One nasty side-effect of ACL Fest has already reared its gnarled head: to attend, I must miss a bachelor party. And not just any bachelor party, but one that I'm certain will result in the forced evacuation of Shreveport, La. That's not hyperbole; someone's losing a limb at this thing, or at least a few baby teeth.
Well, when I realized this, I got a little glum because I'm a degenerate who loves a good bachelor party. What would be perfect would be to hit up ACL, strike up a friendship with Van Morrison, and then bring him with me to the party. Talk about an entrance. Imagine a hotel room full of guys in their underwear, playing drinking games or something. Someone says, "Hey, do you hear 'Brown Eyed Girl' coming from the hallway?" "Actually, I do and I think it's getting louder," someone else answers. And at that moment, Van and I kick the door down, with our arms full of cheeseburgers and Fat Tire. That party would officially be ON.
Unfortunately, I can't pull that off. I'm going to try, but I really think the odds are against me. All I can do is try to have a one-man satellite bachelor party out at Zilker Park. I'll be getting transported to and from the festival site, so the only things I'm risking are money and dignity, both of which I don't like much anyway. What my party will lack in strippers, it will make up for in hippies.
Posted by Cody at September 13, 2006 06:01 PMYeah, I think you'll win in the sarong department.
Posted by: Danza at September 14, 2006 02:03 PM