghastly character from the Fake Bachelor Party, Brent Ely? The aftermath and mental toll that took place on his poor soul rooted him to move 600 miles away to the great city of Charleston. Naturally, we chose that as our RV destination. For 2 months, we meticulously plotted against this Ely character. We had some inside information that his current Girlfriend was slotted to move into his new home the week of July 12th. obviously, this was the week we chose  to drive 700 miles to show up on his front door step unannounced.  RV rental $1,400, gasoline $500, booze $300, seeing your worst friends face when you show up on his front door step in an RV, fucking priceless. Seeing his newly moved in girlfriends face? Biblical.

Honestly, I pondered if this would be the final hoax we pulled on old Ely. Literally, I thought his heart was going to combust when he saw my face. The torment didn’t conclude there as we met his co-workers who were ever so eager to learn of his prior states of degeneracy. In the end, our mission to ruin Ely’s life was a success. However, in the process, part of our souls decayed as well. The 5-day trip to the ruins of hell that is Charleston desolated our bank accounts, spirits and demonstrated girls  will elude us no matter how far we traveled. You want to talk about some Sunday fucking scaries?? Try sitting in a Bojangles in Charleston at 7:00 P.M. on a Sunday, trying to grasp your mind around the fact you work Monday morning at 8 a.m.…. in Florida. Fucking Florida. As I sit here writing what was supposed to be a victorious triumph on the long trek home, I can’t help to think, we may have won the battle but damn it, Ely won the war. Can’t wait to sit in cubicle in 3 hours answering the 1,089 emails waiting for me. Here’s to Friday Booze Hounds, make some horrible mistakes this weekend. Check out our fresh Booze Hound tanks. Buy one, wear one, pee your pants in one. 

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Written by DGD