Yes, I got the scanner to cooperate, and now, at long last, the story of my belated bachelorette party can be told in all it's glory.

Of course, I didn't know ahead of time that the evening was dedicated to my late-bachlorettehood. I mean, I've been married for 8 months, so it really came as quite a surprise. It was supposed to be a night out on the town with me, Chicky, Pitbull, Ho, and Slutbag. Just us girls. Slutbag is a relatively new friend. She works with us and has butt wads of money. Like she lives in a $2.5 million house, flies to New York on weekends to see a show, spends the winter holidays in Bali with her S.O. and 2 daughters. Her BOOBS cost 10 grand! Yes, she has money coming out both ends, but she is a complete trashy demon, and we like her that way. And she is generous. Very generous.

Like...the evening was completely on her.

We all met at her house so we could go downtown in one car and have a fine meal and then see the Puppetry of the Penis show. It was a planned evening of heavy drinking, obscene consumption of mass quantities and general debauchery. I think we accomplished our mission.

Slutbag booked 3 hotel suites for us in case we drank too much to drive home. Of course, none of us planned to stay.

Off we went, in her JAG! Oh. My. God. I think I moistened her fine Corinthian leather seats.

Aside from Pitbull, we are not a group of skinny broads. So Chicky sat up front and Ho, Pitbull and I smushed in the back. Slutbag passed out a few dozen mini bottles of booze, like airplane booze, to carry in our purses, and a few oddities like flashing lip buttons that said "A Buck A Kiss." I thought that a bit strange, and then Pitbull pulled a white veil from her purse and smiled at me while she stapled it to the back of my head.

"You're fucked, man."

Oh hell no. I'd never had a bachelorette party. Not for any of my 3 marriages. And Pitbull wasn't going to let that go by unresolved.

We began at Gibson's Steak House on Rush Street. God, how money talks. The place was packed. And we didn't wait for 2 seconds. We were escorted to our reserved table and had the matre d' at our beck and call. His name was Rich. Slutbag gave him some quick instructions.

"We're here to celebrate a bachelorette party, we have to leave at 6:30 to make a show. We want appetizers, some shrimp, lobster and crab should suffice. Bring us drinks, we'll begin with Blow Job shots all round. We have money to spend and a lot of partying to do, and we are relying on you to keep our spirits up and on schedule."

With that, Slutbag and Pitbull left for the "bathroom," which was a lie, they ran down the street to a porno shop and bought a variety of gadgets to bring back to the table. What a shame I missed out on the best part: Pitbull and Slutbag running down the street in their heels, a cop points at Slutbag, Pitbull looks to see that Slutbag's $10K boobs have completely bounced out of her dress. COMPLETELY EXPOSED! DAMN!

So, they come back and give out the goodies, and I got a pair of wind-up bouncing boobies, and some hot booby lotion (booby being the theme), and then I ALSO got a dildo. This was kind of like the MUTHA of all dildos. It has a ring of pearls around the base, and it has this frightening looking spiky deal jutting off on the middle. A remote control with TWO buttons, one for the penis part (that vibrates AND rotates!) and one for the tickler thing. He he heeeee. I won't tell you if I've tried it out. He he he heeeeeeeeeee.

Anyway, after the blow jobs, we got down to the real deal. I had my first Cosmopolitan. Here is me with my first one, don't I look fresh and ready to go?

And that's right, 5 of us stuffed into a little taxi. And we were off to the show. And DURING that show, Pitbull spiked my Coke with rum, because they don't serve booze there. The warm-up comedian spotted our flashing buttons and asked what was going on, and Pitbull began screaming my name. So the comic repeated my name, asked me a few questions and then the show began.

BORING. How can guys pull on their dongs all evening and stay so limp?

Ok, it didn't STAY boring. Because at one point they needed a "volunteer" up on stage. And true to form, Pitbull starts screaming my name, stands up and points at me.

I felt like I owed them a good show considering what they dropped at the last place, so I went up. Now with my platform shoes and the amount of liquor in my body, I was kind of shaky going up the stairs, and the puppeteers could see that. They helped me up and asked me my name, and when I said my name the place went wild like they had bonded with me during the warm up. Way cool. So I was stoked. I flipped off my gal pals and got another resounding crowd reaction. Oh yeah, I was on stage! I wanted to savor this, I wanted to give a good show. Then I was told by one of them that he was going to go off stage left and come back and do a hand stand, and that I would need to support him by his ankles, so I should be prepared. And then the other guy yammered away, pulled his pud into some kind of shape and my head was buzzing all over the place. And suddenly, there were two legs and a set of furry balls in front of my face.

The puppeteers presented me with the above photographic souvenir, and I stumbled off the stage to a roaring round of applause. After the show a few people out in the lobby chanted my name, I got a penis t-shirt and we rammed our bods into a taxi and went over to Sugar, a dessert bar. Here we had massively exquisite dessert plates, and two bottles of pear champagne. We got into trouble for shooting off silly string by the maitre nazi, but then Slutbag ignored him and complained to our waiter that the nazi was killing our fun and we'd have to take our dollars elsewhere. Enter the owner, who was gorgeous, and who supplied us with free lemon drop shots and actually got his own puppetry action when Slutbag copped a feel.

Speaking of copping a feel, I confess to copping one myself, but not from any males. Nah. I asked Slutbag about her boob job and she granted me a feelup. They sure felt real to me. I guess you get what you pay for. I gulped a last lemondrop shot and we packed ourselves, yet again, into a taxi and went back to Rush street. We headed over to the porno shop to peruse the merchandise. Something very surreal happened. One minute I was talking and laughing with Pitbull and the next thing I know she was sprawled on the street. She just tripped over air or fell right out of her shoes. I don't know, but in my helpful way I laughed like an idiot and enlisted the help of a young man named Cory to help us across the street and into the store. Cory was shopping for some lube, he stupidly revealed, and left after I made several loud announcements to that effect.

Sorry Cory, my man.

We hopped on over to Jilly's where Pitbull got yelled at for dancing without her shoes, and I swigged 3 screwdrivers, 3 lemondrop shots and something blue. Oh. And Slutbag bought us each a rose. And I bonded further with pitbull.

Oh. We didn't go home. We went to the suites that Slutbag had graciously and thoughtfully reserved. I bunked with Ho. I wonder if I snored. If I did, she never said anything about it.

Thank you Chicky. Thank you Ho. Thank you Thank you Slutbag. And I love you Pitbull!

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