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Hurricane Irene Bachelor Party 2011!!!

Irene (Courtesy National Hurricane Center)

Vegas? Only assholes go to Vegas for a bachelor party. My friends and I are heading straight to the eastern seaboard this weekend–Delaware’s coast to be precise–and we are hotly anticipating Hurricane Irene.

I mean there’s strippers, prostitutes, coke, and handguns on the one hand. That’s a fine bachelor party, don’t get me wrong. But we could be renting beach houses that will face down a category 4 hurricane. That’s sustained winds of 131-155 mph, boys!

FEMA has told the entire Eastern Seaboard, from Florida to Boston, to be ready for Irene, in what could be like the King of Natural Disasters in a year that’s already seen an unprecedented number of them.

Of course the reason Hurricane Irene is going to reach such phenomenal strength is because it’s sucking up the positively sizzling warmth of the Atlantic Ocean waters, but nope, global warming, nah, couldn’t be. Surely, NOAA’s surface temperature readings of between 80-85 degrees Fahrenheit for the southern Atlantic seaboard couldn’t be a contributing factor. Vote Perry!

So here’s what my friends Dave, Josh, Jack, JR, Alberto and Jeremy have planned for our good buddy Scott’s bachelor party.

  • Arrive to private beach houses on Thursday as rest of Eastern Seaboard flees/boards over windows/comforts terrified house pets.
  • Lay on beach, get sunburned, watch ominous clouds on horizon.
  • Meet as many girls as possible, ask if they’re interested in copulating once more before earthquake/hurricanes usher in apocalypse, gates of Hell yawn open in cataclysmic offering of false redemption before the Antichrist walks the Earth.
  • Decline girls if they want to have orgy with Jeremy (he’s too tall), hashtag it #almost3some.
  • Go to Dogfish Brewing Co. in Delaware for beer sampling.
  • Drunkenly affix “I Survived Hurricane Irene 2011″ bumper sticker, hope that proves true.
  • Sit around beach campfire and ruminate on all the lost possibilities of youth, remind ourselves that we were all once brimming with ideas and possibility only to be swallowed whole by adulthood and reduced to two classes of men, one of which is bound for the alter, the career, the saddle of modern life while the other class chases unforgotten dreams and unrealized ambitions that only appear more and more childish as the years progress, and the hope we once held in ourselves, in each other, in the possibilities of a world born anew by a collective vigor were quashed by a near-universal antipathy toward frightening but necessary change and the boredom of a consumption society so eerily symbolized by the man-assisted natural disaster hurtling over the dark horizon.
  • Play drinking game “Kings,” talk about most recent sexual encounters (except for the married guys because no one cares about them getting laid).

Yessir, this could be the best bachelor party ever.